Chapter Three
Current Conditions
Doors banged open, slamming against the walls as servants and officers awoke from their slumber. Maids hurriedly tied on aprons over nightgowns; several guards stumbled around with a limp, wearing only one boot. Jareth's hoarse shouts muted grumbles under their breath. The rage and panic in his voice even awakened the torches as they flickered to life, lighting the way as Jareth stormed through corridors.
In the center of the commotion, Sarah remained quiet and still. Limp in his fireman's carry; her hair swayed in time with her head bobbing syncopated against his hurried steps.
After several long moments of shouting, banging, swearing, and bumbling, the staff finally found their king and...Sarah.
A collective gasp resounded. Spears and axes clanged to the ground. The goblins stared at Jareth, agape. Jareth stared back, momentarily stunned into silence.
Everyone started speaking at once:
"Sarah! Is it really Sarah?"
"Fetch the healer!"
"Is she dead?"
"She's here to help us!"
"Yer Majesty!"
"Gerroff my foot!"
"What's she gonna do—dig us out?"
"What did you do?"
Sarah did not stir as gnarled goblin hands reached to retrieve her and placed her on the floor.
"Out of the way!" Jareth barked. "Let me see her!" He instinctively dropped to her side and extended his hands. He closed his eyes and listened carefully with his magical senses, ignoring his hands' slight tremor. He received no information and could not assess her. This isn't right, he thought and tried again.
Nothing.
The shrieks and shouts quieted into hushed whispers and awkward shuffling. All eyes were now trained on Jareth, his frustration rising as his hands lowered, fingertips bracing Sarah's temples. Instead of drawing energy from her, he instead attempted to channel his own into her, conjuring a type of revival spell. He paused for a moment to settle his thumbs on her delicate chin. He resisted an urge to stroke it.
Deep in his core, somewhere between his stomach and lungs, Jareth manifested a spark of his power. He concentrated on drawing it up his chest, envisioning it spreading through his shoulders, down his arms…
Someone cleared their throat. "Your Majesty?"
The spark flickered, and momentarily swelled, but did not draw out. Jareth knit his brow and pulled again. He gripped Sarah's pale face as concentrated his effort. The magic refused to move.
"I don't understand," Jareth muttered. He released his grasp. Where his fingertips pressed a moment before, indentations briefly shimmered a golden-white. As they faded, Sarah remained still.
Whispers faded into silence as the onlookers watched. Jareth clenched his fists at his sides. Acidic anger roiled in his stomach and chest, where raw magic flowed just moments before.
"Well?" he snarled. "Somebody bloody do something!" Several goblins upturned and squeaked in surprise as he stood up, unaware they had trodden his cape in the din. Jareth growled in frustration.
"Your Majesty? May I?" A hand smaller than Jareth's but larger than a goblin's, with dark brown skin and graceful fingers, reached toward Sarah and rested on her shoulder.
Jareth snapped his head toward the voice. The chief healer of the Goblin City, Sélan, knelt next to Sarah. Her hand remained on Sarah's shoulder as if they were old friends, and gazed up at Jareth. Her aubergine eyes remained calm as she awaited permission.
Sélan turned her attention to Sarah. Her fingertips glowed briefly. Jareth inhaled deeply, slowly, and held his breath. The healer closed her eyes for a moment and then released her grip and stood up to face Jareth. He clenched his jaw. At first too angry to speak without shouting, a hint of despair chilled him and tightened his chest. Was I too late?
"She is unconscious and in poor health, but stable, your Majesty," she confirmed. Jareth released his breath and relief unwound the tight coils in his chest. He instantly regretted it, as he realized that the onlookers still remained and stared at him with stunned reverence.
He glared at his audience. This was not the time to appear incapable to his subjects. "Don't you all have better things to do? Such as your jobs?" he hissed. He flicked his wrist back toward the wall. Wisps of white-hot magic trailed from his fingertips. A loud crack punctuated his command as if he had cracked a whip. The goblins all scattered at once, squealing and scrambling over each other. None of them dared mention no work was scheduled in the darkest hour of the night. Several craned their necks to get one more look at Sarah in their haste to depart the corridor.
