Twelve nights she endured without dreaming of him, and those nights felt empty and lonely beyond measure. She could not get warm, it seemed, no matter how she bundled up, and she woke fitfully from restless sleep every hour or so. The circles under her eyes became such that she could not hide them, and during the day she felt like a zombie, avoiding others eyes.
If others noticed, they didn't say much. They were used to her looking ill, and she discovered quickly, with her newfound talent, that even those who did say something didn't really want the truth.
"Insomnia," she'd tell them, and they'd nod, and then, as if they'd expected that very answer, launch into an account of their own sleeping habits, and possible remedies that they themselves had found to work for getting to sleep. They might tell her the truth, but she found that the question itself was a lie, for they had no concern for her.
She felt like a changeling that had finally outgrown this world and was beginning to fade away because it has lost contact with its own. But she'd been born to this world, hadn't she? This was where she belonged, wasn't it?
There were questions she didn't know how to ask: about him, about the Labyrinth, about herself as well. And she was afraid of the answers. Even if she knew the questions, she didn't know whom to ask.
The goblin history book still lay on the floor where he'd dropped it when he vanished. She was surprised he had not taken it with him, but he hadn't, and she was reluctant to pick it up. Somehow, she suspected it would tell her more than what she wanted to know, and she wasn't sure she could handle it. All her life she had pored through books, searching for the truth about the world of the goblins, and now she had it in her hands. She was afraid.
He had been so angry, but then, wouldn't she be angry if someone had laid her entire past out for someone else to see? They were alike, in some ways. Both of them had grown up lonely, without many friends. They had distant parents, who were unable to be together. They were both caretakers of goblins and children. They were both alone. It was no wonder they were drawn to one another.
She wondered what his days were like. Did he spend all day in the castle? Did he do things that other Kings did? There were so many questions, and they crowded into her mind until, on the twelfth night, she was unable to fall asleep at all.
The book, its dark blue leather cover and gilt letters sparkling in the moonlight, seemed to call to her, until she couldn't resist picking it gingerly up, and carrying it over to the arm chair. She curled up on the seat, her legs under her, and tucked a blanket around herself. Then she carefully opened the book.
It was written in Goblin, but she found she could read it as easily as English. The beginning chapters were much of what she'd seen when Shove opened her eyes. The choosing of the Goblin King, the formation of the Labyrinth, and the taming of the goblins were all laid out in the Goblins' odd spidery looking words.
It was the chapter on magic that gave her a new perspective. According to the book, the magic of the Goblins was limited, unless joined together as a whole. Goblin magic was used mainly for small things, mischief, mostly, and traveling between worlds. Put together, however, Goblin magic was enough to challenge the King. The Goblin King had his own Fae magic, the ability to travel even faster than the Goblins, the power to see into dreams and nightmares, the power to shape, create, and destroy. He also had a rare ability for handling wild magic, which was what the Labyrinth was made of: wild magic tamed by his hand. The Labyrinth was an extension of its King, and at the same time, it was its own self as well, for the Labyrinth was the land, and it made its own choices.
There was a very precarious balance between them, but what it boiled down to was that Jareth was the Goblin King, not just because the Fae Court had designated him so, but because the Goblins had allowed him to rule them, and the Labyrinth had chosen him to control it. And should either the land or those he ruled decide otherwise, he would be hard pressed to keep his throne.
Sarah read on, fascinated, drawn into the history behind the Labyrinth as she'd never been by any other text, because every word written here was truth. She did not have to wade through false leads and fairy tales to get to it, it was written here clear as day, and she could see all the way through the words to get the whole truth behind them.
The following chapter detailed the taking of human children. It told of how, ever since mortals had been given the power of speech, they'd begun making wishes. It was the province of Faerie to choose to grant such wishes, for the Fae were the living embodiment of magic itself. The thing was, humans had a very bad habit of wishing for anything they thought they wanted, with little thought to the consequences of it. Sometimes this resulted in small mix-ups, and sometimes it cost them their lives. The Fae seldom judged, but when it came to the fate of mortal children, judgment was necessary. Parents, in a moment of frustration, were often willing to wish their children away, without thought to the consequences.
