Chapter 3: The Greatest Magic

The chamber was still pitch black and bitingly cold when Jareth awoke and stretched his aching arms and legs. Outside the small arched window of his cell he could hear the heavy splashing of raindrops against the stones of the dark fortress. He rubbed his sore muscles and stood in the murky chamber and tried to peer out the high window. The sky offered no clue to the time of day; all he could see were black clouds and falling rain.

On the opposite side of the room, the iron locks clicked and slid back and the enormous door swung open. The sorceress leered at him from the open doorway.

"Did you rest well, pet?" she questioned, raising an ebony eyebrow.

"Well enough," Jareth answered nervously.

Sarah laughed and pulled at his unseen leash. "Come with me then," she told him, leading him out of the damp cell and up a winding set of stairs. She could have just as easily transported them magically, but it was much more enjoyable for her to drag the pathetic naked human around. She looked back at him and smiled. He walked with his head down and his shoulders hunched, the portrait of shame and humiliation. His lowness filled her with wicked glee.

After what seemed like an eternity of stairs and twisting corridors, the sorceress ordered him to stop and Jareth looked up. They had entered a large room hung with velvet curtains the color of freshly drawn blood. Two spindly imps were waiting in the shadowy chamber, holding what appeared to be an assortment of garments. Jareth's feet froze to the floor at the sight of the imps, but the sorceress yanked hard on his leash and he stumbled clumsily forward.

"Gwiv and Drang will clothe you, pet," she told him. "After you are dressed you will take breakfast and I will give you your first task." She motioned to the imps and they bowed their heads to her before creeping toward Jareth. "Don't keep me waiting," the sorceress commanded before disappearing from the room.

Jareth's body tensed as the creatures took hold of his arms and slipped a dove grey linen shirt over his head and shoulders. The material fell gracefully over his form, soft and light as downy feathers. The imps chattered to one another in high-pitched squeaks and chirps as they dressed him, pushing and pulling on his arms and legs and jostling him about. As they haphazardly yanked a pair of buttery soft black leather pants up his pale legs, one of the imps dragged its claws over Jareth's flesh and he let out a yelp. Startled by his cry, the imps covered their pointed ears and backed away into the corner. Jareth cursed and bent to examine the stinging wound. The skin around the cut glowed red and the gash itself was pulsing out a scarlet stream of blood. Jareth grabbed a piece of cloth that was lying on the floor and wrapped it carefully around the wound before pulling the leather pants the rest of the way up his legs. He didn't dare keep the sorceress waiting for fear that she would take his tardiness as an act of defiance and deny him his chance to free himself. The imps shuffled back over to him and handed him a black embroidered waistcoat which he hurriedly shrugged into. He fastened the large black belt the imps gave him next before pulling on a pair of knee-high leather boots. When he was dressed, the imps led him up another twisting staircase and into a long hall where the sorceress waited at the head of an ornately carved table.

Sarah studied Jareth's attire appreciatively, noting the pleasing way the soft billowy shirt lay open revealing his pale chest. The leather pants clung to his legs like a second skin, accentuating his lean thighs and the curve of his buttocks. She smiled her approval, nodding to the imps, and they seated Jareth at her side. They placed a plate of bread and cheese in front of him, but he eyed the food warily.

"Eat, my pet," Sarah cooed. "I assure you this food is safe for you to eat. I have no wish to harm you. You promise to be so entertaining after all."

"I am not your pet," Jareth said quietly, not looking up from his plate.

"Aren't you?" asked Sarah with a wicked grin. "You're my plaything then," she chuckled. She looked at the pitiful human at her side and shook her head. "Very well, how would you prefer I address you?"

"By my name," answered Jareth, at last venturing to take a bite of bread. It was warm and sweet and he hungrily ripped off another piece and shoved it into his mouth. The cheese was delicious too, soft and salty and pungent. Jareth ate heartily, pausing now and then to take a gulp from the glass of deep wine the imps had brought him. Sarah watched in wonder as her captive devoured the food. She never ate much herself and found it amusing that such a puny creature could consume so much bread and cheese. At last, Jareth pushed the plate away and sat back in his chair, sated.

