Chapter 18: The Center of the Old Labyrinth
By Emer
______________________________________________________
Mireia experienced the most uncomfortable sensation she'd ever had in her life-the feeling of her mind trying to back away from what she was seeing. As this was impossible, aside from maybe fainting--and she couldn't do that to Michael--she crouched next to him shaking and trying not to spring backwards away from...it.
"It" was a grayish dog, almost a wolf. Except that it had too much eye socket and not enough eye. Only patches of decaying fur remained. Only patches of decaying skin remained, for that matter. Mireia wondered distantly if she would throw up.
"What is wrong with you, wolf?" asked Mooreland. He sounded fairly unshaken, but then he did have a different sort of vocal chords than either of the children had.
"Wolf?" rasped the thing, its jaw sagging horribly. "Ah, I see. Is that what I look like now? As for what's wrong with me-I have a...disease."
"You look dead," said Michael, making a valiant attempt to keep his voice steady, in Mireia's opinion.
"That's because I should be," it replied. Mireia found she couldn't stop looking at its sagging jaw, no matter how it horrified her. "All part of the sickness. I should have died forever ago, in places that are extinct."
"Is the disease...contagious?" Mireia asked. She sounded a little high-pitched to herself, but otherwise under control.
"Oh, yes. I could give it to all you. I have only to bite you." It gnashed its teeth and all three of them flinched back as one. It gave a dry little laugh. "But what good would that do me? You won't free me if I infect you."
"Why were you chained?" she asked next. All of them transferred their gaze to the heavy chains draped both over its back and wound around its legs.
"They didn't know I was...sick. They thought I was out for their precious flesh. They're all dead now." This time the laugh was gurgled and yucky. Mireia felt the sound skitter down her arm hairs, raising each one. "And it wasn't I who finally killed them either, but that impartial evil, Time."
"What about the skeleton?" she demanded.
"There's a skeleton?" Michael's voice cracked slightly on the word.
"Not my doing."
They each considered in silence. Then Michael shifted beside her and asked, "If we free you, would you bite us then?"
"Not if I could finally die. I would have no reason."
"What would kill you?"
"The cure to the disease. In the center of the Labyrinth. I know the way, but it does me no good to go there without someone who can remove my chains."
"Why would chains prevent you from getting the cure and dying?" asked Michael.
"Have you seen the heart of this Labyrinth?" it asked.
"No."
"Then you do not know how high the cure is, or even what it is. I can't reach it weighed down. You can't touch it without being cured-with a death that should be mine." Skin shook as it paced with impatience. "I will lead you there, if you will unchain me when we arrive."
Mireia and Michael looked at each other in silent communication. Neither of them could trust a thing that looked-and technically was-a dog corpse. On the other hand, their only other option seemed to be to wander around indefinitely, until their imminent starvation, or the miniscule chance of success.
"Okay-I guess." Mireia tried to muster some confidence. "We'll trade help for help."
"Alright," said Michael, looking uneasily at the flame on his candle. "Mooreland?"
"I suppose it's the only way I'm going to see the sands again. After that, I'm never setting hoof in this place again."
"Me neither," said Michael. They climbed cautiously to their feet.
"Uh..." said Michael. "Even if the candle would last the whole way there, which it won't, we'll need it even more on the way back." He paused, knelt suddenly, and scrabbled over the smooth, dusty floor. A moment later, with a look of profound relief, he came up with a piece of orange ending in a giant wad of embroidery thread. "We can get back to here at least. If the thread lasts."
Mireia nodded approvingly at his forethought, though she had no clue where he'd gotten the stuff. It didn't matter terribly at the moment.
"Can you see in the dark, wolf?" she asked.
"I don't see anything," it said. "But I can find my way, yes."
"Then could we, um, could we hold on very, very lightly to your chains so that you could lead in the dark?" It was silent for a long time. She would be glad, Mireia thought, when she couldn't see the candlelight picking out each undead part of the thing.
