A/N: I just…I keep counting the days, hoping someone will tell me it's been a joke. That he's coming back. That Blackstar wasn't his way of saying goodbye. If anyone wants to message me to talk about it, to laugh or cry or complain just to feel better, my email is bluehenrybrisbane . Feel free. I have been lost for 13 days, but have found something to cling to in writing this story. I am one chapter and an epilogue away from the end. Love to everyone. xxx
Chapter Eighteen: For Him
To say she wasn't looking forward to this conversation was an understatement. There was just no easy way to argue with friends when they only wanted to help. But Sarah was tired of worrying about people – sometimes she got so mad at herself for not thinking twice about calling them in to help – and this would just give her four more people to stress over. They hadn't even begun to talk about the possibility of reversing their transformations – that was another pot waiting to boil over.
On top of these issues she'd had little sleep waiting for Jareth last night. He'd returned at some unholy hour in a foul mood, waking her with the force of the way he'd ripped the sheets back from his side of the bed. Despite her best attempts at questioning he'd refused to say anything that didn't sound like a direct insult to his mother in Fae tongue. This morning had seen him in a slightly better mood, if cursing in English could be considered an improvement. She'd left him grumbling in the bay window with the prettiest view when Hoggle had asked for a meeting. Hopefully he'd have cooled off enough to talk by the time she returned. He really shouldn't have gone to the funeral.
But that was a discussion for later. The people sitting at the table required her full attention and thinking about Jareth wouldn't speed up the conversation. Hoggle was looking impatient, as was Didymus – though he was always fairly jittery. Ludo sat beside her with his head resting carefully on the table, like a dog deep in thought. His eyes glistened and his long ears took in everything that was being said. Brynn gave off nothing as usual. He just sat there in silence, waiting for her to start.
"All right," she sighed, clinging to her coffee for support. "I'm all ears. Convince me this is a good idea."
Hoggle looked oddly self-important for a stinking, snub-nose goblin. Drawing himself up neatly, he splayed out his gnarled hands on the tabletop and addressed Sarah calmly but firmly. "You ain't got to do this on your own all the time. We care about you too damn much to see –"
"Stop right there," Sarah interrupted sharply, leaning forward in her chair. "You can't use that in your argument and hope to win. You care about me and I care about you; it cancels itself out as a reason because it makes sense on both sides." Ignoring their titters, she leant back in her seat and idly twirled the sugar spoon in her fingers. "Start again. Why should I let my best friends face the Labyrinth on a regular basis when I can't guarantee you'll always be safe?"
"Because you got us in to help the first time without thinkin' twice," Hoggle muttered.
Sarah did her best to ignore what she'd been painfully aware of for days. "I think Didymus has something to say," she intoned dryly without looking at the little goblin.
"Thou cannot be so certain of one's own safety, my Lady!" Didymus exclaimed. He'd been sitting between Hoggle and Ludo when the meeting started but had already taken to pacing the surface of the table. His nimble clawed feet picked out careful paths around the tea accoutrements. "These are peculiar times we live in, unchartered and new – who can promise anyone sanctuary when –?"
"Stop yer babblin'," Hoggle interjected with a roll of his eyes. "She's heard all that before." He turned back to Sarah. "Look. Maybe this ain't all about you, okay? Maybe Hoggle remembers what it was like before, when the Castle was full o' creatures that used to be people, and we don't want no more of that. If we can make it so kids like Diego don't get stuck as things like us, then shouldn't we get to make that choice for ourselves?"
Sarah considered Hoggle carefully. It wasn't like him to volunteer – no, demand – a job like this. At least it wasn't like the old Hoggle, who'd balked at every shadow and sworn no loyalty but to himself. The friend she knew these days was full of surprises. And now he wanted to save children, at any hour of the day or night, by running a nightmare maze? "It doesn't work like that," she told him softly, burdened by her own recent lesson. "You can help a runner all you like but it won't always affect their choice in the long run. It's up to them to save people, not you."
"I am a knight, my Lady," Didymus said with a bow, for once reasonably calm. "It is always my duty to save others. If thou wouldst grant me permission, I would serve well the runners of the Above no matter their disposition come the final judgement. Wouldst thou deny a baker to bake? A bird to fly? I am a knight…and I must serve and protect."
"All right fine: you're a knight. But Hoggle's a gardener, Didymus. Shouldn't I let him tend the gardens, by your own reasoning?"