"I'm glad to see that you have eaten well, my p—Jareth," Sarah told him. "Are you ready for your first task?"

"Yes," Jareth answered with a slight nod. His eyes shifted nervously from side to side and Sarah could tell he was trying to be braver than he felt. She couldn't help but smile at his vain attempt.

"Tonight," she began, "You will sing me a song about the greatest and oldest magic, the most miraculous of feats ever performed. You have until sunset to discover this magic and compose my song. I will also allow you the freedom to venture outside the castle while you work. You may go to the first gate, but not beyond. Any attempt to escape will result in you forfeiting the challenge and belonging to me forever." She sat back in her chair and let her words sink in.

Jareth stared straight ahead as he mulled over the task she had given him. It was an almost impossible challenge. He knew nothing of magic or miracles. He was a mere mortal musician. He hung his head and sighed and the sorceress grunted.

"I hope you won't give up so easily," she whispered in his ear. Jareth looked up and was surprised to find himself on a grey plain outside the castle. The rain had ceased, but angry clouds still hung heavy over the land, drenching it in damp darkness. Sarah regarded him coldly as he looked up at the sky, then to looming gate ahead of him, then back at the castle. "Time is short," she hissed. "You shouldn't spend it gawking."

"I—I don't have my guitar," Jareth mumbled. The sorceress frowned and with a flourish of her ghostly hand produced a crystal sphere. Jareth watched, hypnotized, as she wove it back and forth in the air from her palm to her knuckles and back again. The crystal began to shimmer and before his eyes it changed into a sleek guitar. The instrument was an evil looking thing, glossy black with a studded leather strap. Its tapered neck was inlayed with slivers of blood-red rubies along the fret markers and the head stock was carved into a grinning death's head. Instead of the graceful curves and smooth lines of his own worn guitar, this one had sharp angles and jagged edges. The sorceress held the sinister instrument out to him and he hesitantly took it from her. He swept his fingers over the strings and winced. The strings were sharp and bit into his fingers, drawing blood from his fingertips despite his calluses.

"You have until sunset, Jareth," the sorceress reminded him. "You had better get started."

She disappeared before Jareth could reply, leaving him alone on the soggy plain beyond the castle.

Jareth shrugged and carefully slipped the guitar strap over his shoulder so that the instrument rested against his back. The hard angles of the instrument dug into his shoulder blade as he trudged down the slippery path toward a hilly area near the dark gate. His leg still burned from where the imp had scratched him, making the sloggy trek even more difficult. At last he reached his destination and stopped. Shrugging off the black guitar and setting it aside, he sat down against the wall and looked up at the sunless sky.

"How am I supposed to figure out this challenge?" he asked the clouds. "I know nothing of magic new or old, great or small. I'm beaten before I even begin." Jareth leaned his head back against the stone wall and closed his eyes in despair.

"Well, you won't get anywhere with that attitude. That's for certain," said a gruff voice.

Jareth's eyes snapped open and he jerked his head up, looking around for the source of the voice.

"I'm over here, you big nincompoop," the voice called. Jareth looked to his left and saw a small brown dwarf gazing at him with his stubby arms crossed over his chest.

"What are you staring at?" asked the dwarf. "Ain't you ever seen a dwarf before?"

"No," Jareth told him honestly. In fact, he'd never seen anything quite like this dwarf.

"Hmph!" grunted the dwarf. "Well, now you have, so kindly move along. I'm trying to work." He bent over a patch of turned earth and poked and prodded it with a fat finger.

"What exactly are you working at?" asked Jareth.

The dwarf straightened himself and looked at him. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm planting. It's what I does. I'm a gardener."

Jareth looked around at the barren and soggy hillside. Besides a few half-dead trees and some wicked looking ivy, there weren't any plants to be seen.

"Where is your garden?" he asked, somewhat amused.

