Standard Disclaimer – Ownership of Nothing Labyrinth
Chapter 5
The Past, The Future
Sieca pushed the gate open slowly and entered the grotto that led to the door of the Ivory Sanctuary and the adjoined Ivory Temple. Goddess it was beautiful. Even in the frosts and bitter cold of this early winter, the grotto was warm, fountains spilled iridescent water into pools, and winter flowers bloomed in hues of icy blues and pale frosted pinks. The entire grove was a monument to peaceful divinity. Statues of Unicorns and Fae- Kind in silver, gold, and marble decorated the paths of the gardens. Every so often a statue would move, bored with its current location, to find a new place to rest for the day, a new pose to strike. Small winter faries attended the flowers, draping them with frost and small icicles, but never bringing harm to the delicate vegetation.
Sieca looked down at Rissick, both felt the all encompassing serenity of this semi-divine place, rumored to have been created with the Magic of a Fae and the Soul of a Human, but both were still more than on edge. They had heard the rumors that her half-brother had been imprisoned here, to forever be forced to caretake this place of goodness. The contradiction did not make sense to Sieca, but the two continued, determined in their quest for answers. They moved without noise, making their way to the center structure. Sieca stared at the silver doors, praying that the rumors she had heard were not true, that behind them was not her half brother, that there was another answer. Steadying herself, Sieca raised one of the knockers and gingerly rang it against the door three times. Then the two companions waited in silence, stepping back from the doors.
Slowly, both of the great doors opened inward, revealing a grand foyer, lined with painted that constantly magically shifted form. Images from across the Underground of Fae, of Faeries, landscapes, beasts, and the like decked the walls, golden silks lined windows and marble columns inlaid with gold and silver leafing supported the clear ceiling, through which the sun or moon could be seen arcing across the sky. The scene was breathtaking; Sieca's breath was lost in the sheer beauty and tranquility of the room before her. The entire room seemed to emanate beauty and light.
"Just bloody lovely, isn't it?"
Sieca's attention snapped to focus across the room at the sole figure standing atop a large staircase that ended in another set of doors. The figure was haggard, in desperate contrast to the beauty of the room. His clothes were torn and ragged, his dark hair hung limply about his shoulders. Dark circles hung as a testament to pain under piercing violet orbs – they eyes were the only thing about this frail looking creature that remained vibrant. He appeared to her as if his body could wither but the eyes would forever burn with a hatred sprung from defeat. His eyes bored into her and Sieca instinctively pulled her cloak tighter about her form, and closer over her head. This was not the man who had saved her life, once so very, very long ago, but this was Stark, there was no doubt – she could see it in those eyes. A quiet rumbling emanated from beside her, and she knew Rissick sensed the same thing she did – there was a darkness here, and it was standing at the top of a sprawling staircase.
Stark swaggered down the stairs, a limp evident in his left side. "Come come come, why wear a hood, dear. I know who you are, I can smell it from here. Don't you want to take a better look at your dear brother?" He walked right up to her and pulled her hood back, revealing her porcelain face. Black hair closely cropped to her head, no more than a few inches long, but so black it was almost iridescent. Her features were almost childlike, large eyes, a perfect nose, dark brows and high cheekbones. Her lips, pale and full held no smile as her eyes shimmered, their multi- colored depths locking with his violet orbs. For a second, Stark lost his breath in her angelic beauty. He recovered quickly though, his voice as icy as before. "Isn't that better now?" he asked, turning his back to her, making his way to one of the many marble benches within the grand entrance. "My my, we have really grown up, haven't we my lovely? Still wandering about aimlessly? Last I heard, you had left the goblin shit kingdom and had disappeared – gone into the night." He looked up at her again, a twisted smile forming on his cracked lips, "It has been so long since I have had any....company...You know, you are only my half sibling...." A cough wracked his frame, and as he turned to sit, Sieca could see blood speckling his lips. Against her better judgment, she was by his side in an instant, and taking his hand, she uttered a few quiet long forgotten words, and his coughing subsided, he breathing becoming less labored, more relaxed. Quickly, she pulled her hand away from him, unsure of what to think of his strange words to her, unsure of what to think of the haggard beast sitting before her. He certainly was no threat, he looked as though he would pass out at any moment.