Jareth returned his attention to Sélan, kneeling over her charge. She muttered as she noted and assessed Sarah.
"I release her to your care," he instructed. "Report to me when you have examined her."
When the medic glanced up a moment later, Jareth was nowhere to be seen, the only evidence of his presence heard in the faint flap of his cape as he dematerialized. She sighed and looked down at her patient.
"Hello Sarah," she whispered, as though her new charge was fully conscious. "I regret these circumstances, but you are a welcome sight. Let's get you warm and comfortable, and take a look at you."
Seconds later, the corridor finally emptied of all except a thin cloud of dust, settling in their wake as they, too, disappeared.
Jareth paced at an irregular rhythm. A stop, then go, and a turn, and then back another way. He zig-zagged through the shelves. His boots clicked over and around stacks of books with blind authority. He swore under his breath by rote as his thighs collided with desk corners, in deep thought.
With each step, a memory flashed in his mind or trampled a sensitive nerve. The deafening crash when Sarah uttered her final blow. The months he and his subjects spent rebuilding. Each new brick laid anchored a deep resentment for the damage she wrought. The restoration was completed, and the castle and Goblin City were rebuilt, and bitterness soured each thought and mention of her. Yet as he marched through the city and inspected each pristinely restored wall and turret, something cracked and ached unfulfilled inside him.
After the unveiling—a memorial of the labyrinth's doing—it was only then he conjured a viewing crystal in her name.
And now, a sense of wholeness draped over the castle. Its occupants sighed contentedly in their slumber or smiled amidst their daybreak duties. The excitement of Sarah's arrival brightened spirits of the creatures cramped indoors.
"She has returned!" buzzed through the castle, whispered in hushed excitement as maids and sentries passed each other during their morning duties. It bounced through the corridors and echoed through each door.
Jareth also felt a shift in the atmosphere with her presence in the castle, though its meaning remained just beyond his grasp. As the dawn rose and the storm's bitter winds whipped through each available crevice, the sun felt just a bit warmer than the day before.
He glanced out the library window. The fiery red and orange beams of pre-dawn sunrise glowed and illuminated the barren lands outside the labyrinth gate. The glare seared Jareth's sleep-deprived eyes. Snow did not fall, but a blast of cold air served a reminder of the current situation. He sighed a ragged breath that neither relaxed him nor resolved his unease.
Jareth replayed the past hours in his mind. How his stomach churned when the spell which bound them flared to life as he touched the mysterious crystal. The summons was not unfamiliar, but he did not know until that moment that he and Sarah were bound.
Despite the mystery and frustration of the unprecedented events, Jareth smiled wryly to himself. At the very least he now knew there was some measure of mutuality between him and Sarah. One could not overpower the other. That explains why she did not respond to me, he realized. A small triumph, but a victory all the same.
Still, many questions remained unanswered. In all his centuries on the throne, he never received a blind summons. Every action from the moment he grasped the crystal to returning to the castle did not seem of his own volition, yet he did not feel bewitched.
Moreover, Jareth did not recall the journey or his precise final destination. He justarrived. Even in a world of magic, inability to rhyme or reason phenomena was cause for concern, in particular for a ruler like himself.
This would simply not do. It is not how things worked. More than being bested in any physical task, Jareth loathed being unable to answer or solve a riddle. Having no memory or detailed knowledge of a situation left him feeling helpless, and helplessness did not suit a king in any fashion.
Frustration quickly bubbled up inside of him again. He scowled and gripped the corner of a desk, a near-miss to his thigh as he paced. His grasp tightened as his thoughts raced, anchoring himself in the present. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he recalled arriving at the house.
Modern dance music blasted and shook the entire structure through its foundation. Yet the way she lied in the room, pale and still, sequestered from the revelers, shot a sharp dart of fear into his chest.
Jareth took a moment to regain his composure—kings did not show fear—and in that time, Sarah stirred. Her sunken watery eyes stared at him. After a moment, she blinked slowly, and then mumbled something he could not quite understand.
