Wisdom…and Wild Things
The Storyteller was as old as the trees through which he wandered. Older still, according to some, though no one knew quite when he had begun, or indeed how. Many believed that he had simply always been, lingering at the edges of Time itself, a constant presence, though only rarely acknowledged or even detected. Beholden to none, he came and went as he pleased, presenting himself only to whom he wished. While he had been known to occupy himself with many things, his primary interest lay always in the collection and re-distribution of stories. Momentous or mundane, written, spoken, or simply implied, he gathered them all up and remembered them always, putting them down in his famous Little Red Book and keeping them safe with him until he could one day carry them to those who needed them most.
He was never picky in how he came across a story, but it would have been a lie to suggest that there was nothing the Storyteller loved more than witnessing them as they happened, living their rhythm and breathing their cadence. That was why on this particular day he meandered his unhurried way through a forest as grand and mysterious as the Labyrinth to which it belonged, his long legs carrying him almost soundlessly over moss covered stone and under low hanging branch. Many would consider such a place dark, grim, and forbidding with its ancient trees, all gnarled branches and twisting roots, growing so close to one another that their canopies wove tightly together above and allowed only enough light to filter through to illuminate the multitude of glittering spiderwebs cast carelessly about like so many items of faded and discarded clothing. As out of place as he might have seemed there, the Storyteller felt quite at home, and indeed, the forest seemed almost to welcome his presence. Breathing deeply of the Labyrinthian air, the Storyteller smiled gently to himself. It had been a full thirty Aboveground years since last he'd had reason to be here, and he took great pleasure in his return. Of all the worlds he had wandered and all the marvelous things he had seen, this one would always be closest to his heart. It was a culmination of all the things he liked best. The simple and the complex; the meek and the grand. All came together in the Labyrinth.
Listening in the stillness, he could hear the reason for his return drawing nearer, voices gaining strength and clarity in the sun streaked gloom as the new Champion and her dragon companion wended their way through the trees.
"But, that just doesn't make any sense!" the girl was saying, her voice laced with equal measures of exasperation and amusement. "How, after so many eons, can it be possible that your Underground Elders still have no idea how to measure time-flow between my world and this one? If they've really been aware of the conundrum since the very Beginning, somebody ought to have figured it out by now…."
"Well, they haven't," Bartimeo II answered impatiently. "And it's certainly not for lack of trying. I know it doesn't make sense, but you must remember, Thursday's Child, that this is a world where everything seems possible, and nothing is what it seems. That is the clearest explanation you shall ever receive on the matter."
The Storyteller stepped casually behind a tree and took on the stillness of a statue, his great height allowing him to peer through the dense foliage in the hopes of stealing a glance at the girl without giving away his position either to her or the dragon. It would not do for her to be made aware of his presence…not yet. He could just see her there, a diminutive, dark-haired young woman, arms flung wide for balance as she tiptoed gracefully along the spine of one of the many great tree roots that protruded from the rugged earth. The girl's face was angled away from him, lending only a glimpse of her profile, but even at this distance the Storyteller could tell that her brow was furrowed.
"A world where everything seems possible, and nothing is what is seems…." the girl repeated after a moment. "But…wouldn't that mean that everything is actually impossible? If everything seems possible and nothing is what it seems…it would suggest that everything must be the opposite of what it seems. Therefore, if everything seems possible, it's actually impossible."
"It would seem that way," the dragon librarian replied, his scales flashing their iridescence as he leapt and glided from branch to branch ahead of the girl, guiding her on.
"Ha. Very clever," said the girl. "Alternatively…or rather not, if we're applying the same logic…if it seems like everything is actually impossible, then wouldn't everything in fact be possible? Since nothing is what it seems?"
"The answer will always be yes…and no."
"But that's a paradox!"
"Quite right. And at the same time, not even close. Didn't you read the book? If you did, you should know all you ought about this world."
