Hey people. Sorry it has been so absolutely ages since my last update. You won't believe it but my computer crashed and I couldn't access the operating system! I nearly lost everything, including this chapter which I had almost finished. Bad times! Finally got it back today, so have tried to get this out to you as quickly as possible. Thanks to all you lovely people who reviewed the last chapter, especially people who sent me proper reviews...again, you know who you are.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter, please let me know what you think...I love hearing from you.

Oh yeah...sorry for not replying to the last lot of reviews...this was because I didn't have my computer. Will try to be better this time. Promise. *Smiles sweetly.

Hope you enjoy. Love you all. FY.A xxx

In the wake of the Labyrinth's retreat from existence, Jareth felt cold and empty. Squaring his shoulders he stalked forward into the centre of the clearing, seeking with his heart the way to go, searching towards the distant source of his power. His shields let no hint of magic through. Slowly, he lowered his first barrier. Nothing. He lowered the second. Still nothing. He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation before dropping all his barriers simultaneously pulling a crystal from the air, seeking the spiders with his mind. The sight he saw took his breath away.

Sarah was lying unconscious between the large stone front hooves of the centaur statue. Around her, in a circle comprising hundreds of thousands, the spiders had congregated. The snapping of tiny pincers and the glint of millions of malicious eyes, and the haze of evil magic, magic that defied the Labyrinths laws. Jareth's eyes widened in horror as the mists surrounding the statue cleared for a few moments, and he saw what the spiders were doing. The bow of Herne the Hunter was melting, almost imperceptibly as these creatures who had never learned to love him set their one, combined mind irrevocably against his authority. Jareth swore. They were breaking down his protection. They were going to reach Sarah. They were going to reach his Sarah. And they were going to hurt her. Jareth reached for the medallion around his neck, but found it cold and lifeless under his hand. Even as he watched, the centaur's proud head seemed to droop, the stone appearing to course down the muscled torso as the bow shivered against the magical assault of thought. Jareth shut his eyes and reached deep inside himself to the very source of his magic. This was going to hurt.

Sarah was walking through a beautiful green meadow under the sun of Aboveground. She smiled to herself as she knelt beside a clear stream and allowed the water to run over her fingers, cool and refreshing. But her smile was sad, despite the idyllic surroundings. There was an aura of sadness and loss, of momentary peace in an eternity struggle. She felt as if she was somewhere she should not be, she didn't belong here yet. And there was a restlessness, as though of waiting. She leant back and raised her face to the warm sun. The faint sound of singing reached her ears and she rose, turning on the spot to look for the source. Although no-one was in sight, the music seemed to drift nearer, and she laughed aloud as she realised she recognised the words. They tugged at her heart, asking her to understand. It was that old English hymn they had sung once in church on holiday when she had been young.

And did those feet in ancient time

Walk upon England's mountains green?

And was the Holy Lamb of God

In England's pleasant pastures seen?

Sarah had enjoyed the rousing tune, the way the lustily singing voices echoed through the high vaulted ceiling of the ancient cathedral. But she had not understood the words, and her father hadn't been interested when she had asked. As they had left the church at the end of the service therefore, she had shyly asked the aging minister what the meaning of the words was. He had laid his hand on her shoulder, smiling gently at the young American girl who seemed to take a genuine interest in the matters of God. He had told something that shocked her. That the hymn, so well known and widely sung, was not actually written in praise of God, but was in fact precisely the opposite. The song had heathen or pagan connotations, but had been so widely misunderstood that it had found its way into the hymn book despite this. Sarah had gone away marvelling, and when they had reached their B&B had looked up the word pagan in the dictionary. This too had surprised her. The original meaning of the word was villager, those who had worshipped Mother Nature, life and the mystical mythical world of legend. They had been villainised by the church, the word villain itself arising from the old word for villager. They had been made evil. She did not understand why this had become so bad. She did not understand why the belief in the mystical servants of nature and the worship of God had to be mutually exclusive. Could not these servants be the servants of the one true God too?

And did his countenance divine

Shine forth upon our clouded hills?

And was Jerusalem builded here

Among these dark satanic mills?

