Author's Note: I thought about merging this with the previous chapter, but it seemed too long, even for me. The perspective in this one jumps around a bit, so I hope it is not too disconcerting to follow.
Thanks for all the comments so far, they've been very helpful in encouraging me to continue.
Chapter Four: The Queen of the Dead
A man dressed all in black spurred his horse along a desolate road. The landscape was a bleak with not a single tree in sight, only angular rock formations wrapped in mist, their craggy pinnacles splintering the sky. His hood pulled well over his face, he bent low over the neck of his mount, whispering softly as if to speed its steps. It galloped steadily on, the rider's cloak whipping past the tendrils of fog that sought to ensnare them both. It was difficult to tell how far they had come, for there was no sun to judge the hour of day, nor stars to guide them. Only a sickly yellow light filtered in through the haze, but after a time, they came to a wide river. The current was black as ink, swirling soundlessly past the bank and running swift and deep until it tumbled out of sight.
The rider dismounted, his voice rang out across the waters. "Boatman! Come and earn your keep."
There was a long silence, then with a splashing of water the ferry pulled into view, a single figure manning its bow. It was an old man, his form haggard and spare, like his skin was laid directly over the bone. A pair of milky blue eyes peered from the depths of his cavernous eye sockets and the thin fringe of his snow-white hair lay damp across his pale forehead.
"You do not belong here." said the boatman slowly. "This crossing is not for you."
"You will do as you're told." The man reached into the depths of his cloak and drew out an ancient gold coin, which he sent spinning to the wooden deck at the boatman's feet. "It is the boatman's job to ferry those who can pay across the river, not to question."
The boatman nodded without rancor. "Aye, it is." He knelt to pick up the coin and examined it carefully before closing his withered fist upon it. When his hand opened, the coin was gone.
"So be it, if that is your will, Goblin King."
Jareth wrapped his cloak even tighter around him as he stepped on the boat.
"It is."
"Sarah, wake up." Toby shook his sister's shoulder, ignoring her feeble groans of protest. "It's time for dinner. Come look, we've decorated all the pinecones and Mom made chocolate mousse for dessert!"
Sarah pulled herself up to a sitting position and batted away Toby's hands. "Okay, okay. I'll be right down."
Her nap had left her groggy with an aching head, and there was a strange bitter taste in her mouth. Worse yet, her dreams were again strange: she was on a boat, floating down a dark river to an unknown destination. All around her, the air was so thick with fog she could almost feel it like a second skin, and try as she might, she could not see where she was going. A figure in a dark cloak stood beside her, but she could not bring herself to turn and look at him. It had been a disturbing dream, and she wasn't entirely sorry when Toby woke her. Sarah pulled the neck of her flannel pajamas away from her sticky skin. Her face was flushed, and the room felt too warm.
"Dad was going to let you sleep, but Mom said you had to eat something." her brother informed her, then left dragging his stuffed bear by the arm.
Sarah shut the door after his happily retreating figure and reached for her clothes. She wasn't at all hungry, but it was easier to go downstairs than to deal with Karen fussing over her with vitamin C tablets and cups of chicken soup. She pulled on her jeans, but paused at the hard lump in her right hand pocket, digging her hand down to see what it was.
It was a peach pit.
"Where on earth..." Sarah shook her head, but it did nothing to clear the fog. Playing with Toby in the park... the owl. She had gone to sleep before dinner, and then... then what? She couldn't remember, but felt like she ought to. Now the room felt too cold, as if someone had opened a window.
She made as if to toss it in the wastebasket, but hesitated, for some reason not wanting to throw it away. Looking around, she grabbed one of the potted plants sitting on her windowsill. It was already dead, Karen must have forgotten to water it. The withered leaves came away easily at the first tug and Sarah shoved the peach pit deep into the dirt with her fingers, then smoothed the soil back over the depression. It would be safe there for the time being, she reasoned. She would deal with it later.
The smell of pot roast changed her mind about not being hungry. The table was set with red candles and the good china, and each plate had a sprig of holly next to it, the napkin neatly folded as her stepmother always insisted. As she sat down, her father carried Toby in under one arm and plopped him down in his booster seat. Karen spooned up a large portion over mashed potatoes for her, and Sarah dug into it greedily and ate in gulps, washing it down with a glass of cold milk. Her step-mother watched in dismay as her carefully prepared meal vanished within minutes.