A confused frown was audible in the girl's voice as she hopped down from the tree root and disappeared from the Storyteller's sight. "I don't see how. I always thought that the story was meant to be sort of prosaic. Allegorical, you know? Like the Labyrinth was maybe a representation of the soul's journey, mimicking life with its pitfalls, dead ends, and surprise turnings. I thought that the Goblin King was just a metaphor for temptation, or the Devil, perhaps. A manifestation of the dangers of self indulgence and foolish decisions. It never gave a descriptive account of him, either personally or…or physically." The subtle scarlet under-shades of embarrassment in the girl's tone set the Storyteller to smiling, and he jotted down a sentence in his Little Red Book with a stub of old pencil.
If Bartimeo noticed the girl's brief awkwardness, he graciously ignored it. "Your observations are surprisingly astute, Lara. You impress me. Be that as it may, it is quite obvious that you have failed to grasp the meaning of the story in its entirety."
"What?!"
"I apologize if I have disappointed you…. Perhaps by your journey's end, you will understand fully."
"But, I want to understand now."
Bartimeo chuckled at this. "All in good time, little one. You cannot hope to understand before you're ready."
The girl's only reply was a disgruntled humph, but only the briefest of silences was allowed to grow before a new question was on her tongue. The corners of the Storyteller's eyes crinkled with his smiling as the voices of girl and dragon began once more to fade, and five more perfect sentences joined the pages of his Book. After leafing back through his scribblings for a swift re-examination of all he had gathered for this new Story, he reached into the left front pocket of his faded trousers and withdrew a small object folded carefully in an aging square of bright green cloth. Unwrapping it, he revealed a shard of clearest crystal, about the length of his palm and the width of two of his lanky fingers. When he held the shard out to catch one of the blades of light that filtered down through the dark canopy, it reflected prismatically through the crystal's depths, illuminating a multitude of golden fractals therein that then began to shift and bend, weaving themselves together to form the gilded image of this story's second protagonist. Oh yes. Second protagonist. The Storyteller had little doubt in his ancient head that this tale was as much about the Goblin King as it was young Lara Tyler. He watched in sympathetic contemplation as the king wandered slowly through a room blanketed in dust so thick that his footprints were clearly visible on the floor behind him, his brow furrowed in troubled concentration and a massive book tucked under his arm. Poor Jareth. If only he knew what the future held….
The Storyteller folded the shard in its cloth, stuffed it back into his pocket, and added seven words to his Little Red Book before stepping away from the tree against which he had been leaning and making his careful strides through the forest once more.
Oh yes, this was going to be a fine story for his collection…. And so much of it yet to be told.
—x—
Jareth read and reread the sentence thrice over, failing each time to rouse his wandering mind from its numbness and retain the information there imparted. He dared a fourth attempt, met the same result, cursed under his breath, and skipped to the next paragraph. Reading, either casual or purposeful, had never been a pastime that he took much pleasure in. He told himself that he only did so now in order to investigate possible causes for all the strange happenings in the Underground (and not in attempt to shrug off the beginnings of a near obsessive interest in a certain frustrating young girl.) He hoped to uncover some pattern in History, or perhaps some prophecy or legend that could shed some light on the meanings behind these dark omens…but as yet he had discovered none. Nothing beyond the promise of trouble, darkness, and death in the future…but had there ever been a time when such things were not on the horizon?
Jareth's eyes were beginning to burn with the strain of his focus (Is it coming time for some reading glasses, old boy?) and the tediously graceful Fae Gaelic runes on the page were giving him a headache. At long last, he gave it up as a bad job and closed the massive book with a thump, propping his elbows on the desk and sinking his head in his hands. He knew that he should have enough self discipline to persevere, to educate and prepare himself for whatever may lie ahead. But…it was rather pointless for him to try, wasn't it? Today of all days…. Who could blame him?