The voices were much nearer now, and she wondered at their significance. Satan. Prince of Darkness. The fallen angel, who ruled beneath in the Kingdom of Hell. The singing was coming from behind her and she spun round. A group of men was moving through the grasses, wearing white cloaks, hoods pulled low over their foreheads. Each carried a crystal like the ones Jareth frequently conjured and spinning in each was a tiny, lighted figure. They walked with bowed heads and solemn step with the elegance and grace of a single unit. The commanded attention, inspiring in Sarah a deep feeling of power, although also the aching feeling of a deep and inconsolable sadness. The group stopped and as they continued singing the first of the group raised a hand and lowered his hood. His handsome face was framed by thick curly hair of a deep autumn leaf auburn, and his kindly eyes shone like with the clear blue green of forest pools. Curving up from his forehead were the velvet covered pricks of newly growing antlers, and as his sleeve fell back from his hands Sarah noticed the calluses and indentations synonymous with the master archer.

Bring me my bow of burning gold!

Bring me my arrows of desire!

The earthly form of Herne the Hunter smiled sadly at Sarah as he slowly faded from view, his voice echoing into the wind and remaining in its breath even once he himself had gone. The second of the group stepped forward and raised long, pale fingers to the rich, fur-trimmed hood. He was a beautiful fae, blond like Jareth and with the same proud features. A silvery scar ran round his pale throat, surreal in the deathly connotations it held. He looked at her intently, as though trying to convey some secret meaning. Sarah felt as though his voice was echoing throughout her soul.

Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!

Bring me my chariot of fire!

As they sang, he too faded from view. Another hood was lowered, another mystical king. He too was fae, older than the last, though still smooth of skin and clear of eye. His silver hair fell long round his shoulders and his eyes pierced Sarah's in such a way that she could not meet his gaze. As each stepped forward and faded Sarah found it harder and harder to look as she was overcome with guilt that she could not understand their message. And finally only one voice remained. The crystal in his hand looked smokier than the rest, like glass which has only just been blown, and the figure inside was more restless though the singer's voice was bold and clear.

He will not cease from mental fight,

Nor shall your sword sleep in your hand,

Before the hood was down Sarah realised who it was. He did not fit with his ancestors, Sarah realised. Raemon's hair was dark as theirs was light, his spirit as restless as theirs were peaceful. But his gaze was as strong as he stared into her soul, willing the meaning to penetrate her mind. He started to fade, his expression becoming more desperate, pleading with his eyes that she should understand. He had changed the words, she realised. He instead of I, and your instead of my. There must be some significance. Sarah felt something heavy in her hand and looked down. A shining sword of Labyrintian metal with a pearl encrusted hilt. She stared at it in wonder, lifting her eyes to Raemon and questioning him wordlessly. He met he gaze steadily, seeking the realisation in her eyes. Searching for understanding as he too slowly began to fade.

Till we have built Jerusalem

In England's green and pleasant land.

And then, as he finally vanished from view, Sarah understood.

The spiders scattered in excitement as Jareth's voice echoed throughout their minds, strong and proud.

"Spiders!" he called. "Spiders come and face me. I will fight you like a king and I will banish you as I did before, only this time it will be permanent. My cousin was weak, but I am strong. Face me if you dare."

Jareth opened his eyes, breathing heavily at the effort it had taken to communicate with so many. His magic was weak and faraway, he felt giddy and sick without the presence of the Labyrinth, and his head ached from the tension in his telepathic consciousness. The strain of fighting them was starting to wear him down. He knew they would come now. That they would come for him. They would not be able to resist the temptation of a futile challenge from a Goblin King whom they knew to be weak. But he had had to lead them away from Sarah.

His eyes darted from side to side, nerves on edge as he strode silently through the darkness. There was a rustling from behind him and he spun round raising his hand. Fire ignited in a nearby bush and in its first glimmer he caught sight of many eyes, reflecting flame as they watched him, before they blinked and vanished. He turned and set off towards the ancient graveyard, knowing he must lure them to the only place where hope still resided, knowing they would try to stop him. He could feel them tugging on his mind, clawing at the edges of his inner consciousness and he sought to shut his mind to them without using any of the remnants of his magical strength. He strode into an avenue of dark oak trees, the flickering flames keeping pace with him as he sought to use their light and heat to keep the spiders at a physical distance. Halfway down the oak lined corridor, a crumpled figure lay shuddering. Jareth approached cautiously. Lying on the ground was the body of a beautiful fae woman. Her silvery blond hair was stained with the mud in which she lay, while leaves and twigs clung to the torn remnants of her once fine clothes. Her blue eyes were blurred with tears, the pupils dilated so wide as to swallow the irises completely, and her chest heaving as she fought some invisible but blinding pain.

