Seven

Chapter 10: Haven of the Exiles

"Open your eyes, young fellow. That's it. There now, just relax..." the Wiseman's voice was soothing as Jareth looked up through the blurry blue haze and into the old man's whiskered face.

"Where am I?" he whispered weakly.

The old man smiled. "You're home," he told him. "I found you out on the plain and we brought you back to the castle."

"We?"

The Wiseman pointed up at the imps that were hovering in the lower rafters and Jareth shuddered. This was the second time those wretched creatures had carried him to his bed. No, not his bed, he thought. Sarah's bed.

Sarah... The thought of her drove an icy shard of iron through his heart and soul. She was gone. She had tricked and cursed him and had left him chained there.

"Sarah," Jareth moaned and tried to sit up. The room spun around and he fell back against the pillows with an anguished groan.

"You mustn't try to move," said the old man. "You've been through quite a lot."

"Hpmh! I'll say," squawked the Wiseman's hat. "Not that we didn't try to warn you."

"Be quiet!" the Wiseman bellowed. "Our young friend here needs our compassion, not gloating."

"Leave me," Jareth told them both. "I don't need anything but to be left alone."

The old man shook his enormous head. "Forgive me, young Master, but I can't do that," he replied. "It is my duty to care for you and see you back to your full strength. You exhausted yourself almost beyond recovery."

Jareth closed his eyes and sighed at the memory of what had happened. Sarah had disappeared and he had tried to follow, but was held fast by the curse and by the heavy amulet upon his breast. He was bound for eternity to this place of decay and waste and shadow.

"Why didn't you just leave me there to die?" he asked in despair.

"Tut-tut," said the Wiseman as he pressed a bowl of thick red liquid to the young man's lips. Jareth sipped the liquid and it was sweet on his tongue, but burned in his belly.

"That's a good lad," the Wiseman said gently. "This is no time to despair, my friend." He patted Jareth's arm and smiled. "We'll need you to be at your full strength," he continued. "There is much to do."

"How can you say that?" Jareth challenged as he moved to prop himself up on his elbow. "Do you even know what happened? That woman...that...Sarah... She tricked me."

"Big surprise!" the hat chimed in and the Wiseman gave it a smack with his withered hand.

"I know what happened," he told Jareth kindly. "But let me ask you a question. If you were given the opportunity, would you choose to act differently? Would you destroy her?"

Jareth remained silent. He knew he would most likely make the same choice all over again, even knowing the full truth.

"Sometimes," the Wiseman told him, "an answer can be both right and wrong. Sometimes there are no answers at all."

"That's a big help to me now," grumbled Jareth.

The old man chuckled. "You talk as if there is no hope for you, young Master."

"Well there isn't, is there?"

"Of course there is. There's always hope," replied the Wiseman. "You just can't give up before you find it."

"But look at me!" Jareth cried. "I'm a waste! I've been laid low and bound to land of death and decay and utter ruin. I am a ruin!"

The old man leaned down and looked Jareth in the eye. "No, you are not a ruin," he said quietly. "You are a new being, young and wild and full of new magic. You are your own hope, Jareth."

"I don't understand."

"I'll show you," replied the Wiseman. He fumbled with the ragged folds of his cape and produced a tiny sprig of green. It had been carefully removed from the stale ground and transplanted into an earthen pot. He held the little plant out for Jareth to see.

"What is it?" Jareth asked.

The old man caressed the little sprig. "It will be holly," he answered. "I found it where you fell."

"But the dwarf said nothing grew here..." Jareth mumbled, confused. He studied the scrawny little plant. It was no longer than his pinky finger, but it was deep emerald green and sturdy.

"Take it," instructed the old man, pressing the pot into Jareth's hands. As soon as he touched it, he felt the magic thrumming in his fingertips. He stroked the tiny sprig and it danced under his touch.

"Sing to it," the Wiseman told him.

Jareth looked up at him questioningly, but didn't refuse. He brought the small plant close to his lips and breathed a simple song over it.

Spring, little magic sprig

Climb my castle walls

Cover o'er with green and red

Wherever darkness falls

Wind, little wisp of green

Wind about my tower

The needles of your pointed leaves

Can pierce the cursed power

As Jareth sang, the holly sprig jumped to life, twirling and spiraling upward. Long tendrils shot outward from it and glossy leaves with clusters of blood-red berries unfurled from its branches. The old man watched in delight as the plant grew and danced to the magic in the song.

"How is this possible?" Jareth asked him. "The book said that the land was under a curse of death."