Jareth exhaled and raised his head, steepling his long fingers beneath his chin as he allowed his gaze to drift about his father's study, over walls lined with books, tapestries, portraits…taking in all the grand trappings and furnishings which really ought to have been preserved under the cover of dust sheets. Oh, the dust. It was terrible. So thick that he could see his own solitary footprints in it on the floor. Just how long had it been since he had wandered into this this particular room? How long had it been since he'd last closed those doors? Jareth ran a finger over his father's desk, examined the once splendid mahogany that shone through the trail left in the dust, and frowned. The state of the place really was bordering on the disgraceful…. He used to have servants here, lower ranking people of the Aos sì who had tended his castle with grace, skill, and devotion, but he had sent them all away long ago for reasons he had not the strength to revisit. The goblins had rather taken over since. Jareth knew he shouldn't have allowed such chaos in the home of his father, but the goblins, stupid as they were, infuriating, ugly, and obnoxious as the were, were all the company he had…and he needed them. While one might observe the Goblin King's isolation and think him a solitary figure, this was not the truth. Inside, the king was eaten up by loneliness. He yearned for someone intelligent to talk to, someone to listen to, someone who might comfort him when he was in pain. He wanted someone to argue with, someone to impress, someone to share in the things that delighted him. That he might once have shared it all with Sar…with the last…no.
Not there, Jareth…. Not today. Think of something else. Redirecting his attention yet again, Jareth allowed his eyes to settle on the old pianoforte in the corner…. He wondered if he could still play it. Rising from his seat, the king crossed the room and stood before the instrument, reaching out to strike a single key. The crystal note rang through the silence like a voice from the past. Hollow and bitter and cold. It sounded like her. He struck the note again. And again.
Give me the child, it whispered. You have no power over me, it said.
Jareth squeezed his eyes shut against a cacophony of feelings that threatened to blind him, to drown him. Why wouldn't she leave him be? Why couldn't she grant him peace after all these years? Damn that voice... Damn that voice...that face...those eyes.
Look at you... Who would have thought that a king could be reduced to such as this? And by a girl, no less? He opened his eyes in confusion. Oddly, the voice that now rose from the depths of his imagination to admonish him was that of Lara Tyler, not her predecessor. It was Lara's form he could picture there, leaning casually against the pianoforte, not the last runner's. If only this new Champion knew just how feeble and incompetent her opponent was... He could almost see her smirking at him. What's the matter, Your Majesty? the apparition asked, resting a hand smugly on her hip. Why can't you say her name?
He had no answer for her, and this made the imaginary girl chuckle and shake her head.
Poor Jareth... Go on. What can it hurt? She smiled at him then, almost encouragingly. Say her name. Say it out loud.
Strangely, Jareth found himself obeying. "Sarah," he whispered aloud.
Imaginary Lara's eyes brightened and she nodded her approval. With a clever wink, she vanished, leaving him with a name on his lips that had not been there in nearly thirty years. He closed his eyes.
"Sarah, Sarah." Oh, that name. He had expected it to pierce his tongue when spoken out loud, to sting like nettles, to writhe like snakes…and yet, it did not hurt him near as much as he thought it would. It did not set him ablaze with the rage, guilt, humiliation, or…or longing that he had feared. While it did wake a trace or two of melancholic nostalgia in him, he was surprised to find there intertwined a sort of resignation. An acceptance, and perhaps the potential to bear what had happened with something like grace. "Sarah…" he said again, and a little smile began to tug at his features. "Has your power over me finally begun to wane? Can I let you go now, truly?" The silence that answered him brought him a strange sort of peace unlike any he had known in a very long time. And he realized quite suddenly that, however indirectly, he had young Lara to thank for it.
The king took a seat at the pianoforte and began to play. A new song poured forth from his skillful, if lately unpracticed fingers...one laced with starlight and curiosity, one that whispered and danced like the stirring beginnings of a summer storm.
—x—
"Waaah!"
"What is it?!" Bartimeo cried, returning to my side in a heartbeat, hackles raised and wings fanned impressively in preparation for whatever danger he may be about to face.
Laughing at myself, I pointed out the reason for my exclamation. "Nothing, Bartimeo, nothing... He just startled me, that's all."
The dragon's golden gaze followed my gesture, and when his eyes landed on the cause of this sudden interruption he exhaled a shower of exasperated yellow sparks and shook his head. "Is that all? You scared me half to death, fool girl! I thought we were under attack!"