"Jareth," she whimpered, "oh Jareth, my boy, make it stop. Save me Jareth." Her arms reached weakly toward him.

Jareth stood silently for a second, staring down into the dying face of his mother as tears filled his eyes and he swallowed down the constriction that grew in his throat. Eventually he tore himself away, striding on purposefully and summoning up enough strength to address his enemy.

"Come now spiders," he taunted, "surely you can do better than that."

He stalked on, straight backed and proud barely flinching as mentally projected enemies launched at him, brandishing swords before fading from sight when he did not react. These were weak attempts to discourage him. He could see they were not real and they carried on substance or emotion. These were the hollow nightmares that dwelt beneath children's beds in the Aboveground. He, Jareth, King of the Goblins, was not scared of these phantoms. The spiders must have lost their touch in their long banishment from his kingdom. He caught sight of movement up ahead as a band of goblins marched into view. They seemed jubilant, punch drunk on their success as they sang in time with their footfalls, their pockets chinking with the sound of fae gold and their newly acquired Labyrinthian metal armour clanging. The carried spears, held aloft, each telling its own gory tale of the fight these renegade creatures of the Underground realm had just fought. As they drew closer, Jareth stared up into his father's eyes where they stared down sightlessly, his head impaled upon one of the goblin's spears. Jareth's mind fought down the emotions of the day of his father's death, seeking to quell the dehabilitating hopelessness he had felt in the hours after, knowing he was King but seeing no light in the futility of the situation. That, coupled with his own overwhelming grief, had nearly undone him. He battled these feelings now, knowing they held no place in the current situation. He looked up into the dead fae's eyes again, just as he had done all those years before, seeing a shadow of himself as he had been then.

"I'm sorry father," Jareth whispered as he tried to focus his mind and concentrate on where he had to get to. He no longer cared if the spiders overheard his thoughts; they would have worked it out soon enough anyway.

As he made his way into a dark thicket, images of Sarah began to fill his mind. Sarah screaming. Sarah in pain. Sarah burning and screaming his name, begging for his help. Her voice cut him to his very soul, but he did not pause. It's not real, he told himself sternly. But then a cry distracted him. Much more firm, much more real than the last. But not a cry of pain, a cry of passion. Sarah.

Jareth pushed his way into a clearing in the woods, thorns catching at his clothes, and the sight that met him tore at his heart. Sarah was lying on the forest floor, naked on a cloak of deep purple. Her eyes were closed and beside her was Raemon. Jareth watched as Raemon's hand traced down Sarah's body, tenderly caressing her bare breast before travelling on downwards. His hand stopped, his fingers buried between her legs and upon her face was an expression that only Jareth had ever known. Raemon bent his head, swirling his tongue round Sarah's taut nipple as his eyes flicked up to where Jareth stood watching. Sarah's eyes opened and she looked up at Raemon with eyes filled with love.

"I want you Raemon," she said. Her eyes turned to Jareth. "Who are you? I don't know you. I love Raemon."

As Sarah's lips locked with Raemon's Jareth fell to the ground, a cry of anguish escaping him.

"No!"

He lifted his head in time to see Raemon turn and smile cruelly at him as he thrust deeply into Sarah, gasping at the feeling. He ground into her, bending hi head to nip at her ear before turning his eyes on his cousin again.

"You see Jareth?" Raemon's voice sounded. "She is mine. She was always mine. I can do anything. I can even do this."

