Chapter Two
Whiteout
The wind howled through the castle. The snowflakes did not simply fall; they ferociously pummeled the ground and every exposed surface, the depth threatening to bury everything in the city. Single-story homes resembled Aboveground igloos. Formerly jagged, uneven rooftops and dormers swelled as the snow piled in thick layers.
Jareth surveyed the city from his chamber window. His face stung as the gusts whipped his cheeks. The city remained still amidst the raging storm, with the exception of the occasional goblin slogging from one structure to another in the waist-deep snow. The inhabitants of one particularly full cottage seemed to make the most of the conditions. Faint warblings of old drinking songs drifted across the city, punctuated with steins clinking and raucous cheers.
Jareth's luxurious personal chambers fared better than the rest of the Goblin City in its current state. Plush velvets in burgundy, plum, and deep gold upholstered most of the furniture and covered the windows. Various tables, armoires, and the massive headboard were all constructed of ancient hardwoods. At the far end of the room, directly opposite the bed, a fireplace glowed and crackled. Metal surfaces that had frosted over and small snow piles accumulating in corners and in crevices were the only indicators of the blizzard outside.
Out of habit, he conjured a crystal. He expertly rolled it from elbow to fingertip. Unable to remain stationary, Jareth paced along the windows. A fur cape draped across his shoulders, the shag carpet-length fur insulating him from the wind gusts. The quiet taps of his boots on the stone floor syncopated with the crackles and pops of the fire.
He concentrated as he paced. The crystal flashed and rolled in time with his steps. As he walked, he concocted patterns and symbols, attempting to solve the mystery and abolish the unpredictable storms. None seemed to work or add up correctly.
His gait quickened with each failed theory. The smooth rolling of the crystal in his hands grew more sporadic, nearly slipping from his fingers.
Without warning, Slurm barged into the king's chamber. The sudden crack of the door slamming open startled Jareth and by instinct he hurled the crystal in his hand. As he happened to be facing a window, the orb disappeared into the whiteout conditions without a trace.
"Your Highness!" He scrambled across the room, just managing to grasp a chair as he lost his footing. Unused to the cold and snowy deposits that speckled the floor, he panted, "An urgent message from Ourobryd, Majesty!"
"Slurm!" Jareth exclaimed, whirling back to face his messenger. "How dare you enter my bedchambers unannounced!"
Slurm ignored his king's ire. Bounding forward, his eyes wide with fear, he shoved a sealed scroll into Jareth's hand and skittered out of the chamber before Jareth could threaten him out of spite. Even the most rebellious subjects would not risk a breath of the punishment due to anyone who broke the seal on the parchment shared between royalty. It most benefitted Slurm that he could not read.
The wax seal, hardened from its exposure to the cold, cracked and crumbled as he broke it. Sinuous handwriting in thick dark green handwriting filled the parchment.
Classified Correspondence for
His Royal Highness, King of the Goblins
Dear Jareth,
I trust that the news of my mother's transition arrived. I assume you are unaccustomed to the peculiar weather plaguing your kingdom as of late, and trust you will resolve the situation. Your absence at her services will be wholly forgiven, and I formally excuse you from appearing. No dishonor mars your reputation, and we remain allies.
Jareth furrowed his brow and re-read the last sentence. Across the entire Underground, but most especially among fae royalty, etiquette was a deeply honored tradition. Royal heirs' training commenced even before traditional schooling, and continued well into young adulthood. The practice was so tightly woven in the complex social structure that over several millennia, natural laws of magic enforced particular customs and rules of engagement, mandating a code of honor even among enemies.
A king failing to appear at a state funeral could be perceived as a serious transgression. Even with amnesty from the host, Jareth's absence could cause tension in his relationships with allies, and most certainly ruffle feathers of those with whom he did not align.