Before he could stop himself or fully understood what he was doing, he knelt at her side. The same urge to obey a summons he could not identify, that seemed to yank him out of the window and toward her when he gazed upon her in the mystery crystal, drew him to her.
Somewhere below the thumping bass of the dance music, a layer of dark magic settled on the ground floor, a dense black fog that oozed rather than billowed. Its coldness brushed Jareth's cheek, worse than the bitter Aboveground frost outside, before he saw it.
Unsure whether Sarah could hear him, he whispered all the same. "You cannot stay here. You must come with me."
Sarah groaned and closed her eyes. She made to raise her hands to her face. Jareth caught her wrist and pressed his thumb against her stark veins. Her pulse raced, though it just barely registered in his touch. A gentle jolt coursed through him, and Jareth could taste her fear and disease: a hint of bile and metallic adrenaline dripped down his throat and something acidic he could not place that left his head with fuzzy, detached, feeling.
The darkness edged closer, frosting the tips of his hair. Sarah's nose rendered a shiny pink in the chill. They must leave immediately, or something dangerous would find them. More specifically, her.
His next words tumbled out of his mouth like a rockslide, without prompt or any cognition: "You will be safe with me in the castle."
Without hesitation, in one fluid move, Jareth stood and effortlessly draped Sarah over his shoulder. As he dove back into the realm between their realms, the darkness puffed over his boot.
In the study, Jareth scoffed at the irony. Surrounded by books and ancient knowledge, yet he wasn't sure any of them provided an answer to his many questions.
While it was true that Sarah left the labyrinth with more than she understood, that he had given her certain powers was a misconception. Jareth did not have the ability or authority to bestow magic to anyone. The labyrinth itself gave them to her.
Jareth wondered if he could fulfill the promise he made her—to keep her safe—and why he would have said it when he did not yet fully understand the danger she faced.
Sélan knocked on the study door an hour later. The knock startled Jareth out of his reverie brought on by stress and fatigue. If the sun had not risen further in the sky, he would not have noticed any passage of time.
Jareth stifled a yawn and blinked away the dry sting of exhaustion. "You may enter." Sélan entered the study. As a sign of her status, she bowed but did not curtsy. Her beaded robes, dyed lush earthy greens and blues, jingled as she stood back up to her full height—taller than most goblins but petite by human standards.
"Your Majesty," Sélan greeted him with a dip of her head.
Unlike the goblins, Sélan did not startle and flee even in peril. Her constant patience did not always signal good news, yet Jareth had never seen her stir beyond a firm tone when handling the most rambunctious goblin babes.
"What is your diagnosis?"
"She is stable and free of disease or curses. But she is not well. I suspect she may have been subject to various Aboveground poisons, perhaps willfully."
"Poisons?" He had not discussed the details of Sarah's rescue with anyone. Perhaps the dark magic had reached her, after all.
"They have deteriorated her health, but with rest and proper nutrition I expect her to recover fully."
Jareth nodded. "I am familiar with some of these Aboveground substances," he agreed. "Are you certain this is what ails her?"
Sélan shook her head ruefully. "If I am honest, sir, I am not entirely certain. Her body shows much wear that may be beyond her years. I could not detect it outright, but I believe dark magic may have tainted her."
Jareth bristled. Sélan's magic was advanced for its type, though not as omnipotent as his. As a healer, her strengths lied in alchemy and related charms and spells. All magic-bearing species in the Underground possessed some basic necessary skills. Yet even with her wisdom and keen intelligence, Sélan should not have been able to detect the presence of dark magic.
"Are you certain of this, Sélan?" His voice faltered, betraying his intent to remain stoic.
"I may have to continue some research and testing to verify my hypothesis."
"Very well. You may delegate your patient load as you see fit. For the time being, Sarah will be your only patient. As such, I expect you will give her your full attention." Jareth would never admit that his specific instruction to her was more for his benefit than hers. Both he and Sélan knew she was among the most capable and self-sufficient officers of his court.