As he continued to thrust, a blade appeared in Raemon's hand. He laid it gently against her cheek and she moaned at the cold sensation against her flushed and passion filled skin. Gently, Raemon ran the flat edge down her body, between her breasts and lightly over her clit as she moaned and writhed in pleasure. He brought it to her lips, caressing the luscious pinkness before drawing it down her chin to rest against the smooth white column of her neck. Pressing hard, he drew it slowly across Sarah's throat. As the blood started to leak Sarah's mouth opened and she gagged for air, her eyes wide and panicked. Jareth felt frozen to the spot as Raemon dipped his head and put his lips to the wound, sucking gently. He raised his head again and stared at Jareth, his lips and teeth stained red from Sarah's blood. He lowered his head back to the cut, thrusting hard a couple more times before coming, biting into the ragged skin round the wound and worrying it with his teeth. As his passion abated, he faded slowly from sight and at the same moment Jareth felt himself able to move again. He ran to Sarah, splashing through the mud and blood were it pooled in copious amounts, soaking into the forest floor. He looked down into her eyes, watching in helplessness as the last glimmer of life faded from them.

The Goblin King let out a howl as he pulled the body of his love into his arms, her blood staining his clothes as he buried his face in her hair, sobbing uncontrollably.

Sarah's eyes flew open. Everything shone in beautiful clarity. 'And did those feet, in ancient times...' 'Bring me my bow of burning gold, bring me my arrows of desire.' Not the Lamb of God, but the ancient worship. Reality could fade to myth if left and disbelieved long enough. One had been missing from the group he had seen, and she now thought she knew who it was. The first King of the Fae. The founder of the Labyrinth. Sarah scrambled to her feet and looked round. She was all alone. The sword lay between the front hooves of her protector and she bent to retrieve it. She looked up at the centaur and gasped in shock. His bow was gone, as was his strong torso, melted away by the magic of the spiders. In its place was the head of a normal horse. Ears pricked and nostrils flared as though ready for the battle. Sarah stared at it. And then something hit her.

Pain, not physical but deep and cutting. Tearing her apart. But it didn't belong to her. It belonged to someone else. She screwed her eyes shut and summoned up as much of her strength as she could. She knew who it was. She knew it was Jareth. He was in torment, lost and alone. And so she screamed in her head, as loud as she could. Screaming to the Labyrinth for help. She waited. She heard no answering voice and recalled the feeling of the Labyrinth withdrawing. Maybe she couldn't be heard. She thought of Jareth, alone, vulnerable and in so much anguish. She called again. Putting all her strength and all the passion of her heart behind that call. Something shifted. Imperceptibly. And was gone. She looked round. Nothing had seemed to be changed. She leant back against the flank of the horse in hopelessness, resting her head against the point of its hip. It was smooth and silky. It was no longer stone. Warmth and life coursed through the statue as living spread through him and he swished his tail. Powerful wings unfurled as the last shards of stone rippled out of existence. Sarah flung her arms round Elixsyure's neck joyfully. Stroking her hand down his neck she stuck the sword through the belt on her jeans and tried to scramble up, knotting her fingers through his mane as he snorted and tossed his head. As she pulled herself astride Sarah realised that she had stuck the sword through her belt. She recalled the blanket that Jareth had left her in and looked down in astonishment. Once again she was dressed in plain jeans and a loose fitting shirt. Putting this mystery aside for the moment, she set her mind on Jareth and gently squeezed her heels against Elixsyure's body.

"Take me to the centre. Take me to the Labyrinth's pain," she whispered, recalling Jareth's command of earlier, "And take me to Jareth."

Elixsyure bounded forward off the stone podium, his great wings spreading and lifting them into the sky.

Jareth stumbled on numbly. He had finally torn himself from the body of his Sarah, shaking and weak from sobbing. Looking ahead, he saw a gap in the seemingly endless forest and realised he was nearly there. A deep bog sprang up in front of him and he found his mind no longer strong enough to deny its true existence and so he plunged into it, dragging himself through on his hands and knees as his lower legs sank into the mire. Shivering, he pulled himself upright and looked round.

Mist swirled in the ancient graveyard, the individual mounds picked out in the ghostly moonlight. It looked like a field filled with little hillocks covered in smooth turf. The magical here was so strong that Jareth could feel its tingling fingers running up and down his spine. He shuddered as a strange warmth filled his being, flooding his senses with waves of static energy. He lifted his eyes and scanned the mounded tombs. Although all looked the same he set off with purpose towards the innermost circle of graves, and the single mound that stood at its centre, marking the very centre of the entire Labyrinth.