As you are aware, I am heir to the Ourobryd throne. Yet, my position is not secure without a bride. It is my pleasure to announce that I have chosen my queen, which inspired me to correspond with you personally. She is a mortal woman, who carries a reputation within your kingdom that has reached even our societies. She is truly a delight, I can assure you.
Our bonding ceremony will be private; however, I graciously request that you ensure your presence at our coronation.
Yours in allegiance,
Cassius
Crown Prince of Ourobryd
Jareth cocked a sharp eyebrow. His peculiar eyes flickered to the storm outside and narrowed on stray flakes that landed on the stone ledge. As they melted, he just caught her scent again, less sweet yet stronger than before. Despite the shift, there was no mistaking her essence from that of other mortals.
Sarah.
Not a single corner or closet were vacant in the whole house. Groping hands reached out from the few shadows Sarah could find. Strangers cheered her on as she darted down hallways and through each unlocked door, searching either for refuge—or Cassius, who preferred to arrive fashionably late.
What kind of housewarming party is this? She wondered, trying one last doorknob. It blissfully opened and revealed the only empty room she could find: a bathroom.
Sarah slammed the door shut behind her and locked it, then darted to the sink. She clamped her hands on the edge of it, her knuckles taut and pointed, claw-like. Her tight shoulders set as if to pounce as she stared herself down in the mirror. She breathed slowly, heavily, in time with the steady drips from the faucet.
Plink. Pause. Breathe.
Plink. Pause. Breathe.
Intense electronic music pulsed through the house. The bathroom door muffled little; heavy bass rattled anything not bolted down and rumbled the floor. A single bulb hung overhead, casting the room in a stark blue-white light. It swayed slowly in half-time just one beat behind the music. The shifting light played with the shadows in the room and on Sarah's skin, mesmerizing her.
When the bulb swung behind her, her face puckered into a gaunt caricature; thick, wild hair dwarfing sunken eyes and thin cheeks. She lolled her head around and the bulb swung back in time. Her skin glowed milky white and eyes paled, nearly gray-blue in the harsh light.
The sight of her light-manipulated irises stopped her short. Her head tipped back, staring down her nose, nostrils flared. An imperious stare, feigning indifference while sizing up every detail of the subject in her gaze.
Herself.
Sarah only felt the weight of that gaze twice in her life. She was not sure if the first time she recalled actually happened.
Plink. Pause. Breathe.
Slowly at first, thoughts popped into her mind: What if heisn't real either? Did Cassiusgive me those memories? Sarah closed her eyes and dropped her head.
The thoughts came faster as cold uncertainty crept up her spine. Is this real? How do I know? Am I even here? Her fingers slipped on the ceramic.He did this. He did allof this. I don't know how, but he did.
It's all his fault. The smug ramen-haired bastard. Who goes gray at his age anyway? Even Jar—he has blonde hair.
What have I done? Why did I let him near me?
It's not fair.
"God, fuck! Shut up, brain—just shut up," she growled to herself. She plunged her hands into her purse, scrambling for a distraction. "I am not going to think about—"
Pounding on the door jarred her. She jumped and stifled a shriek. Her purse upturned; scattering accessories everywhere. Even in the din between the banging and yelling through the door and the music, Sarah still heard the delicate tinkling of glass rolling on tile. The swaying light swung faster. The shadows cast her belongings in distorted lights.
She pawed at the ground on all fours, blindly grabbing each item and haphazardly shoving it into her purse, one at a time. The door handle turned and shook. A stream of invective erupted from behind it. Sarah could not comprehend it over her own anxious mutterings and clamor to reclaim her things.
"Just—almost there—one fucking second!" She screeched over her shoulder. Her voice faltered and faded to a squeak as she grappled. "It has to be here somewhere…"
Plink. Pause. Breathe.
A vial the length of her pinky finger glinted just behind the base of the sink as the bulb swung forward. She grabbed it, the cool glass a sweet relief on her tense skin. Sarah hurriedly unscrewed the cap and tipped her head to inhale a spoonful. Her sinus cavity burned, then warmed into numbness. In quick succession, she insufflated another, and then again.