Sélan bowed her head. "Of course, your Majesty. Is there anything else I may assist you with?" Jareth understood her implied question: would you like to see her?
Jareth merely turned away and waved his hand to dismiss her and the unspoken invitation. He had seen enough for the time being.
Sélan's bowed and departed, her robes tinkling and jingling to punctuate her exit as they had announced her arrival.
His mind snapped to attention the moment the door closed. Suddenly alert, the clues all fell into place and a torrent of thoughts, images, and a-ha moments flooded his mind. How could I have forgotten? Cassius!
His letter all but declaring Sarah his captive, her sudden appearance and the crystal, the nefarious cloud creeping in as Jareth retrieved her…
"I am such a fool!"
With renewed vigor, Jareth ripped the door open and stormed down the corridor. Amid the myriad twists and turns, Jareth summoned—rather, bellowed—for his Senior Messenger. "Slurm!" he shouted, over the various gasps of imagine his Majesty stormin' through here this hour of the morn and your Majesty, will you be needin' yer furs this day? "Report to my office!"
His stomach lurched at the offers and mentions of breakfast, and only then did it dawn on him that more time had passed in the Underground than he estimated.
The sentries at his suite entrance clamored to open the door as he approached. The clangs of their armor crashing echoed in dissonance down the hall. The sound of their rushing lifted a genuine smile to Jareth's face. The familiarity of their chaos set him at ease just slightly, and Slurm was surprised to meet a more jovial Jareth than had summoned him moments prior.
"Y-you called, sir?" Slurm stammered, wringing his hands. He gulped as Jareth's smile widened, bordering predatory.
"I did. You may have use of all that ridiculous armor after all."
Slurm's eyes widened. "Really, Majesty? You think so?"
"Oh, yes!" Jareth confirmed. Though the goblin was tall for his species, Jareth still bent at the waist to deliver his orders. "You will retrieve your outfit from the armory and report back here to me in one quarter hour. I will have a message for you to deliver to Ourobryd."
Slurm's whoops and hollers rolled in echoes through the corridors as he darted off without further instruction. Jareth puffed out a single chuckle, relishing that any lazy servant still asleep now had a justified rude awakening.
"You may be the single most excitable officer in my cabinet," Jareth muttered after his messenger retreated from sight. "But never let it be said that you and Tak are not the best-matched pair in the City."
A second wind energized Jareth. He entered his suite with renewed vigor and set himself at an ornate desk. Its grandiosity inspired him; a disorderly collection of trinkets and gifts, law books and diaries, and several dusty children's toys cast aside and long-forgotten during fits as over-stimulated infants cried for their foolish caretakers who wished them away.
Age-old training into Jareth's mind—the code of ethics and honors by which his species obeyed as strictly as High law, and had observed so astutely had since become part of their bloodline. His fingers flexed instinctively. As he reached for parchment and a quill, earlier confusion and mysteries slipped to the back of his mind.
"How rude of me for nearly forgetting my dear ally Cassius," he whispered, his voice silky in the cold air. "I imagine he may expect to hear from me. He must be worried sick!" Jareth laughed at his own sarcasm.
A few minutes later, in a script best described as "elegant chicken-scratch," nestled between stale royal salutations and closures, Jareth scribed:
Cassius,
I thank you wholeheartedly for your graciousness in this trying time. My subjects in the Goblin City equally appreciate your graciousness.
Your keen observation of the situation my kingdom currently suffers inspired me to discover a likely solution. I am confident, however, that it will be resolved sooner than anticipated. A previously unknown resource has presented itself and will prove quite useful.
Please accept my condolences for your loss as you navigate your new role. I am but a mere courier away should you require anything of me in the meantime. I am delighted to accept your invitation to the coronation and look forward to further details.
Jareth's eyelids drooped as he scrawled his signature, rolled the parchment, and sealed it. He quickly glanced out the window. The bright morning sun's glare did not entirely disguise the snowflakes that began to fall again. If I should care, he thought; I can do it later.
Better than his word, Slurm returned precisely one minute ahead of his quarter-hour deadline, where he met his king slouching at his desk, scroll in hand.