Jareth strode forward purposefully, a new energy in his step as he neared his destination. At the edge of the trees, the spiders huddled in the shadows, not yet great enough in number to breach the ancient protective barrier of death. They clicked and scuttled, but stayed away. Jareth glanced neither to left or right, only once did he pause, standing before a mounded tomb. He extended a hand, touching the strong stone seal that marked the entrance to the mound, tracing the engraving that marked it as the tomb of his parents.

"Give me strength," he whispered, before striding on past it, deeper among the graves.

As Jareth passed through the last ring of the dead, that guarded the central tomb like silent sentinels, the first of the spiders tentatively stepped forward, as its peers sent waves of mental energy into the graveyard. It rocked slightly on the edge of the first circle, like a diver contemplating taking the plunge, before it stepped forward, breaching the barrier. A ripple of energy circled the meadow, and the fire with which Jareth had been warding off physical proximity, flickered and died. Quietly, the spiders began to surge forward.

Elixsyure's wings beat in a steady rhythm as Sarah crouched low over his neck, the wind whipping back her hair and snatching at her breath. This time, however, she took no pleasure from it. All she could think about was reaching Jareth in time, and the journey seemed to be taking forever. Her legs were starting to ache with the tension with which she was clinging to Elixsyure's sides, but the aching feeling of loss had eased slightly in her heart to be replaced with one of peace and acceptance. And yet throughout, her own fire, the will that urged her on, raged strongly.

Jareth felt the breach and broke into a run, knowing that he must reach the central tomb. His body felt heavy and tired, as though his limbs were made of lead and he stumbled several times, only just finding the strength to scramble back to his feet and drag himself onwards. Behind him, the spiders surged through the graves, the mounds seeming to be covered in flowing liquid as they teemed over the turf, chasing Jareth towards the end goal. After what seemed like an age of dragging his reluctant body forward, Jareth reached the bottom of the largest mound. It stood perhaps ten feet in height, and it was on hands and knees that Jareth began to ascend. He coughed against some restriction that his possessed mind was telling his body was blocking his breathing. About halfway up the side, he encountered the stone seal. His blurry mind refused to register what his mind was telling him. The carved stone, with its intricately carved picture of a beautiful fae man, carrying in his hand a set of reed pipes, stared back at him. But something was missing. The sword that should have crossed the doorway, protecting the founder of the Labyrinth through his life and through his death, was gone. Jareth shut his eyes and opened them again. It still wasn't there. He felt his body sag, as though accepting defeat as he turned to look back down the mound. The spiders were circling the foot of the grassy tomb, crashing against its base like waves against the cliffs. He pulled himself upright, leaning against the stone seal for support, wanting to face his death standing like a man, as the first of the spiders began to ascend the mound.

Jareth screamed in pain. He could feel each one of the spider's feet burning into his soul with every step it took. Before his eyes it grew, shimmering and taking on a humanoid form. A long flowing beard sprouted from the wizened face, the stooping shoulders belying the power that the creature held within his being. From his gnarled hand hung a twelve hour watch, swinging back and forth like the pendulum from a grandfather clock. In his other hand he carried a scythe, the polished iron glinting in the moonlight. Circling his white haired head was band of wood and needles of the evergreen trees of the world and as he smiled, it was clear his teeth were those of a fox. He took a firm step forward, further onto the incline at the base of the mound. He extended his hand, the watch swinging in even strokes from its chain.

"Jareth," he said and his voice was like the whispering of dry autumn leaves. "We meet again."

"Time." Jareth nodded curtly, drawing himself straighter against the seal stone as the searing of the ages burned in his heart.

"So long you have defied me. Hiding beneath the ground. You seek to stop my rule with the clock of thirteen hours. But I always catch up Jareth. Your time has come."

Old Father Time took another step forward and Jareth gasped in pain as his heart twisted in a vice like grip. Behind the old man, the next of the spiders took a tentative step forward, shimmering into being as his feet came into contact with the only Aboveground earth in the whole of the Labyrinth. His head was too big, his legs unnaturally supporting his weight, neck unable to support the weight of his skull so that his head lolled to one side. He had the grotesque appearance of a marionette's doll, unproportioned and twisted. His mouth hung open and water dribbled over his toothless gums and down his chin. His skin was of pearly white.