Sniffling the remnants from her nostrils, Sarah capped and slipped the vial into her bra. She ignored how loose her skin felt, or that her breasts sagged despite the support.
"Cash!" She suddenly remembered. "I have to find Cassius."
The banging on the door shook the entire frame. The person behind it now pounded it like a drum, alternating their fists against the panel. Sarah took one last glance in the mirror to straighten her posture. Without pause she flung open the door. She narrowly missed the flying fists still aiming to pound the door down, and darted down the dark hallway. She did not turn back to see who they belonged to.
Jareth glanced again between the raging storm outside and Cassius' words. He turned over the facts in his mind and he absently massaged his left temple.
A nearby kingdom risked failure with the loss of its ruler. Its own law ensured a successor and required a willing bride. The heir claimed his co-ruler. Jareth did not doubt that his correspondent referred to the same mortal that the labyrinth was so plainly distressed over. "I just wish I knew why," he sighed.
No sooner had he uttered the words that understanding percolated in his mind. He recalled Sarah's exasperated exclamations when neither he nor the labyrinth bent to her will. Now the tables had turned. The labyrinth threw its fits because she chose another. Just like a spoiled child not getting her way. The irony was not lost on him.
Jareth couldn't help but chuckle. Relief tapped the nape of his neck and tumbled down his spine as he laughed. He turned and faced the window ledge.
"That's what this is?" he half-shouted into the wind, mirth disguising the anxiety in his voice. Though Jareth remained alone in his chamber, he did not speak to an unknown source. He knew he was heard clearly, even though the wind whispering her name muted his voice. He laughed heartily, mocking the elements. "You are upset your chosen darling will not return?"
He reached for a decanter and rough-hewn chalice atop the mantle of the glowing fireplace. He poured the wine sloppily, swollen drops splashing on his gloves as he laughed. "A cause for celebration, then!"
Jareth turned back to the window and raised the cup in a toast. "Good luck, dear Cassius." He drained the contents in a single gulp. "You will need it. And thank the gods, I can finally reclaim my own land after your bonding."
The chamber door opened, interrupting his solo jubilee. A tiny goblin entered, her head bowed and hands clutched her skirt as she clumsily curtsied.
"Tak is sorry to interrupt Majesty's party, sir, please forgive Tak, she is just wanting to see if the Majesty is needing new linens, sir," she squeaked, keeping her eyes down.
Ordinarily, Jareth would chase her out. She knew full well to knock or listen for privacy before entering any room the king may occupy. However, on this occasion, even inconsiderate servants could not raise his ire.
"It is to your good fortune that you invited yourself into my private quarters," he said, staring down his nose at her. "I have good news, and I suppose you may be the one to spread the word." He refilled the chalice.
Tak nearly fell over herself as she stumbled between a curtsy and clasping her pudgy three-fingered hands in excitement. "Really Majesty?" she squeaked, her eyes wide and hopeful. She dropped her gaze just as quickly as she recalled her manners.
Jareth crouched, one hand on his knee. Tak held her breath as his face drew within centimeters of hers. "Go to your illiterate husband and tell him that the storm will soon end. The source of the problem has been discovered and in a few days' time will resolve."
For a moment, his subordinate rocked on her feet, unsure whether to look her king in the face or immediately dash out of the room and carry out her orders. It was rare for a chambermaid—even a senior one like herself—to receive a directive this important. She did not want to fail and disappoint her king. Still, curiosity got the best of her. "Really, Majesty? Sir is sure? The snows go away soon?" She positively beamed.
Jareth already returned to the decanter, filling the goblet to the brim. "Yes, I am sure," he confirmed through gritted teeth. "Now, go."
Tak did not await further instruction and scurried from the room. Her shrieks for her husband echoed down the hall. "Berk! Berksies! Guess what the King just says to me…!"