"Here!" cried the dwarf. "At least it used to be here." He kicked at the ground, sending clumps of muddy earth flying in Jareth's direction. A blob of mud spattered across his shirt leaving flecks of ochre over the grey linen.

"It ain't no use!" wailed the dwarf. "Nothin' grows here anymore. Not since that evil witch took over."

"The sorceress?" questioned Jareth.

"That's the one," the dwarf answered crossly. He pointed his finger at Jareth. "Don't you be fooled by that pretty face. That one's the devil," he said.

"Oh, I'm well aware of that," Jareth told the would-be gardener, adding a bitter chuckle.

The little man shook his head sadly. "Got you already, has she?" he asked. "Well, at least she ain't made you into one of them disgusting winged things she's got up there in 'er castle. Them's evil, I tell ya. I seen two of 'em make off with a whole horse once. Carried it right off and gnawed it right down to the bones."

Jareth shuddered. He was already terrified of the imps and the dwarf wasn't helping matters. He tried to change the subject.

"The sorceress has given me a challenge," he told the diminutive man. "Tell me, do you know anything about magic?"

The dwarf grunted again. "If I did, I wouldn't tell ya. No sir. I ain't crossing that evil bitch. Anyways, I don't. Like I told you, I'm a gardener. Only magic I got is making things grow." His weathered face grew sad. "At least I use to could," he added wistfully.

Jareth patted the little man on the shoulder. "I'm sorry," he told him.

"Bah," grumbled the dwarf. "Ain't no use for you to be sorry. Won't make flowers grow." He settled onto the ground next to Jareth and grabbed a handful of dirt in his chubby hand. "I use to love flowers," he sighed and studied the clump of dirt. "Nothing grows in this cursed soil now, not even worms!" He threw the clump of dirt down with a thud. "No life here anymore," he continued angrily. "No plants, no creatures 'cept them imps and few others stranded here like me." The dwarf spread his hands out over the hillside. "This land used to be crawling with life," he told Jareth. "But no more. Now it's just a wasteland. In fact, I ain't heard of a single creature being born here since that horrible woman came to power."

"Not a single birth?" Jareth asked incredulously.

The dwarf shook his round head. "Nope," he answered. "Not a one."

Jareth sat back against the wall and sighed. "What a horrible fate for a land to be stripped of its fertility," he thought sadly. New life was essential for any land. Without it, after a while all that would remain would be dust and dried bones. Nothingness. Birth was, after all, the greatest... Jareth stopped mid-thought. It couldn't be that simple, could it? He turned to the dwarf who was sitting forlornly beside him, gazing out the muddy wasteland.

"Do you have a name?" he asked quickly.

"What?" asked the dwarf, his eyes growing wide.

"I asked if you have a name," Jareth repeated.

"Hoggle," answered the dwarf.

"Hoggle," began Jareth, "would you say that birth is the greatest of all magic?"

Hoggle rested his chin on his wrinkled fist and thought for a minute. "Hmmm," he said. "It certainly is a great trick, makin' another life outta just a little piece of a him and a her, or puttin' a seed in the ground and gettin' a peach tree or a squash or a blackberry bush."

Jareth clapped his hands together with glee. He had the answer! Now he had only to compose the song. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed the menacing guitar.

"Where ya goin'?" Hoggle asked as he turned to leave.

"I have to complete my task now, Higgle," he told him.

"It's Hoggle."

"Yes, well thank you, Hoggle. You've been most helpful." He slung the guitar over his shoulder and started off down the muddy slope."

"Hey!" Hoggle called after him. "I told ya my name. What's yours?"

Jareth paused and turned back to the little gardener. "Jareth," he answered with a smile. He waved to the dwarf and set off to compose his song for the sorceress.

Jareth worked throughout the rest of the day, weaving the words together and setting them to music. His fingers were stained red from the biting of the guitar strings, but he strummed on, determined to finish his task. By the time he was satisfied, the sun was dissolving into the horizon. As the last red streak sank into the curve of the earth, the sorceress appeared.

