Chapter X
Jareth turned slowly away from the beckoning castle. What was the use of staring at it, when there was obviously no way he could get there? No, he'd have to make his way through the Labyrinth, just like Sarah had . . . why though? She had to solve the Labyrinth to face her fears, assert herself, develop her logic and creativity . . . he knew – for he was the one to make it all happen. Her belief in him gave Jareth the power to twist her dreams and make them part of his Labyrinth. He was only a reflection of her inner desire for a 'romantic villain'– the manifestation of her wild, uncontainable imagination. Nothing more.
How was, how could his situation be at all similar to that? Jareth didn't know this either. He walked slowly along, fingertips brushing the mist-wall on his right. After a few minutes, when he had passed the castle and was directly across from the overgrown garden on the left side of it, he stopped, something inside him commanding his eyes to look out again. At first, he saw only the dark, shimmery night. It covered everything he could possibly even see from such a distance – hiding the plants and landforms from even his piercing gaze. Soon however he saw, or thought he saw, a pale spot amid all of the darkness. It was moving in the direction of the garden. Straining to see it clearer, Jareth stood with bated breath, tense and unmoving as a statue. The spot slowed down, almost stopped as it reached the patch of open moonlight, and then it shrunk, spreading out like a tiny whitish-green puddle on the ground. It wasn't moving.
"Sarah?" immediately he knew that something had happened. Was Sarah in this world as well? In the Labyrinth with him? No – she couldn't be! This was for him to solve . . . only for him . . . And she was at the center. But did she know about this? Probably not decided Jareth. She's to much of a child to understand how drastic the situation is . . . Wishing he could be so naïve, Jareth narrowed his eyes, trying to see that pale puddle. He could barely see, or maybe feel it there, in the darkness. "Sarah?" he whispered, his voice hopeful and afraid at the same time. Was it Sarah? Then why wasn't she moving?
Instinctively feeling that something was wrong he wanted to go to her, then and there – help her, save her. Jareth started forward, but stopped again – remembering that he was entrapped, enclosed within these misty walls. But he had to get through! Had to get to her – walls or no walls!
Now pacing along these same accursed walls that had told him "see but do not touch" with the ferocity of a wild beast, Jareth turned sharply on his heels starting the other way after every few meters. How to get through? How to get through? How . . .?
Turning suddenly he faced that damned wall that dared to get between them. His head was raised, mismatched eyes flashed, wild hair blew softly back, and every muscle was tense. TOO BAD that the wall was solid. TOO BAD! To hell with it! To hell with disgrace, to hell with Kingly pride – to hell with solid walls. TO HELL with every obstacle in his way! He WILL get through. To her. NOW.
He started forward, almost in slow motion. Nearer, nearer came the mist . . . solid, impenetrable . . . How would he ever get through? He shut that thought away – far away in a dark oubliette – to forget about. It didn't really matter how he got through. Just as long as he did. But it would not be suppressed. Voices were whispering in his ear; goblin voices, daunting and full of evil.
"It's very solid you know . . ." one hissed, "You know it is!" "You'll never get through to her – never!" another one said. They were all around him now, poisoning his mind with their death- words. All around he heard taunts and assurances of his own failure. "What if you could get through? Do you think you could possibly save her? She doesn't want you, remember? Doesn't give a damn about you or your kingdom!"
For one moment, Jareth was in doubt – listening. But only for one. How dare they? How dare they tell me anything? I am the King of the Goblins – they WILL NOT speak unless spoken to! And with that, the King was back on his throne. He shook his head, sending a halo of pale blond hair, almost feathers, into the air – enraged at how much time he had wasted on listening to all of this. What kind of shameless lies were they telling him? He refused to be the prisoner of doubt for even a second – let others spend their entire life doubting – he was sure of himself. He will get through and will be in time. And will help her. There was no choice in the matter – he simply had to.
He touched the wall again – solid. Turning even paler, he turned away. Maybe it was better to go through the Labyrinth – maybe it would be faster that way. If it was a question of time, he didn't know – he was never much concerned with it, as there always seemed to be more than enough for everything. His heart told him to hurry, and the straight path was usually the shortest . . . but not when there were walls in your way . . . Wearily Jareth made a few steps down the corridor.
Suddenly, with a new gust of fresh night wind he heard her voice. It was only a whisper, but he heard it well – she was calling to him. What had to have happened for her to remember him? To call him? What kind of peril was she in? It had to be something serious. Maybe even deadly. He had to be with her.
Thinking only of Sarah, Jareth rushed to her – towards the voice. Forgetting the solidity of the wall, forgetting the impossibility of the Labyrinth, forgetting everything but her, Jareth tore through the mist – as though it wasn't even there. Across the Labyrinth before him: no rules, no walls, no dead ends existed for the Goblin King now. Only Sarah. Only she lived in his heart, mind, and soul – within him.
Only now was he aware – he was flying, free once more. Underneath his broad white, shimmering wings sped the twisting and turning Labyrinth – angrily silent as it watched its escaping prey. Straight like a shining arrow he flew towards the Castle – not needing anything to guide him but his wildly beating heart. Now, where was she? Where was that illusive whiteness? There – there right ahead . . . now somewhere below him . . . beneath his wings, as though encircled by them . . . beloved.