I grinned an apology and returned my attention to the thing that had startled me so. A face had appeared there in the gloom of the forest through which we had been traveling. A face made of forest, consisting of curving branches, strategically placed stones, and careful lines carved in living tree bark. These natural features, when perfectly aligned, rendered the image of the Goblin King. For a moment I was mesmerized, in awe over the cleverness of the sculpture's design. A step in either direction and the image was invisible once more. It was absolutely brilliant. Placing my hands on my hips, I scrutinized the face a moment, allowing my eyes to trace its curves and angles. Such a noble face. Such a handsome face…. It mightn't appeal to everyone, I knew, but there was just something to those gracefully aquiline features...something about the set of his eyes and the shape of his mouth that I found terribly alluring. Unbidden memories of our last encounter floated back to me like smoke on velvet wings and I found myself reliving the sensation of the reassuring strength in the arms that had bourn me from danger, the softness of a silken shirtfront pressed against my cheek, the lingering fragrance of magic...of leather...of charcoal...of sage. My heart gave a frightening flutter in my chest and a cold rush of horror brought me rudely to my senses. Ah, cripes, not again, Lara!
"What an arrogant face," I snarked, employing perhaps a bit too much venom in attempt to disguise my embarrassment. "So arrogant he needs bloody effigies dotted around his Labyrinth, eh? And why? To keep his subjects trembling? To promote his misplaced ego?"
Bartimeo was watching me with a curiosity that bordered on amusement.
I raised a questioning eyebrow. "What?"
"Taken a fancy to him, have you?"
"What?!"
"He must be heavy on your mind if his mere image can drum up such a passionate reaction in you."
"P-passionate reaction?!" I stammered, trying and failing to discourage the blush of color that flooded my cheeks. "It's anger you're seeing. I'm passionately reacting in violent hatred because I hate that poncy git!"
The dragon clicked his tongue in disapproval. "He doesn't deserve such disrespect, you know. He's only playing his part."
"He's a puffed up, glittery, flamboyant jerk."
"And you are petty, childish, and impulsive, Thursday's Child…it ill becomes you."
I was completely guilty as charged, I knew I was, but I still had to bite my tongue in order to keep from blurting something along the lines of 'I am not impulsive!' or some other equally impulsive statement.
This internal struggle of mine didn't escape Bartimeo, who winked a golden eye in approval. "You're learning. Come along." The creature took wing again, gracefully leaping and gliding from branch to branch as he had done before.
I followed, chewing my guilt bitterly. Perhaps I should have left the matter alone, but I felt that my actions and motivations demanded explanation...I wanted to prove that I wasn't so petulant and childish as perhaps I seemed. "The thing you have to understand, Bartimeo, is that I'm forced to view him in such hostility. Fate has thrown us against each other, and as it's indisputable that I have the moral high ground in this particular story, I have to acknowledge him as the villain."
"You are bold behind your sharp tongue, but I wonder if you would be so quick to name him 'villain' if you knew…." He trailed off.
"If I knew what?"
He was silent.
"Bartimeo, if there's something you know…. If there's something important that I'm not grasping, you have to tell me. Please."
The dragon landed on a branch at my eye level and scrutinized me a moment. "There is much more to him and his position than you realize, Lara."
My natural response would have been a biting retort, but a prickling in my subconscious silenced me. He was right. Of course he was right. I was blinding myself to truths I did not want to acknowledge by insisting upon upholding this fiery image of hatred, this childish vendetta. What hope did I have in completing this challenge if I couldn't set aside my pride in favor of wisdom? The dragon was obviously waiting for a repartee so I offered him the truth. "I...know. I know there is. And I don't actually...you know."
"You don't what?"
I sighed, not in defeat, but in resignation. "I don't actually hate him. I want to, but I don't, and it makes it hard for me to stay focused on who he really is to me. How am I supposed to defeat him if I allow empathy to cloud my judgement?"
The dragon's eye softened. "You think empathy a weakness, but you fail to understand that it is actually the perfect weapon. Now the strength of your position opposite His Majesty is greater than ever before."
"Just because I don't hate him?"
"Exactly."
"I don't understand." It was beginning to startle me, just how easy it was to admit my own naïveté...
"You will when it matters most." The dragon tilted his head in a gesture for me to follow and took flight once more, allowing a brief silence for his words to sink in before beginning to speak again. "And now I will tell you a thing or two that may surprise you... The Goblin King was quite young when he assumed the throne. Too young in fact, but he gained the position under exceedingly rare circumstances, and, though reluctant, he has done the best he can and proven himself admirable."