By creating the Labyrinth, and imposing rules upon it and the Goblins who took those children, the Fae had put a stop to a possible war. For if the Goblins stole every child wished away, there would be few mortal children left, and the mortals, who never understood their own fault in the matter, would turn against Faerie, unleashing a war such had never been seen. The Rules and the Goblin King's watch over the practice, kept such from happening. After a few unworthy parents had faced the Labyrinth, and lost their children, the word spread somehow, and parents kept their mouths shut and their wishes simpler, to protect their children and themselves. It was belief, however, that made such wishes possible, and as belief in Faerie waned, fewer and fewer children were wished away, until only a few people left in the world truly believed
Something was bothering her, however. It seemed that the Labyrinth was never meant to be solved. The King had twisted it and warped it and changed it so that it would never be easy, but the furthest she found that anyone had ever gotten before was the Place of Lost Things. None but she had ever found her way to the Goblin City. None but she had ever made it into the Castle beyond it. None but she had ever found the center of the Labyrinth and defeated its King.
So how had the author of the book she'd loved as a child known what she would find there?
Unless...
She got up and put the book away on the shelf carefully. Then she went to her room. In her bedside stand she kept the small wooden box, with the white feather in it. She also kept her music box there, and beneath them, its slim red leather cover worn a bit from time and handling, was her copy of The Labyrinth.
She had not looked at it in years, but now she looked at what she'd never noticed before: there was no author listed on the cover. She opened the book and flipped to the title page, and again only found the title, but no author's name.
She skimmed through the next few pages to the first chapter. There was no publication information. No copyright notice page. No ISBN number. No Library of Congress cataloging information. Nothing that said that this book really existed.
She thought hard, trying to remember where she'd gotten it, and it seemed as if it had always belonged to her, always rested beside her bed, from the time she was a little, little girl. Somewhere, at the back of her mind, a memory wriggled its way forward.
Her mother had given it to her. She had been five or six, and she'd broken something of her mother's. A crown or a tiara of some sort. She'd thought it had been a prop, for it looked ancient, and she figured her mother wouldn't mind if she played princess with it for a little bit. But she'd dropped it, and bent the gold filigree on it a little bit, and her mother had been furious. Sarah had run to her room, crying, certain her mother hated her and would send her away. Linda had crept up to her room, and sat on her bed, and smoothed her hair away from her tear stained cheeks. Then she'd held out the slim, red bound book, and told her:
"I would never send you away. I would come after you, even to the ends of the earth."
And that night she'd read her the tale of the brave girl who ventures into the Labyrinth to save her baby brother from the clutches of the Goblin King. The entire time, Sarah had been mesmerized by her mother's smooth voice, an actress's voice, and the beauty of the words. When it was over, her mother had given her the book, and told her to take care of it. "It's been in the family for years," she'd said. Then she'd given her a kiss, and tucked her in, and closed the door enough that a little light shown in from the hall, like a promise.
A promise she'd never kept, of course, for it was only a few years later that she'd left both home and daughter, never to return.
She stared at the plain cover, running her fingers over the gilt letters.
There was something going on here, something more than just a girl and a stolen child, more than just an angry king. There was some other game being played, and it had been in motion for longer than just ten years.
She went back to the living room and picked out the Goblin History book again. She flipped to the last chapter.
As the mortal world fades away from our own, as their belief grows weaker, we must find new ways of sustaining our land and tying it to the mortal realm. We will continue to influence writers and artists and those who keep the magic of the old ways, as we have always, but that may not be enough. It has been suggested that an alliance between a Human Queen and our King would strengthen the bond between our worlds, but the Fae Court does not keep relations with the current leaders of the human world, for good reason, and the seeds of the Kings and Queens of old are now scattered throughout their realm. If such a Queen could be found, it would be worthwhile to at least present the idea to our King, but he is proud, and would likely resent such an alliance. We must have hope, however, and believe, and we will find a way.
