Author's Notes: Whew. This was a tough one, requiring several rewrites before I was happy with it. This too, might be a tad confusing because the story seems to jump around a bit. Without trying to explain too much, let's just say that the last incident in Chapter 17 threw things in the Underground into a bit of chaos. Don't worry how people got where they are, because maybe it isn't even real. Or maybe it is. What happens is more important than how.
I mentioned that the story was going to get a little darker. I guess you could say that begins here...
Chapter Eighteen: Nightmares and Dreamscapes
It was a dream. She stood on the banks of the river Merandanon at night, watching the flames of a bonfire as it leapt higher, licking the lower branches of the trees. A drum was beating and someone was playing a fiddle, something that scraped and wailed with discordant abandon, and all around the bonfire were masked dancers. Dressed in robes of flowing white and gray, they tore at their clothing in grief, and yet the sounds that issued from their throats was wild laughter, like the howling of jackals. Sarah shuddered to hear it, and hugged herself for warmth. The whole scene seemed both real and unreal, and she could feel someone's latent power all around, weighty and oppressive.
A cold hand on her arm made her jump, and she gazed up into an ivory mask with a gold and silver sun disc painted on the forehead. A woman's throaty voice spoke from behind it, framed with masses of flaming red hair.
"It is time for the dance."
She pulled Sarah by the hand into the circle of dancers, and Sarah found herself jumping and twirling in time to the beat, unable to stop. Everywhere she turned, more painted faces leered at her, caressing hands that stroked her limbs softly as she moved through the crowd. A slender youth with brown curly hair and bold eyes behind his velvet mask swung her around by the waist as if she weighed nothing. Cool lips brushed the inside of her wrist and she trembled. He was a stranger, Sarah reminded herself. She would've never let him get so close if this had been anything but a dream...
"Come live with me and be my love," he murmured, "And we will all the pleasures prove..."
Sarah recognized the poem immediately like a dash of cold water. "A honey tongue, a heart of gall..."
The youth struck his heart as if mortally wounded. "Ah, lady! I fear you have vanquished me. What brings you to this place if you seek not a lover?"
"I'm looking for..." Sarah hesitated. What was she looking for?
Her partner laughed at her confusion. "He will not be so easily caught, I think."
He stole another kiss, this time lightly on the back of her hand. "Such a pity..."
With that, he handed her off to another partner, disappearing into the crowd. Sarah looked after him in vain.
Everywhere a mask, thought Sarah. Yet I wear none. But she was not entirely alone. As she whirled from one partner to the next, she spied an unmasked face in the shadows beneath the trees, too indistinct to identify. Standing tall in the dark, a man dressed all in black kept his distance from the maddened frenzy of the crowd. She twisted this way and that, trying to catch another glimpse of him. Her current partner leaned in and Sarah found the red-haired woman holding her hands once more.
"Do you desire him, little one?" her breath was cool on Sarah's neck, and she shivered.
Sarah tore her gaze away from the man in the shadows. "I don't know him."
The woman smiled. "Do you not?"
With surprising strength, her partner twirled Sarah faster and faster until she grew dizzy. They spun in increasingly wider circles, until the woman released her with a low, musical laugh. Sarah was thrown roughly into the man's arms and the momentum carried them to the ground in an awkward tangle. Her forehead knocked smartly against his chin, and Sarah landed with a yelp of dismay, forcing an undignified grunt from her companion. She found herself looking down into a pair of furious and all-too-familiar eyes.
"You." Jareth was cold, angry.
"You." Sarah did not feel surprise, only relief. Of course she'd been looking for him. It had been Jareth all along. "I made a choice..."
Jareth appeared not to hear her. With one hand, he tried to yank her off himself by the back of her shirt, but he was lying on her hair and Sarah let out a squeak of pain and protest. The struggled silently for a minute to free themselves with limited success. Finally, the Goblin King gave up and lay flat on his back, amusement and bitterness fighting it out in his voice.
"It seems that no matter where I go, I can never quite escape you."
Sarah untangled herself hurriedly. "Where are we?"
"It is a dream." The Goblin King sat up and looked uneasily at the dancers. "One of death and darkness."
"Then why not change it?"
"You assume I have the power to do so." he replied sharply.
Sarah plucked a twig from her hair. "You assume you don't."
Jareth glared at her. "If this were my dream, I would hardly be stranded in a forest sitting in a pile of wet leaves with you."
"Then what would you choose?"
"Anything but this." Jareth ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "I saw my own death in this dream."
Sarah sat forward intently. "What... what was it like?"
"What do you think it was like?" The Goblin King asked with a dark look. "How would you feel, watching a funeral procession and finding out it was your own?"
Sarah repressed a shudder. "But it can't have been real."
"Oh?" Jareth said. "I can no longer be sure of what's real and what isn't. I'm not dead. But perhaps I am. This is a dream... or so it seems. For all I know, it's one of your making."
Sarah merely looked at him. The Goblin King had dark circles under his eyes and was pale with exhaustion, but he was alive. Fierce exultation sang through her veins. For a moment, she didn't care if this was real or not. They were here. That was all that mattered.