"What were the circumstances?" I asked, brushing aside a curtain of gilded spiderwebs as I ducked beneath a low branch.
"That is another story altogether, and it is not my right to tell it…. Just know that not only was he very young, but he assumed this role in a very difficult time in history. The power of science Aboveground was on the rise and attracting more acolytes day by day. Wishes had already begun to wane at an alarming rate, and by the time our Goblin King ascended to the throne, they had all but ceased…. Too many Abovegrounders had lost their faith in concepts beyond that which they could touch and see. And, Lara, the Underground is a world that exists only through such faith. It lives and breathes almost exclusively according to human belief. Can you imagine what a terrible thing it would be to dwell in the knowledge that your very position in existence is dependent upon such fickle creatures? That you may at any moment dwindle into nothing, should enough of the people Above stop believing? And there is nothing His Majesty can do about it but wait and pray to hear a wish. As it happens, only eight have been made since his ascension."
"Including my niece's?"
"Including hers."
"How many of the other seven chose to run?"
"Three."
I frowned slightly. So few... "And how many prevailed?"
"Only one has succeeded since the third century AD."
"Only one?! Who was it?"
Bartimeo cast a glance over his winged shoulder. "Your predecessor."
"My…. So the last Runner was victorious?"
"Indeed. The first victor in 1600 years…and the only victor during the reign of our current Goblin King."
That meant the Goblin King had suffered defeat in the last Challenge. His first defeat. Somehow, this made all the sense in the world, though I wasn't quite sure why yet. "What can you tell me about the last Challenge?"
"The last wish was made some thirty Aboveground years ago. A young girl, only slightly younger than yourself, Lara, wished her baby brother away. She regretted her decision, and immediately claimed her right to run the Labyrinth. After facing many a peril and overcoming many a trial, she was victorious."
"And I take it the king didn't handle defeat well…." I tried not to feel too smugly satisfied at the idea.
"His Majesty was…greatly affected by the loss. Truth be told, he fell into a despondency that many feared he would never recover from."
Despondency? Him? "He took it that badly? Are you serious?"
"Completely."
"Why?"
"Only the king could tell you for certain…. But I'm sure you could guess why."
Oh, I could. Of course I could, but rather than blurt it outright, I chose to seek confirmation for my suspicions. "What was she like? My predecessor?"
"Honestly? If reports are to be believed she was quite the wonder. Bold. Clever. Headstrong. Not quite so abrasive as you, but, like you, possessing all the qualities of a Champion. I've heard it said that she was very beautiful. Raven haired with eyes of green. Brimming with grace, youth, and purity."
There it is. Of course she was a beauty. Heroines are supposed to be beautiful, aren't they, Lara? Not scruffy little mud ducks like you…. "He was in love with her, wasn't he?" I said quietly. Where was the point in dancing around the obvious?
"In a sense, I rather think that he was," Bartimeo mused. "Thought perhaps 'smitten with' might be the more accurate term."
I nodded. Of course. Of course he was. Hadn't the book said as much? But the king of the goblins had fallen in love with the girl…. Forget that part, did you, Lara? Or were you simply ignoring it? I took a moment to scan my memories, reliving my every interaction with the king in careful search of the traces of pain that must lurk behind his demeanor. A broken heart…it made all the sense in the world. Poor Goblin King... This revelation should't have affected me so, but I found to my extreme displeasure that it drummed up new feelings of sympathy for that darned magician, sympathy that went hand in hand with a strange sort of hollowness in the pit of my stomach. I've heard it said that she was very beautiful….
"How very quiet you've become, Thursday's Child," Bartimeo said, interrupting my train of thought. "What troubles you?"
"I'm not troubled," I muttered, failing to convince even myself of the fact.
The dragon clicked his tongue. "Matters of the heart…. A curious study, don't you think?"
Look out. He's onto you, Lara... "I'd rather not study it at all," I said dismissively, if a bit too quickly, wrapping myself in a protective cloak of nonchalance. "Besides, it's creepy. He's got to be about a million years old! Forty at least. And you said the girl was younger than I am! Thats's quite the age gap."