"Yes. Tug too hard, though, and I will...break." Mireia's stomach turned at the thought and she felt Michael give a little shudder beside her.
"We'll be very careful."
"Then grab a hold of the ones over my back. They are the loosest."
Very warily, Michael and Mireia moved to either side of the wolf and tried not to think too hard about what they were doing. Mooreland followed. When they each had an end, with Mooreland's trunk gripping Michael's shoulder, Mireia said, "Ready."
The wolf started forward. Michael took a deep breath and blew out the candle.
An indeterminate amount of time later, Mireia realized she was no longer quite so afraid. She decided it was because being very afraid and avoiding running into walls at every turn in the path were mutually exclusive. And wolves-even dead ones-could jog quite a lot more easily than humans, especially now that some of the wolf's chains were being carried by others. In contrast to how she'd felt before, Mireia almost felt secure now. There was a scary undead thing guarding the front and a large, solid, and above all friendly sand elk at her back.
It was as she was having these somewhat comforting thoughts and twisting to avoid touching both the wall and the wolf, that their guide barked, "Stop." Mireia stopped as fast as she could and still slid a little ways on the smooth stone ground.
"What?" Michael asked.
"There is a wall in front of us that is not supposed to be there."
"Well, doesn't it change all the time?" asked Mireia, thinking of her earlier encounters with Jareth. "There must be a trick."
"Not here. Not in the Old Labyrinth. Nothing changes here except the thickness of the dust and the arrangement of the skeletons."
"Well, it must have changed," said Michael. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," the wolf's voice had gotten more and more whispery as they progressed and Mireia shuddered to think that it was probably because its vocal chords were holding up as well as the rest of its body-which is to say, not so well.
"Jareth is unconscious-would that do something to it?" asked Mireia. And then she immediately wondered if it was wise to spread that information around. She shrugged in the dark. She couldn't take it back.
"It might. But he is King of the Goblins and only has control over the upper Labyrinth. The Old Labyrinth has no king."
"What do we do about the wall?" asked Michael impatiently. Mireia was torn between annoyance at him for changing the subject and a reluctant feeling that his question had more bearing on the situation than hers. She had wanted to ask what governed the Old Labyrinth.
"I don't know. In a thousand years I have never known another way to the center."
Mooreland spoke up, clearing his throat in a quiet trumpet. "Michael is good at finding doors where there weren't any before."
"I don't-" said Michael. His voice cracked slightly and he coughed and tried again. "That was only in the upper Labyrinth. It probably won't work here."
Mireia readdressed her brother with new interest. He'd opened doors? She already knew she'd underestimated him, as he had gotten to Jareth's castle without even having been hurt. But what was this about doors?
"How did you open doors?" she asked.
So Michael obligingly explained about the oubliette and the Minotaurs and added in the part about the Mirror room. When he was finished, Mireia said, "You'd better try it." She paused. "This wall is obviously not supposed to be here. Maybe you can make it back into a doorway."
"I don't think I can." Michael said doubtfully. Mireia heard him sigh noisily and move forward, trying not to touch the wolf. She heard his hand slap onto the stone wall. They stood in tense silence for a long moment.
"It...worked," said Michael, astonishment plain in his voice. There came the sound of a door handle being twisted. A kind of mechanical 'click' and then there was a draft of air from beyond. To Mireia it smelled slightly of plants, green and damp.
They felt from the tug of chains that the wolf had stepped forward. It rasped back at them, "This is the center. It is not where it was before, but here it is, just as you requested. Unchain me." It was not a request. And they had made a deal. Swallowing hard, Mireia carefully felt down her end of the chain and tried valiantly to unhook the collar without touching anything unpleasant. To her surprise, its skin didn't feel nearly as horrible as she'd thought. Sort of leathery and dry. Her fingers finally found the relatively simple clasp and unhooked it just as Michael struck a match.