"No," answered the Wiseman. "It said that the sorceress was cursed to dwell in shadow and decay. As long as she remained, the land was cloaked in darkness and devoid of light and new life. You have released her and bound yourself in her place. This land is yours to command, Jareth. Yours to transform."

Jareth stared in wonder at the shimmering new life in his hands. If what the old man said was true, it was in his power to restore the land and make amends, but it would be an enormous undertaking. The sorceress had spread her darkness far and wide and deep into the earth.

"Restore your own strength before you attempt to restore this land, young Master," the old man told him. "It will take a lot of magic and a lot of time." He took the still-growing holly sprig from his hands and set it on the table next to the window where it wound its way up the side of the dark castle.

Jareth's eyes grew heavy again as the elixir the Wiseman had given him began to take effect. He lowered himself onto his pillow, closed his eyes and fell into dreams of a shining land of gold light and verdant forests surrounded by a twisting magical maze.

Slowly, Jareth regained his strength. The Wiseman plied him with fortifying potions and elixirs and saw to it that he rested adequately. His chest ached from the fresh wound to his heart, but as the strength of his magic grew, the pain of it lessened. It became a dull ache in his breast, a bothersome twinge. It was a small bruise to his ego, nothing more.

After much rest and preparation, Jareth set about transforming the land left in his care. The magic, he discovered, was in the music. He sang over the darkness and it fell like faded curtains at his feet, letting in the light and revealing the bright colors that had been covered over. He let his songs sweep through and around the castle, gathering up the blackened bits of curses and dark spells. He sang from the tower window and the wind rose up to match his voice, carrying the magical overtones across the plain and into the rocks and mountains beyond.

The imps watched in great distress as the darkness was lifted and light began pouring over the land and into their shadowy dwelling. They shrieked in agony as the brightness blinded their eyes and burned their leathery skin.

"Have mercy!" they cried to Jareth. He looked up at them, startled that he understood their anguished cries.

"Why should I have mercy on the likes of you?" he asked them angrily.

One quivering imp swooped down and bowed itself before him. "We are servants, my Master. We do only what we are commanded. Please forgive us and have mercy. Dispel the light and leave us to our shadows!"

"No," answered Jareth in the tongue of the imps. "This place has lain beneath the shade of evil for far too long. I have power to transform this land and I will do so." He looked down at the cowering creature. "However, I shall transform you as well."

The imp remained bowed before him as he stretched out his hand and let the magic flow from his fingertips.

"You will no longer fly in the dark," Jareth said as the imps' wings disintegrated into dust. "You will crawl and hobble and creep in the fertile dirt and the warm light. And you will serve me."

The imps clambered down from the rafters and lowered themselves before him. Their long wiry bodies became thick and squat. Their glowing yellow eyes grew large and dull, accepting of the new light.

"Tell us what we have to do," the newly formed goblins cried.

"You will guard and defend this land," Jareth told them. "You will protect and obey me. If you dare defy me, I will make you suffer. Do you understand?"

The goblins nodded and gruffed and groveled at his feet until he finally shooed them away and returned to his work.

Day by day, little by little, Jareth tore down the shroud of evil that the sorceress had thrown over the land. He collected all the putrid remnants and deposited them into the marshlands near the forest. The swamp churned and bubbled with the fetor of the decaying dregs and cursed refuse. Slimy fingers of foul residuum clawed at the soggy banks, desperate to escape the festering bog. This place would need a watchman, a guard to oversee and make certain that none of the vile fragments ever broke free. Jareth sought out the little fox-knight.

"I am setting you as Watchman over this bog," he told Sir Didymus. "It is full of evil things and none of them can ever be allowed to escape. Make certain nothing ever leaves."

"Yes, Your Majesty," answered the knight, sweeping into a graceful bow. "Nothing and no one shall pass without my permission."

Jareth looked down at the fox, amused. "Your Majesty?" he asked.

"Yes, of course, Sire," replied the fox as he stood up. "You are the rightful Sovereign of this land now. You are our king."

Jareth smiled a little to himself as he walked away. If he must be bound to this place, he could do worse than being hailed as its ruler. He would be their king, if that's what the creatures wanted, and they would be his loyal subjects.

"How do you like my garden?" Jareth asked the dwarf. He had seen little more than the back end of Hoggle since his work of restoration had begun. This day however, he'd managed to catch him as he snoozed under a new plum tree. The dwarf snorted awake and frowned up at him.

"Oh, it's you," he snarled.

"You may address me as Your Majesty," snapped Jareth. "I asked you a question, Hogbrain."