"For pete's sake, Sarah, don't eat so fast. You'll choke."
Sarah tried to slow down, but it was impossible. She was ravenous and soon scooped up the last dripping spoonful of buttery potatoes, then helped herself to more.
"Someone sure was hungry." remarked her father. "How was your nap?"
Sarah shrugged. "It didn't do much good."
Karen reached over and laid a hand on her forehead. "Robert, I think she's coming down with a cold. I told you not to go out so long this afternoon. Now you're sick, and if Toby comes down with it..."
"I'm not sick." Sarah jerked angrily away from Karen's hand. "I just have a headache, that's all. All that fresh air was rather tiring." she added pointedly.
"Toby looks fine, but we'll keep an eye on him." Robert ruffled his son's hair. Toby seemed far more interested in hiding his carrots underneath the mashed potatoes than the conversation at hand, and he looked perfectly healthy.
"I'll take an aspirin after dinner."
"See that you do." Karen was barely mollified.
"We'll decorate the tree early instead of waiting. Both you and Toby can go to bed early." Robert winked at his son to head off Toby's protests. " It'll leave more time for Santa to work his magic."
Toby grinned, his chin wreathed with gravy. Sarah just rolled her eyes, but didn't say a word.
She didn't help much with the tree, instead choosing to sit on the couch and untangle the lights while Toby helped his parents unpack the ornaments. Out came Toby's pinecones, freshly adorned with gold glitter and the occasional plastic bead. Karen carefully unwrapped the crystal icicles that had been Sarah's present to her the year before, each one as delicate as the real thing. When they were finished, the tree looked great and Toby was yawning and barely able to keep his eyes open.
"Time for bed, little guy." Robert scooped his son up in his arms. "One more yawn like that and your whole head will split open."
"I'll take him up." Sarah stood and held out her arms. "Come on, Toby. Let's brush your teeth and get you tucked in."
Toby was so tired he didn't even ask for his usual story, and was half-asleep before Sarah even closed his bedroom door. Her own sleep was less peaceful. Not wanting the room to be completely dark, Sarah opened the curtains to let the moonlight in. Snow blanketed the yard, covering the trees in a stately mantle of white that sparkled against the black of night. Something about the scene looked familiar, but Sarah couldn't think from where.
She wrapped the blankets around her in a cocoon and tried not to think. The aspirin had relieved the ache in her head somewhat, but she was still so tired, her arms and legs felt full of lead. There was something she was forgetting from earlier, something she had to remember. It was as if there was an old acquaintance whose name she was trying to recall, but it escaped her grasp and her thoughts chased after it to no avail.
Sarah turned to find a cool spot on her pillow and fell back to dreaming.
Jareth walked past the gates of the dead city, looking neither right nor left. Past the river was a road, and it led to an immense hall built of timbers the color of old blood. Its doors swung open with a touch. He lowered the hood of his cloak and stepped inside.
The hall was lined with ancient timbers, and along both walls were rows of the shadow-dead. Their whispering was like the sound of dry leaves blowing in the wind, and they crowded close, hungrily seeking him with their empty eyes and grasping hands. Jareth ignored them and strode to the head of the hall, stopping before a man clothed all in white sat on an ivory throne. His face was gaunt and bare of all expression, and an iron crown sat upon hair blacker than a raven's wing.
"I had not thought to see you here so soon, Goblin King."
"Then you know I have not come for myself, but to claim what is mine."
The King of the Dead looked down from his throne. "In this realm, all things and all people belong to me."
"I would not have it so."
The King laughed mirthlessly, a hollow-sounding chuckle like the rattling of bones. "Many people seek my kingdom to recover one they have lost, and none return. Yet one of your like has not entered my realm to ask for the life of a mortal for a mountain's age. I have seen everything there is to see from the living and the dead and still... I find it most curious."
Jareth tensed imperceptibly, but refused to rise to the bait. "As well you might."
The King of the Dead gestured to his right, and the ranks of his ghostly court parted to reveal a waist-high stone table. On it lay a dark-haired girl dressed in a gown of white, her eyes closed and hands crossed over her breast. On her forehead gleamed a circlet of iron with a single sapphire set in it. Jareth took an involuntary step toward her, but the ranks of the spirit court thickened before him until it was an impenetrable wall.