For a brief, eerie moment, they (excluding perhaps the wolf) could see a gigantic primeval garden. There was the suggestion of trees so large it would take an army of men to stretch their arms around the base. Roots the size of houses writhed out in all directions. Weeds and unrecognizable shrubbery grew in profusion everywhere. Overhead, canopies of the trees ran into each other and melded into one living ceiling. At the same time, things didn't look quite right. It was very hard for Mireia to put her finger on why, but she suspected it had something to do with the fact that these trees clearly did not live on light. They stirred strangely when the match light touched them.
The wolf growled and coughed. "No, you little wretch!" it snarled as it dove for Michael. Michael gave a strangled scream and the match went out.
____________________________________________________
ElvenArcher: Thank you! I just seem to want to write OCs more than straight canon for some reason, but I am well aware of the pit falls of them, so it's always nice to know I've succeeded in my goal of not writing another evil OC.
Kristi: Hi! Thanks for reviewing. I'm very flattered and I'm glad you liked the story. It took a long time in coming, I'm afraid. Sorry. The real world is evil sometimes.
Rhiannon Berger: I am one for cliffhangers :). My chapters just want to end there for some reason. I suspect a lot of people pass over this story. I probably pass over some OCs that are pretty good, too. The important thing is, the people who DO read the story for whatever reason, are usually very intelligent (heh) and leave actual reviews instead of "OMG cool. Keep rigting. Thnx." I can do without those, so I'm happy with the reviews from people like you!
SilverQuick: Sorry! I know, I know. Here's yet another cliffhanger. The story seems to like them. I have the end written. I just need to finish about two more chapters in between and then there will be no more evil cliffhangers in this story! It will all be finished and happy. Sort of.
I will certainly tell you of my Bowie concert experience. In fact, I probably won't be able to shut up about it. 21 days to go! EEEEE.
Queen's Own Fool: Yes, and here is another one. Sorry. Get out your heart medication. Though, seriously, there are only like, three more chapters left, so you won't need too much. Take some deep breaths, stare at some Jareth pictures...
By Emer
______________________________________________________
Mireia experienced the most uncomfortable sensation she'd ever had in her life-the feeling of her mind trying to back away from what she was seeing. As this was impossible, aside from maybe fainting--and she couldn't do that to Michael--she crouched next to him shaking and trying not to spring backwards away from...it.
"It" was a grayish dog, almost a wolf. Except that it had too much eye socket and not enough eye. Only patches of decaying fur remained. Only patches of decaying skin remained, for that matter. Mireia wondered distantly if she would throw up.
"What is wrong with you, wolf?" asked Mooreland. He sounded fairly unshaken, but then he did have a different sort of vocal chords than either of the children had.
"Wolf?" rasped the thing, its jaw sagging horribly. "Ah, I see. Is that what I look like now? As for what's wrong with me-I have a...disease."
"You look dead," said Michael, making a valiant attempt to keep his voice steady, in Mireia's opinion.
"That's because I should be," it replied. Mireia found she couldn't stop looking at its sagging jaw, no matter how it horrified her. "All part of the sickness. I should have died forever ago, in places that are extinct."
"Is the disease...contagious?" Mireia asked. She sounded a little high-pitched to herself, but otherwise under control.
"Oh, yes. I could give it to all you. I have only to bite you." It gnashed its teeth and all three of them flinched back as one. It gave a dry little laugh. "But what good would that do me? You won't free me if I infect you."
"Why were you chained?" she asked next. All of them transferred their gaze to the heavy chains draped both over its back and wound around its legs.
"They didn't know I was...sick. They thought I was out for their precious flesh. They're all dead now." This time the laugh was gurgled and yucky. Mireia felt the sound skitter down her arm hairs, raising each one. "And it wasn't I who finally killed them either, but that impartial evil, Time."
"What about the skeleton?" she demanded.
"There's a skeleton?" Michael's voice cracked slightly on the word.
"Not my doing."