"Plenty of time to do that between runs," Hoggle answered. "Was gettin' sick of sprayin' fairies anyways. This seems as good a distraction as any, don't it? Besides, this'll give us more reason to be around you without makin' the other beasts suspicious."
"Ludo?" Sarah turned to the big goblin, who lifted his head from the table.
He nudged her hand with his bristly face and whined softly. "Ludo help," he announced in that voice like distant thunder. "Always help."
How could she deny them? "But I don't want you to help. I don't want you to risk it."
"Well that's just too bad, ain't it? Tell her, Brynn. Tell Sarah she has to let us."
Brow raised, Sarah met the Fae's eyes over the rim of her mug. "Yeah Brynn. Tell me I have to let them."
The corner of his mouth twitched as his head shook just the tiniest bit. For him that was a chuckle and a grin, and she knew somehow she'd lost the argument. "I could argue many a fair point but, ultimately, the decision lies with Sarah." How did he manage to make that sound as if it lay anywhere but with her? His subtlety was lost on the goblins, who broke out in varying cries of disgust at the apparent betrayal.
"We still have to talk about your transformations," she said loudly over the din. "Aren't you guys sick of being smelly old goblins? If you stay here, you can't ever be put back to normal. No one can ever know you were the ones who helped me years ago. I have a feeling it wouldn't be appreciated."
"The air is sweet as it's always been, my Lady!" Didymus insisted.
"There are worse things to be than half-goblin, the way I see it," sniffed Hoggle.
Sensing the discussion was reaching its conclusion, Sarah turned pleadingly to Ludo. His expression gave her no hope. "Let me guess: you just always want to help, right?" He patted her hand and smiled with those huge fangs. How had she ever been intimidated by them? They just made his gentleness more apparent.
"Sarah." Hoggle's voice was more patient, once it seemed he'd won. "You don't want us to do it because you're afraid of us gettin' hurt, right? Don't yer reckon Jareth sees it the same way, with your takin' on the Throne? And you tell him to shut it when he says so, don't yer?"
One shared glance with Brynn told her he was probably thinking just the same. Finding her coffee altogether too bitter now, Sarah set it down and threw her hands up in defeat. "Fine!" she groaned, "You can do it. Form your little squad or band or whatever you're going to call it."
She expected them to cheer and thank her with hugs by the way they'd been going on about it all. Instead she received surprisingly solemn nods, like she'd bestowed the heavy tasks upon them herself. Didymus bowed low, his whiskered nose brushing the wood of the table. Hoggle exchanged a satisfied yet serious look with Brynn, as if they'd just been appointed partners in the endeavour. Ludo whined again and laid his head upon the table, close enough that he was pressed against her side. Well, at least they were all acknowledging the weight of their choice. It might keep them safe a little longer. "I want promises that you won't take stupid risks," she added crossly. "No sacrificing yourselves for a runner, no giving the real goblins an excuse to attack you, no heroic feats of any kind. Your job is to assist only, not throw yourselves into the fire for someone. Just remember the people you help are there by their own mistakes, after everything's said and done. Whatever happens is not on you."
There was a stunned silence when she finished, made heavier by severity of her voice by the end. Sarah blinked in surprise at her own cold vehemence. She was only trying to protect them, to make sure they'd be okay…but at what cost? Was she really willing to let a child die to keep her friends safe? How am I any different from Mira? Flooded with such dismay, she only caught the tail end of the stare Brynn pointed her way. She was about to apologise, to say she hadn't meant it that way, when he cleared his throat and all eyes fell on the Fae.
"I respect those logical demands and acknowledge your desire to protect your friends," he stated matter-of-factly, smoothing a tea towel into a neat square while he spoke. "However I must point out that I am under no such compulsion to preserve myself for your sake. I am your underling, not your companion, and I will not hesitate to make the decision I deem fit at the time. Regardless of its emotional impact on you, your Majesty." At the last sentence he locked eyes with her and she understood. Now she didn't have to take back her orders but the runners and wished away would be under Brynn's dedicated protection.
"I guess I have to respect that," she answered with a feigned shrug. "We're not friends; I have no right to prioritise your safety."