The drowned baby stepped to the side of the old man, who rested his hand on the head of his victim, smiling impassively. One by one the next circle of spiders stepped forward, transforming into their true forms, each the victim of the passage of time. Leering, sensing the lifetime of ages through which Jareth had lived, they flanked their captor, their dead eyes unseeing.

"You see Jareth? No-one can escape. Your father could not resist. Your mother...all shall come to me. Give in Jareth. Come and join us." Old Father Time extended his hand as a whispering rose among the dead.

Jareth shut his eyes, willing his breathing to steady and his legs to find the strength to stand. Reaching deep inside himself, he sought his magic, wrapping his hand round the medallion and seeking the voice of the Labyrinth.

"Help me. What do I do?"

He waited, but heard only silence. He opened his eyes slightly, seeing Time smiling gently at him. He closed his eyes again, his breathing becoming out of control as he fought the waves of dizziness caused by the stretching of his own timeline. It made him feel thin and weak.

"I need help now. Please."

"You have lost Jareth. Join us now. Even the one upon whose tomb you stand could not resist forever."

"He is not with you. He had his own magic, far beyond yours. You imprison the souls of the weak, but he found life everlasting," Jareth spat as his knees began to shake. He still did not open his eyes. "He will not desert us."

"He already has Jareth. You're already too late."

"Jareth! When help comes, you must climb."

Jareth's eyes flew open.

"Who? Where?"

But the silence was back. Time had not noticed the change in Jareth. He continued to speak.

"Even your great one hid from me. He built your little Labyrinth and hid in its centre. But Time found him in the end." The old man smiled cruelly and his teeth glinted in the moonlight. "Come now Jareth," and he stretched out his hand again. He took a step forward. And then he paused, cocking his head to listen as disquiet seemed to run through the spiders still waiting in the graveyard. Jareth looked over the old man's shoulder. The sight he saw made his aching heart skip yet another beat.

Sarah was running through the meadow, the spiders scattering around her, refusing to look down as many a hairy body was crushed beneath her feet. Reaching the mound, sparing not a glance for Time and his captives, moving through their midst as though she could no more see them as see the air, she flung herself to Jareth. Facing him and breathing heavily she gasped as she tried to explain.

"Melted...centaur...Raemon came...songs...hymns..."

Jareth snaked his warm round her waist and her face blanched at the feel of him touching her. She did not pull away, however as Jareth pulled her closer to his body, further away from the spiders. Over her shoulder, he saw Time smile and shake his head sadly, the grin turning wicked as he wrapped his watch chain round his hand again, making the length of the pendulum shorter, causing time to tick faster.

"Don't defy me Jareth. Put down your girl and come quietly. It is not her time, but if you do not give her up..."

Sarah showed no sign of having heard. Time advanced slowly up the hill as Jareth pulled Sarah closer against himself, his body gathering energy from hers as he used her as a shield against Time's grip of death. Behind her, where the old man couldn't see, Jareth straightened himself, feeling the power beginning to return. He smiled gently into Sarah's eyes. As he did so, Sarah became aware of a burning sensation at her chest, growing hotter by the minute. She felt it searing into her chest as though flames were scorching her. Jareth, however, had not reacted. He was focussed on something over Sarah's shoulder. Behind her head, Time raised his scythe, the moonlight glinting off the iron blade.

"Thank you," Jareth whispered, his lips barely a centimetre from Sarah's.

Time brought his blade down in a sweeping blow.

Jareth span Sarah away from him, pulling from her belt as he did so the jewel encrusted sword, bringing it to meet the scythe in a powerful upward swing. The clang of metal on metal rang throughout Labyrinth as Jareth stood face to face with Old Father Time, arms locked over head, neither giving way.

"So, Jareth, we cross blades once more," Time sneered. Jareth stared into the cold, unforgiving and unrepenting eyes slightly below him. There was a scuffling noise to his left and both he and Time turned their heads slightly, looking for it source.