They each considered in silence. Then Michael shifted beside her and asked, "If we free you, would you bite us then?"
"Not if I could finally die. I would have no reason."
"What would kill you?"
"The cure to the disease. In the center of the Labyrinth. I know the way, but it does me no good to go there without someone who can remove my chains."
"Why would chains prevent you from getting the cure and dying?" asked Michael.
"Have you seen the heart of this Labyrinth?" it asked.
"No."
"Then you do not know how high the cure is, or even what it is. I can't reach it weighed down. You can't touch it without being cured-with a death that should be mine." Skin shook as it paced with impatience. "I will lead you there, if you will unchain me when we arrive."
Mireia and Michael looked at each other in silent communication. Neither of them could trust a thing that looked-and technically was-a dog corpse. On the other hand, their only other option seemed to be to wander around indefinitely, until their imminent starvation, or the miniscule chance of success.
"Okay-I guess." Mireia tried to muster some confidence. "We'll trade help for help."
"Alright," said Michael, looking uneasily at the flame on his candle. "Mooreland?"
"I suppose it's the only way I'm going to see the sands again. After that, I'm never setting hoof in this place again."
"Me neither," said Michael. They climbed cautiously to their feet.
"Uh..." said Michael. "Even if the candle would last the whole way there, which it won't, we'll need it even more on the way back." He paused, knelt suddenly, and scrabbled over the smooth, dusty floor. A moment later, with a look of profound relief, he came up with a piece of orange ending in a giant wad of embroidery thread. "We can get back to here at least. If the thread lasts."
Mireia nodded approvingly at his forethought, though she had no clue where he'd gotten the stuff. It didn't matter terribly at the moment.
"Can you see in the dark, wolf?" she asked.
"I don't see anything," it said. "But I can find my way, yes."
"Then could we, um, could we hold on very, very lightly to your chains so that you could lead in the dark?" It was silent for a long time. She would be glad, Mireia thought, when she couldn't see the candlelight picking out each undead part of the thing.
"Yes. Tug too hard, though, and I will...break." Mireia's stomach turned at the thought and she felt Michael give a little shudder beside her.
"We'll be very careful."
"Then grab a hold of the ones over my back. They are the loosest."
Very warily, Michael and Mireia moved to either side of the wolf and tried not to think too hard about what they were doing. Mooreland followed. When they each had an end, with Mooreland's trunk gripping Michael's shoulder, Mireia said, "Ready."
The wolf started forward. Michael took a deep breath and blew out the candle.
An indeterminate amount of time later, Mireia realized she was no longer quite so afraid. She decided it was because being very afraid and avoiding running into walls at every turn in the path were mutually exclusive. And wolves-even dead ones-could jog quite a lot more easily than humans, especially now that some of the wolf's chains were being carried by others. In contrast to how she'd felt before, Mireia almost felt secure now. There was a scary undead thing guarding the front and a large, solid, and above all friendly sand elk at her back.
It was as she was having these somewhat comforting thoughts and twisting to avoid touching both the wall and the wolf, that their guide barked, "Stop." Mireia stopped as fast as she could and still slid a little ways on the smooth stone ground.
"What?" Michael asked.
"There is a wall in front of us that is not supposed to be there."
"Well, doesn't it change all the time?" asked Mireia, thinking of her earlier encounters with Jareth. "There must be a trick."
"Not here. Not in the Old Labyrinth. Nothing changes here except the thickness of the dust and the arrangement of the skeletons."
"Well, it must have changed," said Michael. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," the wolf's voice had gotten more and more whispery as they progressed and Mireia shuddered to think that it was probably because its vocal chords were holding up as well as the rest of its body-which is to say, not so well.
"Jareth is unconscious-would that do something to it?" asked Mireia. And then she immediately wondered if it was wise to spread that information around. She shrugged in the dark. She couldn't take it back.
"It might. But he is King of the Goblins and only has control over the upper Labyrinth. The Old Labyrinth has no king."