Finally, she shook her head. "Death and darkness have no part of my dreams."
"Strange. They have always haunted mine."
There was no time for caution. Sarah reached up and before Jareth could stop her, she laid her hand on his cheek. "And do you dream of me at all?"
Jareth shifted suddenly, and Sarah found herself shoved aside. "You ask too much." he said tersely, getting to his feet. He looked down at her, shadows once more on his face.
"You should have left when I gave you the chance, Sarah."
Sarah faced him, strangely serene. "I couldn't."
"Could not, or would not?" countered the Goblin King. "You are forever claiming not to have choices. I suppose that makes it more convenient for you to do as you will."
"If I choose, at least I make my own path." said Sarah. "I refuse to sit around and wait for the future to come to me."
"Indeed not. You would rush headlong toward your doom, dragging all of us with you." Jareth turned to leave, but she caught him by the arm.
"You said you saw what your fate would be, that you tried to stop it." she said insistently. "There was one thing you could have done, and I would have never found my way through the Labyrinth, never beaten your game. Why didn't you do it?"
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"But I do. If I was the end of your world, there was a simple solution."
Sarah tightened her grip on the Goblin King's arm and drew closer. Far from protesting or pulling away, he seemed unable to move, unable to break away from her intent gaze. Only the rapid clenching and unclenching of his jaw betrayed his agitation.
"If I hadn't lived, I never would have come here, the Labyrinth would've never been in danger. You could've killed me and that would have been the end of it."
The Goblin King's body was taut, tensed as if for flight. "It wasn't that simple."
"But it could've been." Sarah looked at him searchingly. "Even if you didn't want blood on your hands, you could have simply done nothing when I called you. You could've let me die."
There. She felt it, a palpable flinch.
"Then it is true." She released him. "I was in danger, just as Hoggle thought, and you fought for me when you could just as easily have let me go. You saved me, even though you knew what that would mean for this world. Why?"
"I can't answer that." Jareth's voice was hoarse, and his gaze darted again to the dancers.
"I need you to answer it."
Tell me, her eyes implored.
Jareth's pulse pounded ever faster, until he thought his heart would burst from his chest. "Sarah, do not..."
"Please."
Her hand slid down his arm to seize his wrist, and her touch on his bare skin set him afire. He could never think when she touched him like that.
"I--"
Hoggle paced back and forth at the top of the western tower once, bundled in a heavy cloak made up of hundreds of hides. Judging from the size of the pelts and the smell, he strongly suspected it was made from rat skins, but he dared not ask. Beneath it, he held a small bronze brazier with a few hot coals in it, and it was the only thing keeping him from freezing solid.
"My entire life," he grumbled, "And I've never climbed more than a flight of stairs. Then I climb to the western tower twice in a single week. Didymus, you'd better have a good reason for dragging me up here."
Sir Didymus' only concession to the cold was a jaunty yellow scarf and a matching pair of mittens, which he wore with with his usual flair. He appeared fully recovered from his watery ordeal, for which Hoggle was quietly grateful.
"We keep watch, my friend." he said, grandly gesturing to the scenery below. "It will not be long."
"If you mean the end of the world, I agree." responded Hoggle with a growl. "And it will come all the sooner for us if we stay up here in this wind."
"Verily, you do jest!" chuckled the little knight, oblivious to Hoggle's glares. "It is not for that we must keep vigilant."
"Then for what?"
"That I do not yet know."
Hoggle sighed and chafed the end of his frozen nose. "Keeping watch is going to be a lot harder if we don't know what we're looking for."
Not that they lacked sights to see. Although cold, the air was clear and in every direction the land was blanketed in ice. From here, the ruins of the the King's tower was a snow-covered mound, and the streams of water from the flood had frozen into rivulets that glittered like black diamonds. Even the thorn vine was sheathed in ice, and when the wind blew, they clattered together with a sound like crystal bells. Hoggle might have thought it beautiful if it were not so deadly.
He glanced at Didymus, who was again turning the small, cloth-wrapped bundle over and over in his hands. Earlier, he'd half-persuaded, half-bullied the little knight into showing him its contents, which Hoggle had suspected anyway. Didymus refused to let it out of his sight, and wouldn't allow the dwarf even to hold it.
"That pendant of Jareth's," he said casually. "What does it do?"
The little knight looked up, startled. "Why, nothing. At least, nothing I know of. But his Majesty has worn it always."
"Then how do you know it contains any magic?" asked the dwarf in exasperation. "It could be nothing more than a piece of jewelry."
"Ah." said Didymus. "A mere ornament it is not."
Hoggle clung stubbornly to his skepticism, and Didymus would say no more. The little knight seemed determined to believe that it contained something, a spark of Jareth's power. But all it did was lie there. It was very pretty, to be sure, and Hoggle's fingers itched to touch it, hold it up to the sun to see its shine. It was certain to be real gold and silver, almost as precious and rare as lovely plastic jewels Sarah bad bestowed upon him years ago...
"Friend Hoggle," Sir Didymus interrupted his thoughts. "Art thou well?"