"You point out the obvious, Thursday's Child, but once again you—"
Raising a hand, I halted him mid-sentence. "I've missed the point. I know. We've exhausted this topic. Let's talk about something else."
"Why? You were all too keen on the subject a moment ago…."
"Tell me about the Labyrinth instead."
The dragon stiffened. Ha. That shut him up.
"It's alive, isn't it?"
He twitched his spiny tale in discomfort. "She, Lara. She is alive."
I pressed my attack, pleased that the conversation was heading towards more favorable territory. "Why does she want me to succeed? Particularly if there's already been a victor?"
"Why don't you ask her yourself?"
I blinked in astonishment. "How am I supposed to—"
"WHOOPEEE!" My sentence was brutally murdered as the heretofore peaceful forest erupted in a sudden burst of manic activity. Some mad creature exploded out of nowhere and landed right in front of me, startling me so badly I tripped over backwards and crashed gracelessly to the mossy earth. When I tried to sit up I found myself almost touching nose to tip with a wickedly rugged looking sword.
"Stick em up, Lady!" The creature holding the blade was by far the strangest I had ever seen, even in the Underground. Initially, I would have said that it was the mutant child of a lion and a flamingo set ablaze. It was all elasticity and energy, sporting skin of bright pink and a wild mane of orange, yellow, and red. It had long, skinny arms and legs, a tufted tail, huge, batlike ears, and a pointed, wolflike face with wild glowing eyes and a wide, grinning mouth full of rather sharp looking teeth. I had no idea what that thing was, but I did know that I was very uncomfortable with the fact that it was brandishing a deadly weapon in my face. Its crazy appearance and manic demeanor suggested that the last thing this creature should be in possession of was a sword, and such a familiar looking sword at that...right down to the cracked ebony handle and the broken belt tied around its...wait a minute.
"Hey!" I said. "Isn't that my—"
"Woo!" My sentence was interrupted yet again as another creature bounded on the scene and proceeded to shout in my face. "Hey, Lady! Long time no see!" He grabbed me by the arms and hauled me roughly to my feet, startling me with his deceptive strength. "Guys! Look who's here!"
"Lady!"
"Lady?"
"Hi, Lady!"
Soon the area seemed to be swarming with the creatures. I tried to count the fiery bodies, but I soon became dizzy and disoriented as they cavorted about, calling out greetings and clapping me on the shoulders like we were old mates.
"Hey, you got a haircut since we seen you last!" one of them cried, ruffling my already disheveled hair and laughing.
"And a nose-job!" called another.
"Ain't yo legs shorter too?" said yet another, reaching out with spindly fingers to try and tickle my knees.
"Back off, weirdo!" I shouted in frustration, only barely keeping this side of panic as I tried to aim a kick at the offending creature. "I've never seen you before in my life!"
"Careful, Lara," Bartimeo warned from a tree branch high above. "Those are Fireys. They're every bit as careless as they are unpredictable."
"Oh, great!" I grumbled, trying to wrestle my way free of all the chaos. The creatures swarmed and swirled, bouncing and dancing, never keeping silent and NEVER keeping still.
"Hey! Guys!" one howled. "Since the Lady's back! We should have a paaaarty!"
"Yeah! Let's Dance!" another cried, grabbing hold of my hands and beginning to spin us in haphazard circles, singing what might have been a pretty song if it hadn't been for his obnoxiously boisterous tones.
"There's such a saaaad love deep in your eyes
A kind of paaaale jewel—"
I managed to prize my hands from the creature's. "No. No, I don't like dancing, thank you very much." Catching sight of the one holding my sword, I began to move toward him. "But that's mine…. May I have it back, please?"
"Yeck! Did she just say please?!" he screeched, drawing himself up and pretending to be sick all over his companions.
"And thank you?!" cried another.
"What naughty language!"
"Ladies isn't s'posed ta talk like that!"
"Lara," Bartimeo called gently, fortunate in the fact that the Fireys were largely ignoring him. "Let's go. There's no getting anywhere with these creatures..."
While I would have dearly loved to make an escape, my attempt was foiled when the Firey holding my sword, the First Firey, leapt to bar my way, pointing the blade at my face once more. "Not so fast!"
"Put that down!" I demanded, but the creature just grinned and twirled the thing mockingly.