"What do we do about the wall?" asked Michael impatiently. Mireia was torn between annoyance at him for changing the subject and a reluctant feeling that his question had more bearing on the situation than hers. She had wanted to ask what governed the Old Labyrinth.
"I don't know. In a thousand years I have never known another way to the center."
Mooreland spoke up, clearing his throat in a quiet trumpet. "Michael is good at finding doors where there weren't any before."
"I don't-" said Michael. His voice cracked slightly and he coughed and tried again. "That was only in the upper Labyrinth. It probably won't work here."
Mireia readdressed her brother with new interest. He'd opened doors? She already knew she'd underestimated him, as he had gotten to Jareth's castle without even having been hurt. But what was this about doors?
"How did you open doors?" she asked.
So Michael obligingly explained about the oubliette and the Minotaurs and added in the part about the Mirror room. When he was finished, Mireia said, "You'd better try it." She paused. "This wall is obviously not supposed to be here. Maybe you can make it back into a doorway."
"I don't think I can." Michael said doubtfully. Mireia heard him sigh noisily and move forward, trying not to touch the wolf. She heard his hand slap onto the stone wall. They stood in tense silence for a long moment.
"It...worked," said Michael, astonishment plain in his voice. There came the sound of a door handle being twisted. A kind of mechanical 'click' and then there was a draft of air from beyond. To Mireia it smelled slightly of plants, green and damp.
They felt from the tug of chains that the wolf had stepped forward. It rasped back at them, "This is the center. It is not where it was before, but here it is, just as you requested. Unchain me." It was not a request. And they had made a deal. Swallowing hard, Mireia carefully felt down her end of the chain and tried valiantly to unhook the collar without touching anything unpleasant. To her surprise, its skin didn't feel nearly as horrible as she'd thought. Sort of leathery and dry. Her fingers finally found the relatively simple clasp and unhooked it just as Michael struck a match.
For a brief, eerie moment, they (excluding perhaps the wolf) could see a gigantic primeval garden. There was the suggestion of trees so large it would take an army of men to stretch their arms around the base. Roots the size of houses writhed out in all directions. Weeds and unrecognizable shrubbery grew in profusion everywhere. Overhead, canopies of the trees ran into each other and melded into one living ceiling. At the same time, things didn't look quite right. It was very hard for Mireia to put her finger on why, but she suspected it had something to do with the fact that these trees clearly did not live on light. They stirred strangely when the match light touched them.
The wolf growled and coughed. "No, you little wretch!" it snarled as it dove for Michael. Michael gave a strangled scream and the match went out.
____________________________________________________
ElvenArcher: Thank you! I just seem to want to write OCs more than straight canon for some reason, but I am well aware of the pit falls of them, so it's always nice to know I've succeeded in my goal of not writing another evil OC.
Kristi: Hi! Thanks for reviewing. I'm very flattered and I'm glad you liked the story. It took a long time in coming, I'm afraid. Sorry. The real world is evil sometimes.
Rhiannon Berger: I am one for cliffhangers :). My chapters just want to end there for some reason. I suspect a lot of people pass over this story. I probably pass over some OCs that are pretty good, too. The important thing is, the people who DO read the story for whatever reason, are usually very intelligent (heh) and leave actual reviews instead of "OMG cool. Keep rigting. Thnx." I can do without those, so I'm happy with the reviews from people like you!
SilverQuick: Sorry! I know, I know. Here's yet another cliffhanger. The story seems to like them. I have the end written. I just need to finish about two more chapters in between and then there will be no more evil cliffhangers in this story! It will all be finished and happy. Sort of.
I will certainly tell you of my Bowie concert experience. In fact, I probably won't be able to shut up about it. 21 days to go! EEEEE.
Queen's Own Fool: Yes, and here is another one. Sorry. Get out your heart medication. Though, seriously, there are only like, three more chapters left, so you won't need too much. Take some deep breaths, stare at some Jareth pictures...