"Top priority," Jareth drawled as he handed over the letter. If the messenger noticed his Majesty stifling a yawn, he wisely did not let on. "This must be hand-delivered to Crown Prince Cassius with no exceptions."
Slurm bowed to acknowledge his orders. By some miracle, his helmet stayed on his head this time.
He was too excited to have a real message, a real duty! to notice Jareth fast asleep right in the chair, much less inform any of the chambermaids about it. His snores would most definitely alert someone soon enough.
A neckache jolted Jareth awake some time later. He still reclined in the chair at his desk, untouched and in the same stale clothes from the previous day. While he remained physically undisturbed during his slumber, someone wisely thought to leave a carafe of fresh coffee on a bureau next to his desk, accompanied by a breakfast platter. His stomach rumbled; only then did Jareth remember he had not eaten in nearly a full day.
He made to reach for the coffee when he became acutely aware of the slightly grimy feeling of neglected hygiene. A bath, he thought to himself, would be a welcome first activity of the day.
Ordinarily, bathing required no fewer than three servants and several drawn-out processes. Though always one to relish as much attention as possible, today, the Goblin King refused any of them and marched his way into the bath chamber. He disrobed various items piece by piece along the way. He felt cleaner as he shed each item, soiled by the magic and efforts of the past day. There is no earthly way I honestly perspire that much.
Jareth twirled a finger and plumbing sprung to life, pouring out a frothy mixture of bubbles and perfectly hot water. He stepped into the deep clawfoot tub without hesitation and sunk into the water up to his neck. For several long minutes, he just lied there. No mysterious blizzards, unplanned rescue missions, or meddling heirs to bother him. Just the floral-and-herb aroma of a comfortable bath and—he snapped his fingers—the promise of a fresh cup of coffee.
His breakfast appeared next to the bath, steaming just as it had hours before. Jareth could not suppress a grin as he poured a cup for himself and tucked into the food. He imagined the various squawks and screeches if his maids saw. Tak, especially, would scold him. "No food in the bath, yer Majesty!" She only felt brave enough to admonish him was when he was naked and swimming in a pool of bubbles. "It is not becoming of an ancient and magicked King like you!"
Some rules were meant to be broken. Indeed, many precedents have shattered just in the past day.
Jareth frowned, his reprieve dampened by the reality of the situation. He dipped his head below the surface of the water, soaking his hair. The warm water against his eyelids soothed his eyes.
Far too many unforeseeable events and rules had been broken. The storm alone lent itself to much stress and new territory as a leader. Cassius' timing was too accurate to be anything other than a coincidence. Despite his suspicions, he had no hard evidence. Jareth delighted in mysteries, except now when he did not know the object of the game or its stakes.
Jareth returned to the surface and massaged soap into his hair. He vigorously scrubbed his scalp, with more intention to think clearly and withdraw information than to cleanse himself. When he finished, his hair was quite clean, but his thoughts were still jumbled.
He managed the rest of his bath without further incident or rule-breaking. Though he took his leisure drying and dressing—and he relished the liberation in doing so without supervision or assistance—Jareth found himself approaching Sarah's chamber much sooner than he anticipated.
He raised his hand to knock on the door, then lowered it. And then raised again, and then again lowered it. After an intense moment of internal struggle, Jareth exasperatedly covered his face with his palm. "This is your castle, fool!" he scolded himself. "Just open the damn door."
When he reached for the handle, his fingers jerked as uncertainty coiled in his shoulders. What has become of you? he again chided himself. This is your duty.
Jareth sighed and steadied himself. "This is for the City," he stated resolutely and pushed open the door before he could stop himself and walk away. Do not get so worked up over a girl. Especially one who is currently a pawn for a coup so severe the labyrinth buries itself in a blizzard.
In his world of continually unraveling expectations and reality, Jareth should not have been surprised that Sarah's quarters were so peaceful and quiet, save for a crackling fire. Had Jareth sought a status update from Sélan before storming in, it would not have been a surprise at all.