Sarah scrambled to her feet where she had fallen as Jareth had pushed her from harm's way. A biting pain at her chest told her that somehow she had been badly burned. She turned, and screamed. Below her was the most nightmarish assortment of creatures that could be imagined. A dead baby, strung up and walking leered at her, its head flopping and water dribbling from its toothless mouth. Behind it stood a child, not much older than Toby, its head caved in from some vicious blow, its feet torn, shoeless and bloody. Jareth stood to her right, the sword locked above his head, a silent battle of wills in progress as he sought to bring down a death blow on the head of an old man who stood a step further down the mound. A heavy watch chain was wrapped round the handle of his scythe. The watch that hung from it was swinging back and forth very fast. Something was glowing slightly through the gap in Jareth's shirt, shining with a heat that told Sarah that this was what had burned her. Although it lay against Jareth's chest he seemed to feel nothing. But what astounded Sara h most was the cacophony of noise inside her head. It was as though every person in the meadow was screaming loudly in her ear. A jumble of noise overrode her senses, as she realised she could hear their thoughts. Light flashed before her eyes and a deeply sick feeling rose in her stomach.

"This is more than a nightmare", she thought, "and I'm too old for nightmares."

And then something horrible happened. Into her head came the voice of the old man. It had the sound of rustling leaves, although it was cold and comfortless.

"No Sarah," he crooned, "you're never too old for nightmares. In the Aboveground you just become drained, so my spiders could longer feed off your thoughts."

His eyes left hers and suddenly, putting in a great effort, he pulled his scythe downwards in a sweeping arc, breaking the deadlock and losing contact with the sword. In that moment, he and all his creatures vanished again from before her eyes, to be left with only an array of spiders. What followed made Sarah's head spin. Jareth was cutting, parrying and darting, the sword flashing in the moonlight, and every time his sword made contact with the scythe of the old man, he and his minions would appear to Sarah's eyes. It was like the effect of some weird strobe lighting in her head, except that with each flash of vision would come a tumult of noise as the thoughts of the creatures poured into her head.

Jareth fought like a daemon, weaving to avoid the bite of the iron blade. Slowly, he was backing up the hill, stepping away from the slowly advancing Time. He grasped Sarah's wrist, pulling her behind him and yelling at her to climb. The top of the mound ran in a smooth green curve and at its centre was a circular stone slab. Embedded deep into the rough hewn rock was a jewelled clock face, made of the same Labyrinthian metal as the sword which Jareth held. As Jareth reached the crest of the hillock, he turned and ran, grabbing Sarah's hand and pulling her after him, coming to stand at the edge of the stone disk. Sarah looked round, but could again see no-one.

Time paused as he crested the mound, watching Jareth through narrowed eyes before raising his scythe again and advancing slowly forward.

"Submit now Jareth," he warned, "you do not have the power. No mere fae King can command the power of Pan."

Jareth turned to face him, meeting his eyes steadily, straight backed and proud.

"I am no mere fae King," he said and his voice rang clearly throughout the ancient graveyard. "I command power my forbears could only dream of, for I carry the gift of Pan, founder of the Labyrinth, upon whose grave we now stand."

Jareth raised the sword above his head, looking up to its tip, silhouetted against the moon. Sarah felt him take hold of her hand again, linking his fingers back through hers and squeezing gently. And then, with no warning, she heard his voice inside her head.

"He is over the crest of the mound. He is advancing."

Sarah looked at Jareth in surprise, nearly dropping his hand in shock, but Jareth held her firmly. He was still staring straight ahead, clearly focussing on the foe that she could no longer see.

"Concentrate on the clock Sarah, and concentrate on me."

Sarah squeezed his hand once in acknowledgement before dropping her hand back to her side, stepping away to stand at the other side of the circle, so that she could keep both Jareth and the click in her sightline. She saw Jareth draw a deep breath.

Time smiled cruelly at Jareth. "Even your girlfriend steps away. She gives you up for dead Jareth. And you are. You should have been mine many thousands of years ago." He advanced further and Jareth drew a deep breath, wrapping his hand round the hotly glowing medallion.

"Are you ready Jareth?"

"Yes, my friend, I am ready."

"Good luck."

"And to you."

Jareth looked directly into the eyes of Old Father Time.

