Chapter IX
After several hours of wandering aimlessly from hall to empty hall, Sarah was tired of dust, cobwebs and torch lit stone passages: she wondered whether she should give in to her temptation of exploring the world outside her castle. She wouldn't venture into that fearfully complicated Labyrinth – oh, no! – she would just explore the little plot of overgrown land that had once, it seemed, been the royal garden. Should I? She thought, trying to think of why she should not. No reasons offered themselves up to her eager mind, nothing but the unquiet fears of her imagination – inspired, no doubt by all that moonlight, which, to tell the truth was quite creepy. But Sarah Williams wasn't scared of anything she informed her reflection, gazing into yet another mirror. Besides, she had been cooped up for at least four hours, if her sense of time wasn't completely muddled by this new world. And there didn't seem to be a glorious sunrise on the program of tonight's entertainment either . . .So, why not?
Taking a deep breath, Sarah Williams stepped outside, brushing through the doorway of the iron gates – the only entrance she had discovered so far. She stepped into the evening world of rustlings and scents, stopping and waiting for the metallic clang of the shutting gates. When it never came, she turned in surprise to face the dark, yes, but still open passageway she had come out of. Weren't doors supposed to close behind you in a magic world, which undoubtedly this was? And didn't Goblin Kings usually watch your every move? She wondered, still confused about her conflicting emotions about Jareth.
"What is wrong with me?" she thought, making her way down an overgrown path, still feeling unsure, still a trespasser, a lost child . . . The grounds surrounding the castle were half-hidden in the soft darkness; it covered everything, seeming to protect it, enclosing it in shimmery, starry light. That weird light only increased the darkness however - making it more impenetrable, than if it was just dark. Sarah couldn't see anything, but sensed that all sorts of life in fact, surrounded her. There was something living, growing, and blooming nearby – just reach out your hand, and there it is – touching you with its leaves and stems. The dusky wind carried a strong scent of blooming roses – they, too were nearby, and a lot of them, judging from the intensity of their perfume.
Walking along the now totally overgrown path, Sarah immediately knew that if she were on a quest for roses, she was heading in the right direction. The air was unbearably hot, humid, and heavy with their odor. Slightly dizzy now, she plopped down in a patch of long grass to catch her faint breath. A cold winter day in England makes quite a contrast to this tropical summer's night . . .
Sarah disliked the summer. The only reason she had kind of put up with it was her freedom from school, but if it wasn't for that, summer, late spring and early fall would be on bottom rung of the season ladder in Sarah's mind. She preferred the other half of the year – when cold winds robbed the November trees of their crisp, wilting leaves, and they stood there – dark and bare – their naked branches shrouded in a misty cape, sometimes creaking and bending in the winter gales . . . when snow would set in –first a sprinkle, and then bigger and bigger flakes of it, thicker and thicker – until the whole world looked dappled, and then white . . . she loved looking into the sky when it snowed – just throwing back her hood, loosening her hair and letting the swirling pattern of the never – ceasing snow whirl her away, while it gently settled onto her hair and eyelashes . . . loved the rain, not the drizzle of October, but the heavy pouring rain of March, when it seemed that someone's sorrow, maybe even her own, was spilling out in a multitude of teardrops, pounding, pounding the earth, wanting to destroy it – but giving it life instead . . . Thunderstorms, when thunder snuck up unnoticed behind you and scared you half to death . . When lightning danced across the dark vengeful sky and the rain beat down in torrents . . . things fey and wild fascinated her, sending thrills or chills up her spine . . . or maybe a crazy mixture of both . . .
Not thrilled at all with a warm, sunny day, Sarah didn't particularly love a calm serene night, either . . . her time was the early dawn and the late dusk – the times of magic, even on that non-magical planet of hers. The time when the sun stars and moon all came together in one sky for a few brief hours . . . when clouds seemed almost alive, changing color and shape to match their ever-changing mood . . . Then she would watch the world around her for hours on end – taking in, soaking in every hue of the sky, every breath of wind, every rustle of her imagination . . .
Sarah sighed, eyes gleaming with her fantasy. It felt good to get carried away so strongly again – it hadn't happened in a while . . . Looking back towards the castle that had now become her home away from home, she realized that the reason it was so dark was it's huge shadow – enclosing everything on this side of it, her included. The moons were all on the other side of the castle – illuminating it from that side, and leaving the rest to slumber, wake, live, grow, and wander in the shimmery darkness. Starting up, Sarah headed in the direction of the lighted side. Something drew her there, calling her, almost pulling her along – she stifled the impulse to run towards it. Maybe the rose garden is on that side she murmured, as she waded her way through the ever-thickening sea of grass before her. Hurrying along, she watched the light grow nearer and nearer . . . Almost out of the shadow . . . Almost . . .
And almost blinded by the suddenly bright moonlight. Blinking against that invasive light she stepped forward, and stumbled, falling down as her foot failed to find solid, grassy ground. There goes Alice down that rabbit hole . . . was the thought that stayed with her when she hit the soft ground and stood gingerly up. Panting was out of the question – she'd have to do without air. It seems I've found my rose garden . . . Sarah liked roses. Really. Liked their beauty, their sweet smell . . .but everything in moderation! She looked around, trying very hard to keep breathing and finding that it was dangerously difficult. The rose bushes surrounding her were huge – almost as tall as she was, and not only did they close in on her from all sides, she couldn't even tell how she had gotten into this airless bower, this perfumed graveyard.
"…Sweet desert rose… This memory of hidden hearts and souls
This desert flower… This rare perfume is the sweet intoxication of love…"
She sank to her knees, scratched and dizzy from her attempts to somehow get through the thorny scented wall surrounding her, she wanted to keep fighting, keep looking for a way out, but the roses waved gently above her head and sang in the night breeze that she couldn't feel, pouring their sweet scent onto her slowly dropping head. How nice it would be to lay down . . . to stay here forever, staring up into that beautiful sky . . . no troubles . . . no worries . . .no castle . . . no Goblin Kings . . .stay . . . echoed and reechoed in her head.
But somewhere on the very edge of her conscience Sarah, about to dive in, stopped suddenly at that last thought. That's not what she wanted! She wasn't sure of it before, but now she definitely was! Slowly her will power awoke, and she started to fight back. I don't want to stay here! Want to get up! Out! She almost started to struggle. Almost. But that sweet rose perfume was coming down on her – wave after suffocating wave . . . sweet? It was sweet . . . too sweet . . . overly sweet . . . overripe . . . almost sour . . .
Once more (how many times now? she thought, attempting to smile despite the cold, sticky fear) everything started fading, sliding out of focus, dancing around her . . . as she slid down, unseeing eyes wide, into the darkness reaching hungrily up to get her, the last breath escaping her lips carried a name with it . . . His name . . .
" . . . Jareth . . .?"