Hoggle grunted and turned his head away. "Those overgrown fruit bats might have claimed you as their king, but I haven't," answered Hoggle. "As for your garden, it's not much consolation for you selling us all out to that no good-"

He wasn't allowed to finish. Jareth snatched him up roughly by his arms and thrust him against the trunk of the plum tree.

"How dare you, you ungrateful little scab," he hissed into the dwarf's face. "Have you forgotten who I am, what I've become? I am your Master now and you will obey me or, so help me, you will pay dearly!" He released the dwarf and let him fall to the ground with a thud. "Is that perfectly clear?"

"Y—yes, Your Majesty," Hoggle stammered as he rubbed his bruised backside.

"Good," Jareth said with a smirk. He waved his hand and a riding crop appeared in it. He studied the leather crop as he continued, pacing purposefully around the dwarf. "I need a gardener. Are you up to the task, Hogsnout?"

"Hoggle."

"Whatever. Do you accept this position or do I have to further convince you?" Jareth asked, glaring down at the dwarf and tapping his riding crop against his thigh.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I mean, no! I mean, I accept. No further convincing needed," Hoggle gushed nervously, adding a clumsy bow.

"Excellent," Jareth replied. "You may begin immediately. I'd like the young laurels at the castle's edge trimmed and shaped into my image."

He winked and disappeared, leaving a fuming Hoggle alone under the plum tree.

Jareth soared, letting the wind lift his snowy wings as he surveyed his kingdom from above. The darkness of the curse had been pushed to the outermost edges, leaving a bright, if not still somewhat ragged landscape behind. There was still a great deal of evil magic lurking in the unexplored passageways and tunnels below the plains and forest. Jareth had left those for the most stupidly courageous goblins to deal with. He provided them with a contraption of his own design to clean the tunnels, and they spent many gleeful hours tearing through the passageways, ripping and shredding the dark remnants and funneling them into the Bog.

As he glided over the newly purged land with his shadow grazing the fresh fragrant grass, he saw that his kingdom needed more. It stood open and unprotected and his rag-tag army of goblins would do little against a true invasion. He owed it to his subjects and the land to which he had willingly tied himself to make sure they were protected from forces on the outside.

Swooping down, Jareth circled the castle tower and perched himself upon its pinnacle. He looked out over the rolling plains and forests and marshland and was reminded of the dream he had had while he was recovering. The land had looked much like this, but had been encircled by an enormous maze, a magical maze full of dead-ends and trap doors and illusions. Jareth smiled to himself. He would build a spectacular maze around his kingdom that would serve as protection for him and his subjects and as a deterrent for would-be invaders.

It took him several months to plan, design and draw out the labyrinth. It would take him much longer to build. Using the magic of his music, he moved stones and trees and vines and hedges, laid bricks and cobbles and sculpted pathways. The process was exhausting, especially the Song of the Stones. He could only do a bit at a time without draining himself. Remembering the happy singing of Ludo's beastly family upon his return, Jareth revisited them and taught them the Song of the Stones. The huge beasts gathered on the plain and sang and the stones moved quickly, falling into place wherever Jareth specified. The walls of the labyrinth rose bit by bit over what had been the soggy plain. They stretched out in seemingly endless paths to the horizon. The maze twisted and turned and angled and arched, leading anyone lost within its glistening walls on a never-ending journey of despair.

When it was finally complete, Jareth looked out his kingdom and his creation. The goblins had begun building a city of their own outside the castle gates. Tilted dwellings and small shops were rising up along the crooked streets. Beyond the goblin city, the wondrous labyrinth spread out in all directions. Between the city and the stone maze, a green maze of hedge had been carved out by the dwarf. The dead forest beyond had burst forth in a wild array of trees and plants and flowers and the forest floor crawled with strange new creatures. Jareth smiled at what he had built. It would serve him well. It was good.

The tiny twinge beneath his heavy amulet reminded him of what he had lost, but he pushed the ache aside. He was the king of this land, and it would serve as a place of refuge for all lost things and creatures. He would rule over the forgotten, the outcasts, and the wished-away. This kingdom would be the haven of the exiles and he would be its Master. He was the lord of the labyrinth.

Jareth, the king of the goblins.

A/N:

I've tried to tie up all the little things we see in the film here: where the goblins came from, Hoggle's dislike of Jareth and his knowledge of the Goblin King's name, how Sir Didymus ended up in the Bog of Eternal Stench, why Ludo calls rocks and the origins of the labyrinth itself.

For those of you waiting to see the sorceress get her comeuppance, stick around for the Epilogue!

*Don't ask me about the chickens. I don't know how they got there and any speculation will likely turn into that question about the chicken and the egg and NO ONE should go there. Ever.

Next: Epilogue- The End of the Beginning