"Pan, the founder of the Labyrinth, sought to defeat Time with time. The addition of a thirteenth hour left your timescale useless in the Underground. I now invoke his ancient magic. I call on the Labyrinth to save her people, to restore Pan's magic and banish these creatures of Aboveground."

"Hold tight Jareth."

"I speak to the Labyrinth and I know her will. You will not terrorise her subjects, feed off their thoughts and trouble them with nightmares. You will not break the Underground magic of the Labyrinth as you broke the mystics of the world above. I call on you Pan, upon whose tomb I stand, to protect your creation, to protect your people. Pan, founder of the Labyrinth, I call on you now."

Jareth swung the sword high, turning it in the air and driving it into the mossy turf at his feet. The medallion at his chest burst into light and Sarah felt a tug at her mind, as though someone had linked her into a circle of nature. She could no longer control her own thoughts. She was spinning madly, falling and yet the ground was solid beneath her feet. Time appeared before her again, lunging angrily towards Jareth, his face twisted in rage. Sarah wanted to cry out and warn him, but her mouth was full of a metallic taste and she could not control her tongue. She had to screw up her eyes as the light of the sun blazed for the medallion where it hung against Jareth's skin. The pain in the burn grew and intensified, adding to the swimmingly disassociated feeling in her mind. Next to Jareth's shoulder, a ghostly replica of the clock at his feet hovered as he raised one hand. The clock hands began spinning faster and faster, finally coming to rest on the thirteenth hour.

Somewhere, a clock began to chime.

One.

It echoed in Sarah's head like the ringing of a death toll. It swung through the ancient graveyard causing the remaining spiders to cower, crouching low to the grassy ground. It resounded through the hollow stone corridors of the Castle Beyond the Goblin City, reverberating round the spot where Hoggle and the goblin crouched, arms covering ears in protection. And the sound resonated through the living soul of the Labyrinth, where she crouched beneath Jareth's feet.

Time screamed. His arms flailed wildly above his head as the watch chain was ripped from his hand to soar upwards into the sky.

Two.

The creatures on the mound were blasted backwards, dissolving back into their arachnid form as they left the safety of the tomb.

Three.

Tangling legs and tiny bodies crushed together as the spiders from across the graveyard were hit with wave upon wave of power as it emanated from the red hot medallion.

Four.

Jareth could feel his arms beginning to shake and his grip slip on the hilt of the sword as he struggled to contain the vast power of the Labyrinth channelling through his body.

Five.

He fought the need to release, to break the connection as the exhaustion of the past events threatened to sap his strength and deprive him of the power he needed to finally rid the Labyrinth of its invader.

Six.

Time writhed on the ground at his feet as the sixth chime struck. The shaking intensified and Jareth's right hand, already weakened from the iron poisoning began to slip.

Seven.

Time opened his eyes. He stared up at Jareth and began to laugh dryly.

Eight.

"I told you Jareth," he croaked. "You could never win."

Nine.

His eyes widened in horror as Jareth seemed to straighten.

Ten.

The strength came back into his posture as a second pair of hands covered his, arms wrapping round his waist from behind to support his body.

Eleven.

Time began to twitch horribly.

Sarah bit into her lip so hard she tasted blood as the power surged through Jareth, burning her body where she touched his. The strength of it threatened to break her bones as the shuddering worsened and the tenth stroke could be heard throughout the Labyrinth.

Twelve.

Blood began to pour from Sarah's nose as her teeth rattled in her skull, her entire body juddering out of control.

The thirteenth chime struck.

Time seemed to curl in on himself. Then he exploded outward, flying spread-eagled into the sky, following the path of his watch chain. As the echoing of the final chime faded through the Underground a rent appeared in the sky, and through it could be seen the colder sky of Aboveground night. A roaring, whooshing noise filled the air and it was as though a localised vacuum had been opened as, in a tangle of hairy legs and crushed bodies the spiders were lifted into the sky, sucked Aboveground into the land in which they belonged.

The last of the creatures vanished and the tear in the sky closed.

As silence swept back through the physical aspect of the Labyrinth, Sarah's bloodshot eyes rolled up into her aching head and she collapsed onto the soft turf at the summit of Pan's tomb.