With his breath recovered, Stark stared at her, "On your knees, just where a woman belongs. Tell me, dearest sister, to what do I owe this grand gesture of kindness, to what do I owe a visit from a bastard half breed?" Closing his eyes, Stark sank back against the back of the bench. Sieca stood warily, and backed a few paces away, staring at his ashen face, his hollowed cheeks and torn clothing. He was a shadow of his former self, and though anger raged against her mind at his harsh words and seemingly villainous behavior, her heart pleaded with her to believe there was still something of the man she once knew locked inside. He looked as though he had fallen into a labored sleep when Sieca finally responded to him.
"Tell me, tell me what happened here Stark. Tell me why you are in such a state. Please, let me help you." Her voice was shaking as she asked, afraid at what she may hear in response.
Long minutes passed and he made no move to respond. The only sound in the Temple, was the raggad intake of breath, the painful reminder of Stark's humanity. Had it not been for the breath, Sieca would have thought him passed on. Slowly, she turned on her heel and began walking back to where Rissick sat, having never taken his eyes off of his companion. She stopped mid-stride, a foul racking cough of laughter ringing in contrast to the pristine walls. A look of horror and confusion lit up Sieca's face, and she pulled back further to stand beside her friend. Stark stood, then jumped up on the bench with an agility that belied his feeble state, his eyes wild and blood shot, a small line of blood running from his mouth to his chin as he assumed the crouching position of a wild beast preparing to pounce upon it's prey.
"You want me to tell you what happened, bitch? Is that it? You want to know what happened here?! You want some little story time play house? Is my pain simply here for your amusement – another one of Jareth's punishments – that I should have to tell of my own deception and defeat? You want to know it? WHY?! To what end? What purpose would it serve you?" His eyes bored holes in very soul, and she gripped the hilt of her thin blade, taking comfort in its devilish promise of a quick death to the madman before her, if it should come to that. She prayed it wouldn't. "What? No answer for the little disgraced half-breed? You really are no fun – never were. Well guess what, the rumors I am sure you have heard are all true – all of them! Jareth, he imprisoned me here. Why, you may ask? I really don't know." Stark's voice dripped of sarcasm as he continued "I mean really, all I did was plan to rape and kill his mortal whore, steal his useless fetid kingdom, and slaughter one of his dearest friends – all in front of him. Is that any reason to punish me?" Stark crouched even further, lowering his head, but keeping his eyes trained upon Sieca, who stood barely ten feet from his primal, predatory form. "Then his fucking pet mortal somehow strips me of my magic and he leaves me here, human but immortal, to die without my magic to heal me. And do you know something?" Stark paused, lowering his gaze, then looking up he pounced, landing hard upon Sieca, the full force of the blow knocking the wind from her lungs and sending both of them crashing to the floor, and knocking Rissick to the side. Kissing her cheek, his words were flung onto her flesh with spit and blood mixed together with his hot breath stinging her skin "I will have my revenge, sweet sister."
In an instant, Rissick was on Stark, pulling him by the arm off of Sieca. Stark's scream split the temple as the wolfen growled and pulled the man a solid five feet, tearing at his arm, before Sieca had recovered enough to call him off of her half-brother. Clutching his scarred arm to his chest, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood, Stark spat at Rissick, who returned the gesture with a growl.
Steadying herself, Sieca approached Stark, kneeling to the ground and again calling upon her ancestral healing abilities, she stemmed the flow of blood, but did not heal the wound entirely. She would not risk another attempt on her.
"Stark. What has happened to you?" Her voice was pleading, but strong. She saw the insanity in his features, and though she looked for some semblance of a soul within his eyes, some shred of decency, she found none. No light burned within him, only the darkness of greed and revenge. "What happened to the man who saved my life? Saved me from our father when he would have killed and raped me, as he did my mother? What happened to the good in you Stark?"