She dragged her boots as she searched the house. They felt heavier than they looked. Thick, chunky platforms marketed to a demographic at least five years her junior, Sarah wondered if the eyelets and studs were made of lead instead of steel. She ran her hands along her skirt to smooth it. The hem loosely danced around her lean thighs, despite that the skirt was cut to look painted-on.
People packed the house shoulder to shoulder. She knew none of them, yet they were all simultaneously faceless and familiar. It seemed the pulsing sound waves warred with the party-goers over who could rightfully claim the space.
Sarah sneered at people falling over drunk or moaning and stumbling as they jostled to the music. Her earlier episode in the bathroom forgotten, Sarah thought to herself that she would never lose control of herself like that in public.
She turned her nose in the air as she trudged through the house. She slipped downstairs to the walkout basement where the pounding music originated. Where was Cassius? Sarah vaguely recalled why he brought her here. He told me he had something special, she remembered. Of course it's something special. He wouldn't give me anything less.
Sarah's brain buzzed in a familiar happy sort of way as her doses took effect. She drew herself to her full height and swayed her hips to the music. A familiar warmth spread over her body. "My magic has kicked in," she muttered, smiling to herself. With her eyes closed, she raised her hands above her head and surrendered to the rhythm.
The driving beat; a grimy mid-tempo industrial groove sucked her into the bustling throng of partiers. She supposed Cash waited somewhere in the shadows just to watch her. Sarah refused to give him the satisfaction of continuing to look for him. "No way," she declared out loud. Her eyes still closed to the music as she swayed. No one listened to—or even heard her. "Fuck that. He can come find me. I'm so fucking powerful."
She ran her hands up and down her body as she danced. Every so often she missed a beat and stumbled. This did not faze her, despite the disapproving glances and exasperated tsks from the fellow party-goers.
She lost track of time. One song faded to another and the next. Sarah danced and danced. She lost herself in the music. Sarah felt she harnessed the very essence of seduction and superiority with each sway of her hip.
Ice-cold leather-gloved hands snaked around her hips and locked around her waist. She barely rendered a sharp gasp when Cassius' smooth voice poured into her ear.
"Good evening, precious Sarah," he breathed. In one lonely sober corner of her mind, something bristled. But Sarah in the moment, the magic Sarah with her happy dust and powerful moves of seduction paid no attention. Instead, she smiled and leaned her head back, tucking her head into his neck.
He took turns removing his gloves, one hand remained planted on her hips. Cassius wasted no time in slipping one over the waistband of her skirt. His fingertips deftly explored her bikini line, but did not plunge deeper.
This time, Sarah did gasp out loud. His ministrations triggered her body, just like the drugs coursing through it. In her current state, without the reality of sobriety, the totality of Cassius' slimy personality was forgotten. When coke clouded her mind, Sarah had no room for anything beyond carnal instincts.
She wriggled in his grasp, eager for more. Cassius said nothing as he continued. The song—an extended club mix—ended and he did not speak until the crossfade into the next.
"I have a present for you," he whispered. Between the pulsing bass and her arousal, Sarah could only nod. Cassius only ever had one gift for her.
The current predicament could upset the balance and system of the City. There were crops to be harvested. Livestock required care. Commerce needed to flow. Goblin babes and children required their education—a relatively new program on Jareth's behalf.
Moreover, who would ferment the wine?
In such a short time frame, so much had already accumulated. Jareth wondered how long the storm would continue. Far beyond just a nuisance, the persistence of the storm posed many threats to the well-being of the Goblin City and the labyrinth itself.
Jareth sat next to the fire, his joviality stilled by Tak's interruption. He nursed the drink in his hand. The smoky notes and alcohol warmed his chest and lent a light pink flush to his cheeks as he drank. It warmed him from the inside. The fire radiated warmth over his body. Cloaked in his thick fur, the dense leather gradually softened as he remained near the fire, warming his whole body.