The dwarf blinked, suddenly aware that he'd been lavishing covetous glances upon the small bundle.
"Fine." he snapped, burrowing deeper into the rather malodorous ratskin cloak. "Never mind me."
"I--"
A dozen reaching hands pulled them laughingly away from the shadows toward the light. Sarah again found herself unable to break free. She could no longer see the Goblin King, but she knew he was nearby.
"It is you, isn't it?" she cried. "Your dream, your--"
She did not get a chance to finish. The dancers set up a loud roar of laughter as if to drown her out entirely. Somewhere, a clock began to chime the hours. One... two...
"It is time!" they cried. "Time and time and time again..."
Three...
A man in a demon's mask seized her right arm while a woman with hair the color of moonlight seized her left. Between them, they tugged her back and forth until Sarah thought she would split in two. Unseen hands in the crowd yanked cruelly at her hair and tore at her clothing.
Four...
"A mortal spy!" they howled, "An intruder among us!"
In the crowd, Sarah could see the young man in the velvet mask she'd danced with earlier, his beautiful mouth now twisted in disgust. The scarlet-haired woman hung on his shoulder, one hand trailing languidly across his chest as she gazed passively back at Sarah.
The woman shook her head, her expression grave. "Such a pity."
Five...
"Stop this," she cried out, "This is your doing, it's not--"
Another hard twist of her arm choked off her words in an exclamation of pain. Slowly but surely, the dancers were pulling her closer to the bonfire. At her right, the Goblin King appeared, looking angry and worn. He struggled to get nearer, but many hands held him back.
"This isn't my doing," he insisted, "There's nothing I can do."
Six...
"I don't believe you," spat Sarah angrily, "Nothing here has happened that you didn't control. You were afraid of dying, and you saw yourself die. I'm asking questions you don't want to answer and then this happens. One hell of a coincidence, isn't it?"
For the first time, Jareth looked uncertain. "That's not possible."
Seven...
"Leaping flames, searing skin," chanted the dancers, "Lift her up, throw her in..."
They were so close to the fire now that Sarah could feel its heat on her face and hear the snap of burning logs. She dug her heels in the ground, struck out at the dancers around her, but it was all to no avail. The laughter of the crowd was more raucous now.
"Don't tell me what isn't possible." she said to Jareth desperately, "Just make it stop. Please!"
Jareth shook his head. He seemed to be struggling with something, a myriad of emotions flickering across his pale face. "It's not me..."
Eight...
"It is you." Sarah said, trying to grab hold of him. Her voice was hoarse from shouting. "It's always been you..."
The crowd had come as close as it could to the bonfire and they lifted Sarah up on their shoulders. Many hands lifted her higher, until Sarah could feel the cool starlight bathe her face, then the terrible crackle of the flames. She covered her eyes, the smoke searing her throat with each inhaled breath. She'd made her choice. Please, don't let this be the end...
Nine...
"Jareth!"
The Goblin King had never felt so helpless. He could see her, just out of reach, her shrieks tearing at something deep inside him. But a tiny part of him held back, a cold, quiet voice that said, You need not interfere. You could do nothing. You could simply... let her die.
Ten...
They were holding her so close to the flames that now he could smell singed cloth and hair, and still she grappled with her captors, outnumbered as she was. She'd fight them until her last ounce of strength, stubborn until the very end, he knew. Sarah would never give up. But this time it wouldn't be enough.
She needed him.
The Goblin King began to struggle in earnest now, twisting free of the grasping hands one by one. If it were true, if this was a fantasy of his making, he would stop it now. It had gone too far. Not far enough... said the cold voice.
Eleven...
No, thought Jareth fiercely. Not like this...
Jareth broke through the crowd, and as he fought nearer the fire, he tugged the glove off his right hand with his teeth. She was just there, just ahead of him. Sarah...
Twelve...
He reached toward her, straining over the heads of the people separating them. Sarah held her hand out as far as she could stretch and he could just brush the tips of her fingers with his own.
The crowd gave one mighty surge like an ocean wave, drawing back for the final push. Jareth didn't care who got in his way now, all around him he could feel bodies giving way. The crowd's laughter crescendoed to an agonized wail, and they drew back further still...
No! Jareth thrust himself forward until he thought his arm would tear from its socket. He grasped Sarah's hand, held it tight in his own in an iron grip...
Thirteen...
...and then the crowd let Sarah go.
With a lurch, Jareth was dragged forward, his vision full of Sarah's eyes, her white face framed by the starry sky. They seemed to hang in mid-air for a bittersweet eternity and he was drowning in her fear and pain.
Ah... So this is how it must be, was his last clear thought before they were both swallowed by flame and darkness.
Author's Notes: I ought to go back and count up the cliffhangers in this story, just out of curiosity. I don't exactly plan it like this, they just seem to occur naturally. Fun, huh?
Reference: The chapter title comes from a collection of short stories by Stephen King. The poetry quoted by Sarah and the masked dancer is from Christopher Marlowe's "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love" and Sir Walter Raleigh's "The Nymph's Reply", respectively.
Comments/reviews welcome.