The same hacking laughter arose from his throat as he pushed himself back away from her. He spit at her feet, "You really are stupid, bitch. I thought that perhaps some of our family's intelligence would have found its way into you – but I guess not." He stood, shakily and began walking back to the staircase, leaning upon the railing, he began his slow ascent while speaking through gritted teeth. "I killed our father – not because I came upon him beating the life out of you preparing to have his way with you. I didn't kill him for killing your whore of a mother. I didn't kill him out of some sense of family duty to protect you. Honestly, bitch, I could care less about you – you are just another useless female whore whose only purpose is to birth men – and that you only get right half of the time. I could have cared less about you – and if I didn't think your damn dog would rip me to pieces, I would take you myself and finish the job our father started." A smug smile spread across his twisted features as if he were proud of himself for the sick thought, and he continued "I killed our father to get him out of the way – to secure my line of power. I killed him to rule. I arranged the scene so that it looked as if the bitch Fells he killed, your sweet little mummy, had planted an iron blade in his gut. Actually, I had, as you know. If the investigative Fae questioned the scene, I would have told them what I witnessed, and in an effort to save a young, innocent little baby girl – you – I was forced to murder my own father. And by the way, your mother wasn't quite dead when I found her, I needed to finish that too." He laughed quietly as he recalled the scene, "those were the days, weren't they?"
Bile rose in Sieca's throat and the world began to spin. Falling to her knees, she knew if he continued she would vomit upon the marble floors. How could she have been so wrong about what she had seen? Had she? "But you....you told me to leave....if you....if you had killed my mother....why not kill me too?" Stark had reached the top of the staircase and looked down at the scene before him. "Back on your knees? You really like it there don't you? Too bad Jareth succeeded in practically neutering me...oh well. Why you ask? Stupid – I suppose I would have to explain it to you. You needed to live just in case they came looking for collaboration on my story. I told you to run to Jareth's kingdom, knowing he would take you in, he could never resist an outcast. That way I would know where to find you – I made it look like you remember – that I saved your life and avenged your mother, sent you where I could find you should I need you. It really is that simple. Now, leave. I am done with you. You, your kind, make me sick." He turned on his heel and slowly walked down a corridor, out of sight.
Tears burned at Sieca's eyes, threatening to fall, and finally overcoming her will, they poured from her eyes. Rissick sat beside her, comforting her in his presence. Finally, with a few deep breaths, she steadied herself and turned to walk out of the doors that would take her from the discovery of so much pain. Only one thought remained, she needed to find Jareth.
Sieca pulled her cloak a little tighter, and refastened her hood. The two walked in silence from the foyer and out of the grotto, the beauty seeming somehow tarnished in her swollen eyes. Once more standing at the gates to the Ivory Temple, Sieca let out a long breath, not realizing she had been holding in the air. She looked down at her friend, a sad smile coming to her lips. She closed the gates and looked out over the mountain pass.
"Rissick my friend, we have to find Jareth and the mortal woman soon. If my dreams are any indication of what may pass, there is a darkness that threatens him, that may threaten us all. Do you think you can help me reach the fifth kingdom?" Without a sound, the wolf that had been standing beside her grew and changed its shape, its doglike head elongating, his long shaggy hair becoming sleek and tight to his body but remaining thick enough to ward the cold, and within a few moments, a large black war horse stood before her. Sieca wrapped her arms around the neck of companion, whispering her thank you into his neck. In a single fluid motion she swung herself up onto his broad back. They were gone from sight within moments, only a single pair of violet eyes tracking their presence from a darkened room within the Ivory Temple.
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"Stupid bloody wench, coming here, rubbing it in my face that now even SHE is better than me. I wanted to rip the skin off of her body! WHORE!" Stark was screaming standing in the middle of his quarters, which was a tiny room at the end one of the long corridors, actually it was the furthest indoor point he could find from the room where he had been stripped of his magic and left useless. The room was small, barely seven feet by seven feet. He had torn out all of the lush gold fabrics and paintings, leaving the room practically barren. There was a small cot and a table furnishing the room. The only light came from a single lantern. He kept it dark, to be alone completely with his thoughts. Had he anything to throw about the room to break or shatter, he would have. But nothing remained in the small alcove. It was as if the Temple had allowed him the one respite here in this dark corner, to be alone with his insanity. He crawled over the bed and looked out the single window, glaring into the scene before him. That little disgraced mutt was actually remorseful for him – for HIM!! Only months ago he would have slit her throat for her pity, watched her blood drain in front of him while he laughed at her life slipping away, but not now. Now he was useless. He slammed his fist against the wall, over and again until the skin ripped away from his knuckles as he watched her, his own blood, ride off. It sickened him to know that his blood ran through one of them. He screamed out in rage again, damning Jareth, damning Sarah, and calling out to any that would listen, he would give his very body, his soul for the chance, just the chance to make them pay for this. Stark sank back on the filthy cot, closing his eyes. He coughed, flicking blood onto his lips, and found sleep.