Brynn merely nodded as if she hadn't just given him permission to die if necessary. It was unsettling, the ease with which he'd offered such a thing. He was still so…other, so different from a human, too long estranged from emotion and consequence. She hurriedly drained the last of her coffee and stood. Jareth in a bad mood was preferable company in that moment; at least it meant he had a better relationship to his feelings. Which wasn't exactly fair on Brynn, who was only trying to help her out – but that didn't make his calm demeanour any less unsettling. He'd watched Mira die with much the same disinterest. "I'd better go see how Jareth's doing," she offered in answer to their questioning looks. She must have had the expression of someone spooked about her by the way they stared. "He came back late from the funeral last night."
They responded in various tones of understanding, inclining heads respectfully as she passed. Sarah cringed at the formality. They'd better not start bowing to her at every word or she'd have something to say. Harsh ruler or not she was still just Sarah Williams, former librarian. It was reassuring to hear them burst into conversation before she'd even closed the door. In the hallway her deep breath was interrupted by Brynn calling her name. Nerves surged through her anew. Still, she couldn't deny he'd done something pretty selfless for her.
"Thank –"
"You need to remember to think before you speak if you want to maintain your morality," he interjected sharply, closing the door so that they were alone in the hall.
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You let your mouth get the better of you. Throwing out rules like that for your friends is all well and good but it backed you into a corner. A corner I had to pluck you out of."
If she was on edge before she was positively bristling now. "I'm sorry, did I force you to speak up? I don't remember making that big speech and then saying 'but don't worry, I don't give a shit about Brynn here so he can take the risks for you'. You said what you said by your own volition. Don't get pissy with me."
"You came off sounding heartless despite the reasoning behind it," Brynn replied. His voice barely changed an octave but it hardened significantly. "And I know that's not what you want. You want to be different from the Queen that Mira was. But I don't have enough time or energy to coach your every move, Sarah. If you don't want to lose your humanity in this position, then you have to learn to think before you speak."
Though she was fuming, skin prickling with indignation, the undercurrent of his words were undeniable. "Are you…are you mad at me because you've chosen to look out for my sense of morality?" she asked incredulously.
"And I can see you're going to make it a difficult task, if this is any indication of the future."
She stared at him wide eyed and tugged at her hair. "Brynn, you – you're a Fae. You watch people die as if it's boring and you talk about life like it's a chess game. Are you really in any way an appropriate choice for a moral compass?" Her laugh was unexpected and bitter. "Besides, I never asked to be looked after that way. I can take care of my own conscience."
"And yet you just made it clear that you'd let runners – mostly children – die for the sake of keeping your companions safe. How would that have weighed on your mind if it came to pass?"
No. She wouldn't let him win that easily. "I'd feel like shit," she responded earnestly. "But I'd live with it because it'd be my own fault. I'm allowed to make my own mistakes, Brynn. I'm still learning. You've got, what, a few centuries more experience than me? I'm happy for any advice you want to share but you can't tell me off like I'm a little kid."
"Then I suggest you stop acting like one." Harder than steel, that voice had become. And sharp as a knife.
"Stop calling me precious. I'm not a little girl."
His eyes flashed. "And yet you have yet to offer me a single gracious word, like the spoilt child you have always been."
Had she really not learnt anything in the months since that argument with Jareth? Of course I have. It's easy to see just a girl when you're more than two hundred years old. I have to stop giving them reasons to call me that. She straightened her shoulders and gave him a stern glare. "Look, Brynn. The way I see it is this: you have no right to be angry with me when you took it upon yourself to get mixed up in my mess. You want to look out for my morality? Go right ahead. But don't use caring as an excuse to have a go at me when I make a mistake. Find a better way to advise me or else you won't ever be more than my 'underling'."
His jacket couldn't have been more neat, yet he focused on straightening and brushing it with precise attention. Probably so that when he spoke, he wouldn't have to look at her. "I don't require your friendship, if that's what you're suggesting. And you require guidance, not another friend to hold your hand."
Taken aback by how much that stung, Sarah's voice warbled. "Well then. Guess we've got that sorted out, haven't we?" She crossed her arms to hide the trembling of her closed fists. "If it's all the same to you, I was on my way to see Jareth. I'll see you at the next run, Mr Fel Vaden."