Her mind burned with questions. Old memories surfaced in unexpected light and clarity. Her mother's face when she'd bent the crown. Her father's eyes when he'd seen her in one of her fairy princess dresses at Halloween one year. The way the Goblins bowed to her. The number of Goblins who had turned out for her mother's funeral, and the way people had loved Linda Williams. She remembered meeting Hoggle, and his words to her, at the first gate. It's hopeless, asking you anything, she'd said. Not if you ask the right questions, he'd replied. She remembered his face: You know your problem, you take too many things for granted. Take this Labyrinth... Even if you get to the center, you'll never get out again. The worm, perched on the brick wall: Things are not always what they seem, in this place, so you can't take anything for granted. The old man, with the bird hat: Sometimes the way forward is the way back.
As if dreaming, she went back to her bedroom, and sat at her vanity. She reached out and touched the mirror, and felt it cool against her fingertips. "Hoggle," she said. "I need you."
And then he was there, his wrinkled face scowling at her in the reflection, just beyond her shoulder.
"What is it?" He said. "Decided to give up on being friends with His Royal Pain in the Arse-ness?"
"Hoggle," she said, "I need to ask you some questions." His eyes became wary.
"Oh, no, not again."
"Hoggle, I need some answers, and you usually have them." He puffed his chest out a bit at the praise and looked around.
"Well, I ain't promisin' nothin,' but alright," he said.
"Hoggle, who was my mother?" His face grew sad, and a little pale.
"You sure you want to know?" he said.
"Yes." He took a breath.
"Your mother was the descendant of one of the Mortal Queens of old. One of the last to follow the old ways before the line was scattered over the globe in some petty human war. But the line was true, in your mother. Did she still have the crown?" He asked.
"Yes," Sarah said, remembering. "But I don't know where it is now."
"Doesn't matter," he said. "But that's how the Labyrinth found her. And you." Sarah digested that information for a moment. My kingdom as great, she thought.
"Hoggle, where did these books come from?" she placed them on the vanity in front of her. His gaze grew shifty, but, as if compelled to answer her, he did.
"The big one used to be in the castle. One of the Goblin Librarians wrote it. They don't got much to write about, so mostly they write history. Goblins have a limited imagination, so we don't get novels as such. I'm thinkin' your little friend may have brought it over for you, knowin' how you likes books and all. The other is, er... old. I can't tell you who wrote it, but it reeks of the Labyrinth's magic. It's possible that the Labyrinth wrote it, itself."
"It can do that?" she asked.
"Don't underestimate it. You might think it's just a maze but when it wants something done, it does it." He frowned again, looking at it. "It's old, almost as old as Jareth. But his thoughts are alive and moving to keep up with the goblins. The Labyrinth doesn't think like we do, it's not alive in the same way. It's ancient, and thinks in terms of eons, not years. It's possible it has had things in motion for a long time, and they're only now catchin' up to us."
"Why would it do that?"
"It's tricky. It likes games. And Jareth wouldn't be able to follow what it was doing that way, or stop it. In some ways, it's stronger than he is." Sarah wasn't sure she liked that thought.
"I thought it's a part of him?"
"It is, and it isn't. Some of it more than others."
"Hoggle, one more question. What is at the center of the Labyrinth?"
He scowled.
"What'd you have to go and ask me that for?"
"I need to know." He scowled some more, his eyebrows bristling, but in the end he answered.
"Well, think about it. The Labyrinth is part of Jareth, it was born from him, shaped from him. It's a test, isn't it? That you have to pass to win back the stolen child. In a way it's a judgment. But he's the King, and he gets final judgment. So the final test, the very center of the Labyrinth is... well... it's his heart. You have to win his heart to get the child back. If you give in, or give up, you're unworthy, and he keeps the child. But you didn't even give in to him, did ya? You stayed true to your purpose. You won."
"But you said, if I found my way to the center of the Labyrinth, I'd never get back out again. And I know that wasn't a lie. I can feel it."
"It wasn't a lie. You never left the center of the Labyrinth, Sarah. You still are in his heart, and you carry it with you, even now."
AN: I hope the length of this one makes up for the shortness of the last. I think I must be breaking some rule, by putting so much exposition towards the end of the story... but I can't even tell for sure that this IS the end of the story. There's still more to come, how much, only the goblins telling it to me know, and right now, they're eating my socks.