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When Stark awoke it was well after the sun had passed the mountain tops and an eerie light cascaded through the window, covering everything in a bluish glow. He sighed, trying to push out the pain that now throbbed in his hand. As always his first thoughts were of Jareth and his mortal whore – of watching them both die at his hands. He was nothing now though – and trapped in this prison, there was no way he would ever regain his strength, regain his magic.
A cold breeze wafted through the room, smelling of sickly sweet rotting of wood and flowers. "I can give you what you so desssssperately dessssssire" It was no more than a whisper on the air, but it caused Stark to bolt up and scan the room. "Shhhhhhhh, you cannot sssssee me, my friend, but I can give you what you so dessssperately dessssire." The whispered voice called again, and Stark felt a warmpth behind him. When he turned, there was nothing, but the warmth stayed with him, wrapping him as if he were a shivering child.
"And how would you know what I desssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssire?" Stark asked, mocking the voice. But his interest was piqued. Disembodied voices rarely spoke to their corporeal counterparts without good reason.
"Becausssssse, I dessssire the same." Came the reply. And with it, the sensation of a powerful force driven by revenge Stark was interested, now, but he daren't get his hopes ups. It had seemed like an eternity here, though it had only been months. For weeks he had tried and failed to leave the grounds, his wounds inhibiting his movements and refusing to heal fast enough without magic to aid them. And now, a voice promised him, promised him what exactly?
"What are you offering?" Stark asked, the interest clearly registering in his voice. The normal snide overtones were gone, as was the defeat that had so often plagued him. Now, he was interested, and the prospect of revenge growing in his soul fueled him, spurred him forward.
"I am offering you the Underground."
Chapter 5
The Past, The Future
Sieca pushed the gate open slowly and entered the grotto that led to the door of the Ivory Sanctuary and the adjoined Ivory Temple. Goddess it was beautiful. Even in the frosts and bitter cold of this early winter, the grotto was warm, fountains spilled iridescent water into pools, and winter flowers bloomed in hues of icy blues and pale frosted pinks. The entire grove was a monument to peaceful divinity. Statues of Unicorns and Fae- Kind in silver, gold, and marble decorated the paths of the gardens. Every so often a statue would move, bored with its current location, to find a new place to rest for the day, a new pose to strike. Small winter faries attended the flowers, draping them with frost and small icicles, but never bringing harm to the delicate vegetation.
Sieca looked down at Rissick, both felt the all encompassing serenity of this semi-divine place, rumored to have been created with the Magic of a Fae and the Soul of a Human, but both were still more than on edge. They had heard the rumors that her half-brother had been imprisoned here, to forever be forced to caretake this place of goodness. The contradiction did not make sense to Sieca, but the two continued, determined in their quest for answers. They moved without noise, making their way to the center structure. Sieca stared at the silver doors, praying that the rumors she had heard were not true, that behind them was not her half brother, that there was another answer. Steadying herself, Sieca raised one of the knockers and gingerly rang it against the door three times. Then the two companions waited in silence, stepping back from the doors.
Slowly, both of the great doors opened inward, revealing a grand foyer, lined with painted that constantly magically shifted form. Images from across the Underground of Fae, of Faeries, landscapes, beasts, and the like decked the walls, golden silks lined windows and marble columns inlaid with gold and silver leafing supported the clear ceiling, through which the sun or moon could be seen arcing across the sky. The scene was breathtaking; Sieca's breath was lost in the sheer beauty and tranquility of the room before her. The entire room seemed to emanate beauty and light.
"Just bloody lovely, isn't it?"