"Have you a song for me?" she purred, circling the man with the guitar like a lioness about to go in for the kill. Her ebony robes billowed out behind her as she stalked him.

"I have," Jareth stated flatly. He looked up at the sorceress and gave her a smug smile.

Sarah halted in her pacing and glared down at him, tempted to strike him down for his insolence. She decided against it; he was of no use to her dead. Instead, she waved her hand and she and Jareth were transported back to her dark boudoir.

"Then, by all means, sing," she commanded before taking a seat in her enormous throne-like chair.

Jareth looked up warily at the ceiling where the imps flapped and fluttered and chattered to one another. He took a deep breath and tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. Straightening his back, he resolutely grasped the black guitar and drew his bloody fingers over the strings. The chord echoed sweetly around the room and above him, the imps stilled. Pleased, Jareth opened his mouth and began to sing.

In the secret and hidden places,

In the deep dark heart of the earth

In the warm, wet womb of a mother

Lies the magical mystery of birth

One small piece of a creature

One hard stone of a peach

One brief stay in the darkness

Then upward and outward to the breach

To the light that is fleeting but wondrous

To the life that is fragile and frail

To the grindstone, the mill and the table

Each to the end of its tale

The bud presses up from its soil bed

The tree rises up from the clay

The man bursts forth from his mother

To stand in the glory of day

The room fell silent as Jareth's voice faded out and he damped the humming guitar strings with his open hand. He looked up at the sorceress, who was sitting stiffly in her chair, her hands firmly crossed over her lap. The slight tremor of her fingers didn't escape his notice.

"Does my song fulfill your request, my Lady?" he graciously asked, bowing.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably in her seat, awaiting judgment from a power beyond hers. She felt it come in a loosening of the unseen chains around her ankles. The chains fell away and she almost cried out in joy, but held herself in check. Jareth could not know the truth. She looked at where he stood waiting for her answer. His face searched hers anxiously, and she narrowed her cold eyes at him.

"Yes," she uttered at last. She came near to laughter at Jareth's audible sigh of relief. He fell to his knees, still clutching the guitar, and she could see the exhaustion overtaking him. She felt a twinge of pity for him, but swallowed it back down like bile.

"You have earned your bread tonight, Jareth," she told him, rising from her chair. "Eat and rest. You will be issued another challenge in the morning."

Sarah motioned with her hand and a chaise lounge with black satin cushions and pillows appeared. A table set with an assortment of sliced meats, a plate of dark brown bread and a goblet of sweet wine materialized beside it and Sarah directed Jareth to sit and eat.

He did as he was told, flopping gracelessly onto the chaise lounge and grabbing at the meat and bread. He ate hungrily for several minutes before his head began bobbing up and down with drowsiness. Finally, he left the food and stretched out on the chaise lounge, quickly falling into a deep sleep.

Sarah crept quietly to his side and studied his face. He was beautiful and he had broken the first of her chains, chains she had been unable to break herself despite her mastery of dark arts. She glanced up at the thick black book on the table and smirked.

"You won't hold me much longer," she hissed to it.

Beside her, Jareth stirred and she gazed down on him as he slept. A droplet of wine still clung to his lower lip and she swept it away with her forefinger. She looked at the scarlet droplet for a moment before touching it to her tongue, tasting its sweetness mingled with the salt of his skin. Her body quivered at the sensation and she cursed herself.

"Don't be a fool," she chided. "The human is a key to your chains, nothing more." She extinguished the candles with a wave of her hand and strode purposefully out of the room, leaving Jareth to his dreams.

Next: The Greatest Treasure

A/N:

Long chapter, I know. They'll likely be long from here on out.

I want to hear from you, dear readers! Let me know what you love, what you hate, what confuses or annoys you.

If you want to play with the prompt, be my guest. It's fun! Seven songs, seven days, Queen Bitch Sarah with a human Jareth at her mercy...what's not to love?

Thank you, my darlings!

Fanny