Chapter Two:
Stumbling out of the Goblin King's grasp, Sarah fell to the stones beneath her, heaving. As her stomach convulsed and violently spilled its contents, tears traced along the length of her nose before dripping off its tip. She shuddered and attempted to stay the bile burning her throat, her past meals already expelled. Her lips held tight against the rush of acid swishing in her mouth and pressing against her teeth, yet when she tried to swallow the substance back down, another rush roared up, and she vomited atop her previous mess.
As she trembled on her knees, eyes pressed together and fighting nausea, a soft sensation pressed over her, easing the aggressive shakes and her upset stomach—altogether vanishing the itchy tears that had dried upon her skin. Warily opening her eyes, she blinked up at the Goblin King, too exhausted from her body's reaction to do more than stiffen weakly at his proximity.
His eyes were cold, and the disgust twisting his pretty face, obvious. The magic that had cleaned her had little to do with kindness, she knew, and more with what had darkened his features. Her muscles ached from their exertion, and her head pounded fiercely; she swallowed, only to wince at the rough soreness. The desire to stand was overwhelming, but every movement made was followed by some ache or another that stilled her, pressing her down against the cool stone.
"Do get up, Sarah." Clipped and apathetic, the voice did little to motivate her to risk pain when she felt so much better against the quiet rocks. They reminded her of Ludo, and she felt so very warm with the thought. When it became apparent that Sarah was ignoring the King, he tightly gripped her arm and pulled upwards, a rough action that wrought a small cry of pain from her lips as she was lifted slightly. With a dark glower, the Goblin King grabbed both shoulders and yanked her towards him, not even stumbling when she fell heavily against him as her legs folded.
A noise of revulsion roused Sarah's heavy lids, and she lolled her head backwards, staring dazedly at him. As the moment morphed into several, the King's face grew more pinched with annoyance and disdain. Sarah leaned farther away from him, relying solely on his arm strength to hold her body.
This was a mistake.
With a malicious twist of his lips, the King released her, and Sarah tumbled once more to the stone walkway. She groaned weakly, rolling onto her side, yet thankful she had not cracked her head against the hard path beneath her. Being unconscious around the Goblin King would not be safe, considering he just magicked her awa—
How?! He had no power over her!
Suddenly very, very fearful, Sarah scrambled backwards—an awkward, quaking crab walk that made the King chuckle darkly. Shuddering once more, she stood, ignoring the shaky tremble that swept through her limbs and the way her legs buckled one—twice—before holding firm.
She regarded the King cautiously, fighting against the thick, icy sensation of fear seeping through her veins and struggling not to panic as she became aware of her surroundings beyond the cold stones upon which she had been sick.
The Labyrinth.
A spasm shot through her, tightening her lips and pulling her back taut.
She spoke in but a rasp. "How? 'You have no powe—'"
"Don't." His voice was cold and deadly—far more malevolent than ever before, and an inkling nudged at Sarah that she had not yet truly seen the Goblin King angry. Anger and confusion warred with tired apathy, all mingling together to coagulate into a mess of throbbing pain and terror. The monarch of her memory had been cruel, yes, but never fully—never outwardly, her thoughts screamed— malignant. Fighting the urge to shuffle backwards—trying to tamp down on the desire to flee for the hills, for even being lost in this muddle of a maze would be better than standing here, where his eyes were so dark and cold and he had power over her and what would he do to her now that she was here and under his control—
She was panicking, she realized. The air refused to enter her mouth, choking her through deprivation, and she stumbled backwards, away from his harsh eyes and, and—and she had romanticized him over the years, oh God, what had she done: she had forgotten the terror that had barely lost over teenage impetuousness, how distant and utterly uncaring his eyes had been as he set the cleaners upon her. She had let the years dull those memories, and she had believed herself safe against the Goblin King, even as she openly defied and insulted him.
Stilling as a thought twisted ice through her, she met his eyes.
"What are you going to do to me?"
What are you going to do to Toby?
She had been foolish Aboveground, taunting him and writing that novel without appropriate thought to the consequences, but if he had power over her, then he might be able harm Toby. Words have power.
He spoke softly, "Whatever do you mean, Sarah?"
His voice was gentle, void of any emotion, but his eyes were glittering with glee. He answered nothing, she had noticed, instead twisting the conversation to another strain, something asinine and pointless. Talking with him was like walking the Labyrinth again.
"Why have you brought me here?" Fear for Toby and her family and friends had chilled her, bringing a firm posture and a steady voice.
"You are here to see the damage you have inflicted upon the Underground with your story." The words were spat, angry and hard, but the faintest note of sadness crept in, perhaps without his notice, for his face had hardened immediately after the words had slipped past his thin lips. She started at the emotion he had revealed, unsure how to reconcile it to the same creature who had dropped her to the ground mere moments before. Hesitantly looking away from the Goblin King, Sarah finally examined the Labyrinth in which she stood, gazing upon the crumbling, shortening walls and browned, wilted hedges—finally noticing the quiet hum to the air that had once roared with old magic.
"How did—how did I do this?" She asked softly, a measure of the rigid fear melting within her when the Labyrinth's magic tentatively brushed against her mind. Although she jumped at the sensation, the emotion behind it was exhausted sadness, and her heart automatically offered its guilt, pulling her lips into a thoughtful frown.