Sieca's attention snapped to focus across the room at the sole figure standing atop a large staircase that ended in another set of doors. The figure was haggard, in desperate contrast to the beauty of the room. His clothes were torn and ragged, his dark hair hung limply about his shoulders. Dark circles hung as a testament to pain under piercing violet orbs – they eyes were the only thing about this frail looking creature that remained vibrant. He appeared to her as if his body could wither but the eyes would forever burn with a hatred sprung from defeat. His eyes bored into her and Sieca instinctively pulled her cloak tighter about her form, and closer over her head. This was not the man who had saved her life, once so very, very long ago, but this was Stark, there was no doubt – she could see it in those eyes. A quiet rumbling emanated from beside her, and she knew Rissick sensed the same thing she did – there was a darkness here, and it was standing at the top of a sprawling staircase.
Stark swaggered down the stairs, a limp evident in his left side. "Come come come, why wear a hood, dear. I know who you are, I can smell it from here. Don't you want to take a better look at your dear brother?" He walked right up to her and pulled her hood back, revealing her porcelain face. Black hair closely cropped to her head, no more than a few inches long, but so black it was almost iridescent. Her features were almost childlike, large eyes, a perfect nose, dark brows and high cheekbones. Her lips, pale and full held no smile as her eyes shimmered, their multi- colored depths locking with his violet orbs. For a second, Stark lost his breath in her angelic beauty. He recovered quickly though, his voice as icy as before. "Isn't that better now?" he asked, turning his back to her, making his way to one of the many marble benches within the grand entrance. "My my, we have really grown up, haven't we my lovely? Still wandering about aimlessly? Last I heard, you had left the goblin shit kingdom and had disappeared – gone into the night." He looked up at her again, a twisted smile forming on his cracked lips, "It has been so long since I have had any....company...You know, you are only my half sibling...." A cough wracked his frame, and as he turned to sit, Sieca could see blood speckling his lips. Against her better judgment, she was by his side in an instant, and taking his hand, she uttered a few quiet long forgotten words, and his coughing subsided, he breathing becoming less labored, more relaxed. Quickly, she pulled her hand away from him, unsure of what to think of his strange words to her, unsure of what to think of the haggard beast sitting before her. He certainly was no threat, he looked as though he would pass out at any moment.
With his breath recovered, Stark stared at her, "On your knees, just where a woman belongs. Tell me, dearest sister, to what do I owe this grand gesture of kindness, to what do I owe a visit from a bastard half breed?" Closing his eyes, Stark sank back against the back of the bench. Sieca stood warily, and backed a few paces away, staring at his ashen face, his hollowed cheeks and torn clothing. He was a shadow of his former self, and though anger raged against her mind at his harsh words and seemingly villainous behavior, her heart pleaded with her to believe there was still something of the man she once knew locked inside. He looked as though he had fallen into a labored sleep when Sieca finally responded to him.
"Tell me, tell me what happened here Stark. Tell me why you are in such a state. Please, let me help you." Her voice was shaking as she asked, afraid at what she may hear in response.
Long minutes passed and he made no move to respond. The only sound in the Temple, was the raggad intake of breath, the painful reminder of Stark's humanity. Had it not been for the breath, Sieca would have thought him passed on. Slowly, she turned on her heel and began walking back to where Rissick sat, having never taken his eyes off of his companion. She stopped mid-stride, a foul racking cough of laughter ringing in contrast to the pristine walls. A look of horror and confusion lit up Sieca's face, and she pulled back further to stand beside her friend. Stark stood, then jumped up on the bench with an agility that belied his feeble state, his eyes wild and blood shot, a small line of blood running from his mouth to his chin as he assumed the crouching position of a wild beast preparing to pounce upon it's prey.