"Make me!"
A deep annoyance began to prickle at the base of my skull and I balled my hands into fists. "Alright, listen, chucklehead, if it's coarse language you want, you'll get it! Give me that sword, step aside, and let me pass."
Far from obeying, the creature took to laughing. "Hey, Lady, you can't boss me! You ain't tha Queen."
"Yeah, listen to youse talkin like tha Queen," sneered one of his companions.
"Maybe she's wantin tha sword so she can be tha Queen!"
"Well, I gots tha sword, so that means I'm tha King!" crowed the First Firey.
"You ain't tha King!" another protested.
"Sure am! And I'm tha wildest king you ever saw!"
"Nah, you still ain't as wild as me!"
"Hey, youse don't talk to tha King like that!"
"That's a crime! Off with his head!"
"Off with his head!"
"Alright, cat, you asked for it! Off with yo head! Woo!" The First Firey took a great swing toward his companion's neck.
"No!" I cried, but it was too late. The blade separated the creature's head from its shoulders, sending it tumbling away to land in a patch of grass. I stared in horror at the bodiless cranium, the vacant eyes…the lolling tongue…the…the absence of blood?
The head blinked, shook itself, and began to laugh. "Hey! I think I lost a few pounds!" To my absolute disbelief, the head's body stumbled its way over, scooped the head up, and proceeded to bounce it against the ground like a grotesque sort of basketball.
The First Firey howled his laughter and brandished the sword aloft. "Who's next?!"
"Enough!" I shouted. "Enough fooling around! Give me that before you hurt someone."
"Lara, please!" Bartimeo called again, more urgently this time. "You can't be certain that the wretched thing won't try to take your head off with that blade. Let's go and leave them to their games."
Ignoring the dragon's warnings, I asked, "Where did you get that sword, Firey?"
"What sword? Oh, you mean this sword?" The creature acted as if he meant tickle my ribs with the sword point, forcing me to jump backwards to keep clear.
"Yes, that sword!" I snapped.
"Haha, stole it."
"From whom?"
In that instant, before the Firey could even reply, a new voice split the air, shrill and breathless. "Give that back! I's supposed to give it ta tha Lady!" I whipped round to witness yet another figure bursting on the scene, this one small, dark, and sporting a little helmet.
"Clutch?" I cried, half bewildered.
"Lady!" the goblin screeched, eyes going wide with disbelief as he recognized me. Before I could reply, the little devil barreled forward and flung his arms around my knees in a crushing hug. "You's okay! Clutchy's been looking everywheres for you!! But he couldn't find you! Thought you was dead, so I was gonna go take sword to tha king and tell him what happened, but tha Firey's got it!"
"Yes, Clutch," I said, trying to pry the little fellow's arms off of my legs. "I can see that…."
"What peculiar company you keep, Champion..." Bartimeo smirked down at me from his branch above. I shot him a glare as I finally succeeded in freeing myself from the goblin's grip of iron.
The little devil seemed oblivious to the dragon's presence and took to wringing his hands and hopping from foot to foot nervously as he watched the Firey's fooling about with the sword. "Majesty gonna be so angry when he finds out that Clutch lost your sword. 'Clutch,' he says, 'take this to girl at eleventh fountain.' But Clutchy couldn't find tha eleventh fountain! He's been looking all over and...I...oh." He trailed off mid-sentence, his eyes widening in horror.
A flare of rage and disbelief surged through me as I turned a flaming gaze on the suddenly tongue-tied little cretin. "What did you say?"
If the goblin could have paled, he would have. "I-I mean…."
"You've been working for the king?! I knew it! I knew I couldn't trust you, Clutch, you little traitor!"
Clutch quailed under my gaze like a thief condemned. "I…yes, Miss. I's been workin' for Majesty. B-but, Clutchy doesn't wanna hurt Miss Lady! Ya gotta believe me! Clutchy only helpin' tha king cuz he's scared of tha Bog! And scared of makin' Majesty angry…."
"Oooh!" grinned the Firey's as they gathered in a tight circle around us once more. "He's a traitor!"
"Off with his head!"