When she glanced back to the Goblin King, he was already staring at her. The burning anger in his eyes had fled in place of subdued resignation, and he spoke in measured beats. "The Labyrinth receives energy from the people who run it; it feeds on the wild magic that was created out of the deal made." He paused to glance quickly at the Labyrinth, some emotion swelling in his eyes, before it was quickly snuffed. "Not many people wish away their children anymore, as the tales of the Goblin King and his Labyrinth have been replaced with newer stories, and so the Labyrinth has steadily declined these past several hundred years. It was rejuvenated by your visit, yet the effects only lasted but a short space of time." He seemed to be searching for something within her, but she could not say whether he found it or not, as he looked away swiftly and continued his explanation. "It seemed logical to spread the story Aboveground once more, and so I wrote your story to encourage more visitors."
"My story? You changed so much of what actually happened, that it ceased to be mine!"
The tentative brushes against her mind snapped away quickly, almost fearfully, and the Goblin King stood stoically, blinking slowly at her. "And? Is this self-righteous anger because I lied?" He posed the question softly, a dangerous edge to his words that should have made her pause.
"You lied," here she mimicked his own inflections upon the word, "because you knew the truth would never make people want to wish away anyone."
As a dark smirk stretched across the King's face and his eyes hardened with malevolent glee, Sarah felt her stomach turn uneasily, and she prayed her body would not repeat its earlier expulsions. When he began speaking, his voice was deceptively soft, gentle and cooing, "Sarah, dear, do you truly wish to pass judgment upon me for the lies I wrote?" His voice hardened, cold fury throwing sharp words are her, "We both know that I am not alone in lying to the Aboveground, Sarah."
"I lied to protect the 'Aboveground'," she snarled, using his term with contempt.
"And I lied to protect the Underground," he returned swiftly.
Refusing to argue the point further—unwilling to admit the similarities in their actions, Sarah spoke, "You never answered how I did this." Her hands spread in a small arc unthinkingly, before swiftly pressing them back against her hips.
"Why did you cut your hair, Sarah?" He asked suddenly, ignoring her furrowed brows. She resisted the urge to run her fingers through the short strands that fell about her ears, declining to acknowledge his tangential question.
"My booked worked, didn't it?" She said instead, gripping the bones of her hips through the low slung jeans she wore. "People stopped coming, didn't they?" If she had not been studying the slope of his sharp cheeks, she would not have seen his jaw twitch minutely. Something akin to vindication rushed through her at the reaction, even as she edged her feet farther apart, slowly widening herself into a stronger stance.
Paranoia swatted at the back of her mind, pressing close and then scurrying away the moment she tried to reach for it. Sarah knew she could not trust the Goblin King; there was something in his manner that screamed at her to notice more, to understand all that she was not, yet the guilt was rising within her at each skittish brush of the Labyrinth's magic, soft tendrils wrapping around her and comforting her still rolling stomach. The anger she had felt was softening, and the fear that had frozen her, lessening. Why she was there, though, she did not understand—why did he need her? He had shown her what she had caused with her words, but he had not made any quick moves to punish her—why? The lack of knowledge ate at Sarah, and she felt the urge to scratch at the itch it caused more than the ache of her legs or the steady thrum of her heartbeat reverberating about her mind.
"If the Labyrinth knows the intent is sincere, the child is recovered. It's just that oftentimes, people do mean it when they wish their child away." His voice was loud in the silence that had settled around them, as the Labyrinth had lowered its hum, almost as though to give the two a semblance of privacy. Although Sarah could still feel the magic gumming at her, she pretended she could not.
"So others have recovered the ones they wished away?"
"Of course, Sarah." The way the words were spoken, Sarah felt as if he had answered an entirely different question. The tension between them lessened, even though her suspicions had flared, and she was sure he had lied to her, through whatever means. The Goblin King's stance relaxed slightly, and with a wave of his hand, he conjured two wrought iron chairs and a glass slab that hovered between them. At his urging, Sarah uncomfortably seated herself, watching with some interest as he did the same.
That nixes the idea of his being fae, I guess.
They stared at one another for several long moments— she, with increasing discomfort and he, with a growing smirk.
"You have grown to be quite old." The comment was bland, but the look in his eyes was the exact opposite. She could have pretended the darkening was desire, had she not seen the same eyes when prostrated on the ground, puking.
Hardly bothered by her age, she raised a brow and inquired, "And how old are you?" He waved his hand in practiced nonchalance, as though sweeping the question away with the mere movement—one which froze when she added in the same guileless tone, "You look quite older than I."
The brief flash of horror that scuttled across his features was well worth the following annoyance that twisted his previous smile into a deep grimace. "Why did you study literature instead of drama?" He paused as though to contemplate his own inquiry. "Oh, dear Sarah, did you realize you didn't have the talent for the stage?"
Sarah chuckled loudly, his petty attempt to cut back for her age comment amusing her. "Hardly. I just grew out of it."
There was a pause where neither spoke in which Sarah realized what he had just asked her. How does he know in what I majored?
"How did the Labyrinth look back when… y'know, there was more magic?" Sarah stumbled in her words, hesitant to mention all the children wished away.
The Goblin King surprised her by sighing almost wistfully and leaning back against his chair, slinging a leather clad leg atop the floating glass. "It was beautiful."
A rush of magic leapt at her, coasting its indignation across her skin. Smiling, just a small bit, Sarah ducked her head as the King let out a genuine laugh—far different than any of the previous ones. The notes of his chuckle were deep and slow with a rolling tone. Frowning, Sarah tugged on a chunk of hair that had fallen past her ear and tucked it snugly with its fellow strands.
"It was beautiful— no use hiding it, dear friend," the Goblin King spoke, a lazy grin curling his lips. "It was once much larger than it is now—even larger than when you ran it. The walls rose up so that one could only see sky; now," he paused to grimace, "one could probably climb over them, they crumble so."
The mournful rush of magic in her mind softened her back, and as she glanced around her, the images the Goblin King continued to describe were superimposed over the present decay—and it was beautiful, she thought distantly.