"You want me to tell you what happened, bitch? Is that it? You want to know what happened here?! You want some little story time play house? Is my pain simply here for your amusement – another one of Jareth's punishments – that I should have to tell of my own deception and defeat? You want to know it? WHY?! To what end? What purpose would it serve you?" His eyes bored holes in very soul, and she gripped the hilt of her thin blade, taking comfort in its devilish promise of a quick death to the madman before her, if it should come to that. She prayed it wouldn't. "What? No answer for the little disgraced half-breed? You really are no fun – never were. Well guess what, the rumors I am sure you have heard are all true – all of them! Jareth, he imprisoned me here. Why, you may ask? I really don't know." Stark's voice dripped of sarcasm as he continued "I mean really, all I did was plan to rape and kill his mortal whore, steal his useless fetid kingdom, and slaughter one of his dearest friends – all in front of him. Is that any reason to punish me?" Stark crouched even further, lowering his head, but keeping his eyes trained upon Sieca, who stood barely ten feet from his primal, predatory form. "Then his fucking pet mortal somehow strips me of my magic and he leaves me here, human but immortal, to die without my magic to heal me. And do you know something?" Stark paused, lowering his gaze, then looking up he pounced, landing hard upon Sieca, the full force of the blow knocking the wind from her lungs and sending both of them crashing to the floor, and knocking Rissick to the side. Kissing her cheek, his words were flung onto her flesh with spit and blood mixed together with his hot breath stinging her skin "I will have my revenge, sweet sister."
In an instant, Rissick was on Stark, pulling him by the arm off of Sieca. Stark's scream split the temple as the wolfen growled and pulled the man a solid five feet, tearing at his arm, before Sieca had recovered enough to call him off of her half-brother. Clutching his scarred arm to his chest, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood, Stark spat at Rissick, who returned the gesture with a growl.
Steadying herself, Sieca approached Stark, kneeling to the ground and again calling upon her ancestral healing abilities, she stemmed the flow of blood, but did not heal the wound entirely. She would not risk another attempt on her.
"Stark. What has happened to you?" Her voice was pleading, but strong. She saw the insanity in his features, and though she looked for some semblance of a soul within his eyes, some shred of decency, she found none. No light burned within him, only the darkness of greed and revenge. "What happened to the man who saved my life? Saved me from our father when he would have killed and raped me, as he did my mother? What happened to the good in you Stark?"
The same hacking laughter arose from his throat as he pushed himself back away from her. He spit at her feet, "You really are stupid, bitch. I thought that perhaps some of our family's intelligence would have found its way into you – but I guess not." He stood, shakily and began walking back to the staircase, leaning upon the railing, he began his slow ascent while speaking through gritted teeth. "I killed our father – not because I came upon him beating the life out of you preparing to have his way with you. I didn't kill him for killing your whore of a mother. I didn't kill him out of some sense of family duty to protect you. Honestly, bitch, I could care less about you – you are just another useless female whore whose only purpose is to birth men – and that you only get right half of the time. I could have cared less about you – and if I didn't think your damn dog would rip me to pieces, I would take you myself and finish the job our father started." A smug smile spread across his twisted features as if he were proud of himself for the sick thought, and he continued "I killed our father to get him out of the way – to secure my line of power. I killed him to rule. I arranged the scene so that it looked as if the bitch Fells he killed, your sweet little mummy, had planted an iron blade in his gut. Actually, I had, as you know. If the investigative Fae questioned the scene, I would have told them what I witnessed, and in an effort to save a young, innocent little baby girl – you – I was forced to murder my own father. And by the way, your mother wasn't quite dead when I found her, I needed to finish that too." He laughed quietly as he recalled the scene, "those were the days, weren't they?"
Bile rose in Sieca's throat and the world began to spin. Falling to her knees, she knew if he continued she would vomit upon the marble floors. How could she have been so wrong about what she had seen? Had she? "But you....you told me to leave....if you....if you had killed my mother....why not kill me too?" Stark had reached the top of the staircase and looked down at the scene before him. "Back on your knees? You really like it there don't you? Too bad Jareth succeeded in practically neutering me...oh well. Why you ask? Stupid – I suppose I would have to explain it to you. You needed to live just in case they came looking for collaboration on my story. I told you to run to Jareth's kingdom, knowing he would take you in, he could never resist an outcast. That way I would know where to find you – I made it look like you remember – that I saved your life and avenged your mother, sent you where I could find you should I need you. It really is that simple. Now, leave. I am done with you. You, your kind, make me sick." He turned on his heel and slowly walked down a corridor, out of sight.
Tears burned at Sieca's eyes, threatening to fall, and finally overcoming her will, they poured from her eyes. Rissick sat beside her, comforting her in his presence. Finally, with a few deep breaths, she steadied herself and turned to walk out of the doors that would take her from the discovery of so much pain. Only one thought remained, she needed to find Jareth.