At present, there was little the Goblin King could do for his kingdom. Cassius must move forward with his plans and wed Sarah before the weather would relent.
Goblins and the numerous other species that coexisted with them in his realm were hardy creatures. They could withstand much, but they were not meant for confinement and extreme conditions. Their nature required them to do their jobs and work in the community. For now, beer and the sweet release of a few days respite would hold their attention. But soon they would stir and become restless. Anxious goblins with nothing to do could wreak havoc.
A more sobering question occurred to Jareth. What if a child were wished away now? Though it did not happen often, the wisher-away would not survive the elements, much less complete the thirteen-hour goal.
Jareth forced the thoughts from his mind. At present, his subjects were safe.
Sarah, on the other hand…
She will not destroy my kingdom a second time. Jareth forwent nobility in favor of another gulp of wine. A wry smile played at his lips.
He could not help but imagine Sarah as a queen. He imagined that her adolescent beauty would pale to her stunning visage now. Enhancing her elegance with the finest fabrics and adorning her sable hair with the warmest gold available in the Underground would be the highest honor of anyone fortunate enough to either serve or rule her.
Jareth clucked his tongue. He could only imagine her, but not truly witness Sarah at present. Jareth had not laid eyes on her since she completed the labyrinth.
It was not for a lack of effort. He drew thousands upon thousands of crystals in her name.
Blank. Every last one of them.
Jareth drained the goblet to drown his sour mood. It refilled in his hand, the decanter undisturbed on the mantle. Talons of truth clenched in his stomach, instincts of the predatory nature in his blood. Jareth could not deny the facts.
Sarah had won fair and square: she completed the labyrinth in the given time. The child was returned to her care. She had solved the final puzzle by understanding and acknowledging that only she controlled her destiny; subsequently denying the power offered to her.
Sarah's own wisdom and intelligence steeled her resolve. She won her freedom because of lucidity and absolute certainty in her decision. Any other—every other—successful runner jumped at the chance for the kind of power he had offered her.
But, not Sarah. She returned Aboveground unscathed and wholly independent. She chose to fulfill her heart's desires for herself. To build her dreams from the ground up with her own bare hands, at the expense of his love for and pride in capturing her.
And he loathed her for it. In his wine-soaked mind, he imagined every empty crystal he'd conjured. They burst one by one, shattering as if she were inside throwing chairs against the glass. His stomach clenched again, the talons piercing hot with anger. Jareth gripped the chalice, the force of his anger threatening to crush it.
Jareth heartily gulped more wine. His pale eyes remained fixed on the flames before him. He focused on the crackling of the wood, tiny pockets of moisture evaporating as flames licked over them. He would not heed the screaming wind outside.
His rage boiled over. He hurled the goblet toward the fire. His usually accurate aim failing him, it ricocheted off the mantle. A satisfying ringing echoed out as the rim struck stone. Jareth closed his eyes and smiled, his tension released momentarily. The golden tone reverberated in his core.
The ringing continued. Warmth bathed him, gently trickling down his shoulders, settling all the way to the soles of his boots. He did not move, relishing in the calm of the drink and pleasant tone. Jareth basked in this rare moment of peace, when he was neither bombarded with his royal duties nor haunted by her memory. The storm continued raging outside, slamming winds threatening to crack the thick stone wall of the castle.
He ignored it.
The warmth within and around Jareth shifted. It slowly pulled from him, and a presence manifested just out of reach. He opened his eyes and turned to the window. He did not see the orb at first, as it slowly floated from the abyss of the storm and toward the window ledge. His sharp vision did not fail him. He could not mistake the perfect sphere for what it was. Its trajectory wavered in the intense winds. The crystal advanced to the ledge, then paused.