"She would not be dishonored here, Goblin King. She would attain an honored rank higher than any place Above or Below, for of all kingdoms, mine is the greatest."
Jareth tore his gaze from the table. "And yet, I would claim her still."
The King's sigh was like the creaking of trees in the wind. "So be it." He rose from his throne and cast aside his mantle to reveal a light breastplate as white as bleached bone. In his outstretched hand materialized a long sword, the same dull iron as his crown with more sapphires set in the hilt.
Jareth shrugged off his own cloak. Underneath it, he wore only a plain white shirt and a tunic of black leather. His own sword was of gleaming silver, the blade etched with a twisting vine pattern. Jareth drew it and waited.
The King struck first, his sword darting out in a deadly strike that Jareth barely parried, and the dance began. The two men circled one another, then met in a series of clashes that left both men panting. The King eyed his opponent warily.
"You fight for nought, Goblin King. The life of a mortal burns brightly, but they are soon extinguished. What is one such life to the likes of you and I?"
Jareth gritted his teeth and lashed out, catching the King a heavy blow as he brought up his sword just in time to avoid being beheaded. "I have my reasons. But you'll forgive me," he lashed out again, forcing the King to duck his blow, "If I do not discuss them with you."
The King shrugged, his face impassive. The next moment, his massive sword nearly cleaved Jareth in two, but the Goblin King twisted to one side at the last minute, slicing at the King's exposed shoulder as he did so and drawing first blood. The other man staggered, but recovered quickly and again his sword swung in a deadly arc that caught Jareth in the side. The Goblin King restrained a groan. He could feel a trickle of blood from the wound work its way down his ribs. Crippled, the fighters drew back, breathing heavily.
"Yield to me, Goblin King, and you will have riches far beyond your imagining."
"I have no need for them." replied Jareth shortly. "You know what I want."
The King of the Dead feinted, then sought to impale Jareth as he slid just out of reach.
"Yield, and you would not see my kingdom again for thrice as long as one of your ilk."
Jareth slashed viciously at the King, forcing the other man to use his wounded shoulder again and again. "You can make no bargain with me that I would accept, save one."
The king swung out again but overreached himself, and Jareth thrust his blade several inches deep just under his opponent's arm, at an unprotected chink in the armor. The other man staggered to one knee, and Jareth seized the opportunity to move in. But the King swept one leg out and kicked Jareth's feet out from underneath him. He caught the Goblin King by the throat, his face still without expression as he tightened his crushing grip around Jareth's neck. Both their swords clattered to the ground, forgotten.
"All men yield to me in the end, Goblin King."
"As will I." Jareth fought for breath. "But not, I think, today." Ignoring the pain that tore at his side, he withdrew the dagger from his boot and brought it swiftly down.
Back in her room, Sarah woke, jolted out of her dreams by a sharp stab of pain in her heart. She shoved aside her tangled sheets, gasping for air and tumbling out of bed onto the floor. Hoggle, Sir Didymus, Ludo lying ill in his cave... she remembered it now. But what of the cold and the darkness? She recalled only flashes of images, a desolate road, a cavernous hall with a vaulted ceiling made of human bones...the clash of metal upon metal until sparks flew. Somewhere in her mind's eye, she could see a white owl flying blindly into the wind, its breast stained with blood. The despondent fury in its screech sent fear like a wave of ice down to her very bones. Sarah scrabbled upright in horror and ran to the window, expecting to see the bird battering against the glass.
There was nothing but the silent winter night.
But as she looked outside on the ledge of her window, three bright drops of blood bloomed crimson in the snow. Sarah muffled her scream with the sleeve of her pajamas and fell back, almost knocking the potted plant off the windowsill. But it too had changed. Where there was nothing but dirt and the peach pit now grew a tiny, an almost perfectly formed tree with a single blossom blushing deep pink at its heart and petals fading to pearly white in the moonlight. Before Sarah even knew what she was doing, she stretched her hand toward it.
"I wish..."
She didn't complete the thought out loud, but a thunderclap shook the room and in a flash, she was gone.
As you might guess, the events do not take place in chronological order, although I'm reluctant to call the parts with Jareth a flashback since it's more complicated than that. Deciding how to put together this chapter and the two different story threads was a difficult challenge. If you have any ideas or suggestions for how it could be better done, feel free to speak up.
As usual, comments/reviews are welcome.