All the same, he visibly startled as his eyes gazed upon Sarah, just as still as she was the evening before. She lied tucked into a bed constructed of the same rich cherry wood as the fixtures and furnishings of the castle. It was not as grand as his own, yet her slight form seemed dwarfed by the linens.
Jareth remained root in his spot just inside the door as he observed her. The bleak conditions outside cast a gray light over pallid skin and gaunt features. He mused that Sélan's assessment of "malnourishment" may have been an understatement. Jareth sucked in a breath to see it in fresh daylight; he hoped that Sarah's ill appearance was a mirage of the conditions and the dark magic chasing her when he found her.
Jareth stepped closer but did not quite approach the bed. Without thinking, he again made to reach out toward Sarah, but again stopped himself. What am I doing? he wondered. This is unacceptable. He crossed his arms, clamping each hand around his forearms. As he steeled his grip on himself, a prickle of an unidentifiable emotion welled up in his chest.
The new daylight illuminated more than her sunken face. Beyond the natural process of maturing into adulthood, Sarah looked older than her years. Patches of red blemishes speckled her face, near her nose, mouth, and hairline. Her lips and hair appeared thinner than he expected.
"Aboveground poisons, indeed," he muttered. Jareth recalled more than one challenger in recent history with similar grisly features. The magic which connected him to their lives for the duration of their run did not include every detail, and as it did not affect his duties, he never asked or investigated further. Instincts to protect the children in his care flared up within him, but he did not ever quite understand why.
Despite Sarah's pitiful appearance, Jareth noticed slight color touched her cheeks. Amid the comforting crackles and pops of the fire, her breaths cycled deep and soundly—a vast improvement over the shallow and ragged gasps she sputtered the evening before.
Most striking about Sarah, however, was not her appearance. A gentle scent hung in the air, almost imperceptible below the strong cedar burning in the fireplace. Clean and dry, herbs and woods foreign to her species marked something that Jareth immediately identified as magic.
A gentle knock sounded, and he whirled around to see Tak in a deep curtsy in the door he had forgotten to close. She trembled and remained in her position.
Jareth did not possess the energy to chastise her. He was unsure whether it was because of the series of continually unusual events of the past day and its tax on his energy stores or impressed that she still had the audacity to enter a room he occupied to which she was not directly summoned. In any case, her actions were neither unusual nor of much consequence.
Still, he remained firm in his tone when addressing her. "You may enter."
Tak barely inched inside the door. Her head remained bowed as she stood up. "Tak is sorry to bother his Majesty so soon, sir, I'se was just seeing you enter the lady's room and was worries something bad happened 'cause it stays so quiet, and Tak could not bear it if something very bads happened!" She exhaled the entire sentence in a single breath, her voice watery.
A tiny droplet of the strange feeling rippled in his chest for her. Jareth mused her willful ignorance of etiquette had not yet resulted in her exile. Tak's fierce loyalty to him and good intentions were second only to Slurm's and saved her hide more than once.
"Though your insubordinate concern is appreciated," Jareth began, "The lady and I are fine."
Tak stood there for a moment, wringing her hands and rocking on her feet. She glanced nervously between Jareth and Sarah several times.
"Do you have any further business in here?" he asked her after the long pause when it appeared she would not move from her spot.
"I'se...I'se just wantin' to be seein' if 'twas true, yer Majesty!"
"To see if what was true?" The entire castle, and perhaps the whole city by now, knew Sarah had returned to the castle, and Tak was surely one of the first to have seen her and assisted Sélan.
"If...Miss...healer lady was right about Miss Sarah lady."
"In what way? Spit it out!"
"Miss Sélan lady says that miss Sarah lady's healths will get better just by beings here. She gave Sarah lady a healing draft and said that if she has magic—"
"Out!" Jareth roared. He bellowed so loudly that the gregarious Tak squeaked and turned on her heel without the proper etiquette.
Of course Sarah had magic. Her previous success guaranteed it. He could smell it on her. Jareth looked at her sleeping form. Her hair appeared more vibrant than it had the night before.
I wonder if either of us knows just how much she has.