Sieca pulled her cloak a little tighter, and refastened her hood. The two walked in silence from the foyer and out of the grotto, the beauty seeming somehow tarnished in her swollen eyes. Once more standing at the gates to the Ivory Temple, Sieca let out a long breath, not realizing she had been holding in the air. She looked down at her friend, a sad smile coming to her lips. She closed the gates and looked out over the mountain pass.
"Rissick my friend, we have to find Jareth and the mortal woman soon. If my dreams are any indication of what may pass, there is a darkness that threatens him, that may threaten us all. Do you think you can help me reach the fifth kingdom?" Without a sound, the wolf that had been standing beside her grew and changed its shape, its doglike head elongating, his long shaggy hair becoming sleek and tight to his body but remaining thick enough to ward the cold, and within a few moments, a large black war horse stood before her. Sieca wrapped her arms around the neck of companion, whispering her thank you into his neck. In a single fluid motion she swung herself up onto his broad back. They were gone from sight within moments, only a single pair of violet eyes tracking their presence from a darkened room within the Ivory Temple.
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"Stupid bloody wench, coming here, rubbing it in my face that now even SHE is better than me. I wanted to rip the skin off of her body! WHORE!" Stark was screaming standing in the middle of his quarters, which was a tiny room at the end one of the long corridors, actually it was the furthest indoor point he could find from the room where he had been stripped of his magic and left useless. The room was small, barely seven feet by seven feet. He had torn out all of the lush gold fabrics and paintings, leaving the room practically barren. There was a small cot and a table furnishing the room. The only light came from a single lantern. He kept it dark, to be alone completely with his thoughts. Had he anything to throw about the room to break or shatter, he would have. But nothing remained in the small alcove. It was as if the Temple had allowed him the one respite here in this dark corner, to be alone with his insanity. He crawled over the bed and looked out the single window, glaring into the scene before him. That little disgraced mutt was actually remorseful for him – for HIM!! Only months ago he would have slit her throat for her pity, watched her blood drain in front of him while he laughed at her life slipping away, but not now. Now he was useless. He slammed his fist against the wall, over and again until the skin ripped away from his knuckles as he watched her, his own blood, ride off. It sickened him to know that his blood ran through one of them. He screamed out in rage again, damning Jareth, damning Sarah, and calling out to any that would listen, he would give his very body, his soul for the chance, just the chance to make them pay for this. Stark sank back on the filthy cot, closing his eyes. He coughed, flicking blood onto his lips, and found sleep.
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When Stark awoke it was well after the sun had passed the mountain tops and an eerie light cascaded through the window, covering everything in a bluish glow. He sighed, trying to push out the pain that now throbbed in his hand. As always his first thoughts were of Jareth and his mortal whore – of watching them both die at his hands. He was nothing now though – and trapped in this prison, there was no way he would ever regain his strength, regain his magic.
A cold breeze wafted through the room, smelling of sickly sweet rotting of wood and flowers. "I can give you what you so desssssperately dessssssire" It was no more than a whisper on the air, but it caused Stark to bolt up and scan the room. "Shhhhhhhh, you cannot sssssee me, my friend, but I can give you what you so dessssperately dessssire." The whispered voice called again, and Stark felt a warmpth behind him. When he turned, there was nothing, but the warmth stayed with him, wrapping him as if he were a shivering child.
"And how would you know what I desssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssire?" Stark asked, mocking the voice. But his interest was piqued. Disembodied voices rarely spoke to their corporeal counterparts without good reason.
"Becausssssse, I dessssire the same." Came the reply. And with it, the sensation of a powerful force driven by revenge Stark was interested, now, but he daren't get his hopes ups. It had seemed like an eternity here, though it had only been months. For weeks he had tried and failed to leave the grounds, his wounds inhibiting his movements and refusing to heal fast enough without magic to aid them. And now, a voice promised him, promised him what exactly?
"What are you offering?" Stark asked, the interest clearly registering in his voice. The normal snide overtones were gone, as was the defeat that had so often plagued him. Now, he was interested, and the prospect of revenge growing in his soul fueled him, spurred him forward.
"I am offering you the Underground."