The First Firey began to advance, raising my sword in both hands with a dangerous gleam in his wild eyes. Instinctively, I stepped in front of the little goblin. "Touch him and you'll pay!"
"Pay?" The creature looked confused. "I don't got no money, though!"
"No money?" crowed another. "Tha king gots ta have money! You ain't got money? That's a crime. Off with yo head!" A scuffle broke out amongst the Fireys, heads, limbs, and tails flying about at random as they clamored for possession of the sword, fortunately drawing their attention away from me and the cowering goblin behind me.
"Clutch sorry, Miss Boss…." Clutch whimpered, avoiding my gaze as I turned to face him. He removed his little helmet and began turning the thing over and over in his hands, revealing the full cacophonous tangle of black hair that had been hidden underneath. "Clutch deserves all sorts o' beating!"
An unbidden smile tugged at my lips at the sight of the pathetic little twerp. He was doing a really terrible job of presenting a formidable image. Come now, Lara...you suspected this from the very beginning. You knew he probably couldn't betray his king on his own accord. What kind of threat could he possibly pose now that you've found him out? It's not like you need him to guide you anymore. Besides, look at him...he's adorable. How could anyone stay mad at such a cute little weirdo? "Clutch, I forgive you."
"I…what?" He raised his gaze to mine, his eyes wide.
I knelt beside him and placed a hand on his goblin shoulder. "I haven't got time for long discussions, but I forgive you on the condition that you help me defeat this Labyrinth instead of trying to cause me to fail. Understand?"
"But-But if Clutch doesn't lead Miss Boss a-shtray King'll throw Clutch in tha Bog!"
I gave a wink and an encouraging smile. "You think I'm going to let him do that?"
Clutch just blinked in astonishment, his little mouth opening and closing like a gasping fish.
"Stick with me, Clutch. I'll look after you…. But right now, I'd like to get my sword back."
"Lara, you don't need that sword…." Bartimeo said.
Rather than argue the fact that I did indeed need that sword, I stooped, picked up a sturdy looking branch, and began to advance upon the Fireys carefully. "Last chance, boys. You'd better give me that sword."
The First Firey grinned dangerously and pointed the sword at my face. "You's gonna have to take it from me, Lady…."
Just as I was prepared to launch a furious and hopefully disarming attack, yet another Firey burst on the scene, squealing and waving his arms maniacally.
"Guys, guys, guys, we gotta split! The B-Man's comin' and he's lookin' real cranky!"
"The B-Man?!"
"Woah!"
"Let's skidaddle!"
Astonishingly, as quickly as they had appeared, the creatures began to flee, scrambling clumsily over each other in a wild panic and screaming all the while. The First Firey dropped the sword without a second thought and took off after his companions, calling, "Keep tha big knife, Lady!" over his shoulder as he raced away. "You're gonna need it!"
I gaped, thoroughly confused and wondering just what in the hell he could mean. Wondering just who the B-Man could be...
"Wretched creatures," Bartimeo spat stiffly, glaring after the retreating Fireys with contempt in his golden eyes. "Empty headed and imbecilic..."
"What do you suppose frightened them off?" I asked, frowning suspiciously as I bent to retrieve my sword from the forest floor.
It did not take long at all to discover the answer…
Author's Note: Boo-yah. The Thirteenth Chapter. And behold, it is my longest, most chaotic chapter to date! I hope none of you are too confused...annoyed...or bored.
Now then, for purpose of interest, I've given Lara a trim which can be seen described in full in chapter 4. Initially, her hair was long enough to braid, but as I've gotten to know her over time, she's informed me that long hair doesn't really suit her at this stage in her life. It barely reaches her shoulders now...it's a bit scruffy, but not quite pixieish...resembling, perhaps, the feathers of a disgruntled bird.
To those of you who have the patience to persist in reading this mad tale of mine: I admire and appreciate you more than I can say. Bless you all, my Readers... There will be better chapters to come. Please don't give up on me just yet.
See you soon,
FireDancer
P.S. This upcoming Monday marks 32 years since we lost our beloved Jim Henson. This story is for him.
Jim, you helped to shape my childhood, and you continue to fill my life with joy and magic through your enduring creations. I can never thank you enough. I hope you can see just how much we love and miss you.