Jareth warily stepped toward the window, not breaking gaze with the crystal. An orb had never materialized without his summons in all his years on the throne. The ringing increased in pitch, sounding more alike the howls of the wind outside. Even in the bleak backdrop of the storm, he spied an image flickering in the orb. A face.
A woman's face.
In an instant, the temperature dropped, far below what would be practical for the blizzard conditions. Frigid air stung every inch of his exposed skin.
The visage cleared. Dark hair framed her face. Her pale skin ashen. The dark circles under her eyes contrasted unusually defined cheekbones. Her head tilted to the side, eyes closed. She laid in the dark, unusual lights dancing across her face.
His breath hitched, heart high in his throat. Jareth heard the cries of agony in the wind, screaming her name. He could taste the anxiety in the air and sensed the fear falling like dead weight from the swollen clouds.
For the second time, understanding dawned in his mind. Jareth forced himself to look away from the crystal and glanced at the scroll, cast aside on his bed.
The labyrinth was not upset because Sarah chose another kingdom. It was beside itself in distress because she was chosen by another kingdom and in danger. If the labyrinth was correct, the danger was profoundly real.
He looked back to the orb, still patiently afloat in the window. She stirred, eyes half-open. Ice-cold regret dropped in his stomach. However many years past, regardless how unrecognizable her face, Jareth would never mistake her eyes with anyone else's.
"Sarah!"
At that moment, her eyes snapped open, wide with fear.
Jareth did not hesitate. He adjusted his gloves and leaped out the window. His arms spread wide as wings formed and feathers caught the updraft.
Not a single goblin in the city misheard the owl's screech through the rushing wind.
Sarah observed the rock in her hand. For all of Cassius' excitement, it seemed no different from any of the others. They were all the same: poisoned peaches offered by deceitful dwarves.
She shivered as a cold rush of air blew through the bedroom. Despite the booming party that continued to rage just on the other side of the door, the spartan room remained still. Only a few papers on the desk fluttered.
Sarah willed her hands to still as she crammed the rock into her pipe and lit it. She immediately started to cough, overwhelmed by its unexpected sweetness. Sarah pounded her chest. Orange smoke wisped at the end of her still-burning pipe. Wait...orange smoke?
She stared at the smoke. That can't be right, she thought. Something's not right.
Without warning, Sarah's muscles relaxed as the high assaulted her senses. All at once she felt dizzy, yet steady; distant, yet hyper-focused; lank, yet vibrant. She reclined on the bed as a wave coursed through her body.
Her perception of light dimmed and an image floated into her field of vision. She felt as though she were watching a film. A montage of images flooded her vision. Familiar faces flashed and friendly voices greeted her. She smiled as she relived memories that never happened except in her own imagination.
The light around her darkened further, nearly swallowing her in complete blackness. The sounds and images sped up and blurred together, like a montage reel left to rewind too fast. The colors bled and voices fragmented. For a moment the dizziness intensified, then it released and another wave of calm, warm vibrations washing over her. She felt wonderful. It occurred to her that this may be her life flashing before her eyes.
"Cassius," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "What have you done?"
The darkness shifted. It rolled in time with the wind gusting through the room. Sarah heard fabric flapping in the gusts but could not discern it from her vision. Is that real?
Sarah sensed his presence before she saw him. She blinked to force her eyes to focus—and she laid eyes on the last, yet only, person she expected to see.
The Goblin King stood before her. His cape billowed around him in the wind and cloaked almost everything except his face.
He knelt next to her. Up close, his face was expressionless and unreadable. Sarah could see that his hand touched her cheek, but she could not feel anything outside of the effects of the drug. His mouth moved; she supposed he tried to tell her something—but the buzzing in her ears muffled his words.
Sarah's lips twitched as one coherent thought floated into her mind. After all this time, she was finally reunited with him. Although unsure whether it was real or a hallucination, all she could do was ride the high she reached in order to achieve it.
She threw her head back and laughed as she and the Goblin King were swallowed by darkness.