Without waiting for a response she left, keeping her pace slow but sure. He would not see her storm off in a huff. He didn't give a shit about being her friend, did he? After pledging allegiance in front of disapproving Fae royals and swearing loyalty and admitting he was worried about her soul and fetching Jareth for her when she was upset – none of that meant anything? He'd rather keep his distance so that he could snap at her and pick at the mistakes she made? Deep down she knew that wasn't true; knew that they'd just gotten riled up. But she was too incensed to care for the time being. Halls and doors passed by in a blur as she traversed the Castle; creatures lurking in shadows were spared no second glance and gave nothing but muted chittering in return. Distantly she acknowledged how easily she'd become accustomed to their presence; how quickly she'd learnt to ignore them. But then a vision came and there was no thought for anything else:
The bar was one of his favourites, an old harlem-esque dark wooded affair with lots of smoke and weak lighting. Something bluesy and warm was being sung by a moustached man on the tiny stage. Nobody ever blinked at new arrivals in the doorway; they were too busy with whiskey and cigarettes. All in all, it was perfect for a couple of Fae hoping to blend in and get quietly, disastrously drunk.
Brynn sniffed at the air as they took seats in the back; his expression was sceptical.
"Don't give me that look," Jareth chided, cracking open their freshly acquired bottle of scotch. "This place is the genuine article."
"It's filthy," Brynn replied, inspecting his glass. "I don't see why we have to do this here. Alcohol is just as effective in the Do –"
"The Domain is a terrible pub," Jareth interrupted pointedly. The man really had no clue about keeping a low profile. "And if I have to listen to one more drunken round of Hoggle's goblin anthem I'm going to string him up like a flag over the Bog." Raising their glasses, they toasted without words. To what was never necessary with them. "You can't tell me you aren't glad to be out of the Castle. This winter's been driving you just as mad as it has me."
"It is refreshing to have a change of scenery." Brynn downed his first drink in one fell swoop and held the glass out for another.
"That's the spirit. And I keep telling you, you need to be around the people you try to save on a daily basis." Jareth finished his own just as quickly and poured them each another. They tended to get unobtrusively competitive when it came to drinking. "It helps you learn how they think."
"There's a fair difference between drunken revellers and human children."
"Clearly you haven't had too much experience with teenagers," Jareth countered sardonically.
"I will soon enough," Brynn replied conspiratorially.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
The man rose a brow in silence.
"Sarah told you, didn't she?" he harrumphed. "She said I wasn't allowed to tell anyone! That woman –"
"What Sarah allows us to do and what she can do are two different things." Brynn smiled. As usual it gave the impression of a stone with teeth. One day the man would learn how to do it properly. "In any case, I believe congratulations are in order."
"Thank you. But I suggest you keep it to yourself. We were intending on announcing it at the Harvest." His own grin was almost painful in its intensity.
"Of course."
"That being said, my teenager will be nothing like the humans I've seen."
"You think the offspring of Sarah Williams and the stubborn Prince will be no trouble?"
"I am an optimist, comrade. I expect trouble but have faith in our ability to raise a fairly sensible creature."
"You're right."
"I am?"
"You are an optimist."
So he wasn't interested in being a friend, was he? Sarah scoffed as she resurfaced from the scene, dragging fingers through her hair while she walked. "You're full of shit, Brynn," she muttered. There was more to the vision than possible future friendships. Reaching the stairs to her quarters, she found herself daydreaming. Would her children have blonde hair or black? Would they have Fae markings and dabble in magic or wear scraped knees like badges to prove their humanity? She'd never even really contemplated the idea of having kids before. If it seemed a distant, idealistic path to her now, at least she knew they had plenty of years to decide on it. Still. Didn't mean anything if she imagined a tiny blonde-haired girl with mismatched eyes and enough personality to fill the room.
Jareth was right where she'd left him, only he'd taken up a book and put away the scowl. Sunlight streamed in through the window and bathed him in the tender shades of spring. He was entranced by his reading, long legs stretched out in front with fingers curled tight around the pages of the old tome. If not happy, he at least seemed less tense. He didn't look up, seemingly unaware of her, but he called quietly: "What are you smiling about?"
"I had a..." It was never a good idea to tell people their future. Surely. Even if it was just only possibilities. "A fight with Brynn," she answered carefully. That got his attention. By the time he could appear suitably bothered she'd lifted his arms and climbed into his lap. She pressed back into his chest as he resettled his arms around her, the book resting on her knee. "What are you reading?"
"An old Elvish anthology – seems an odd thing to be smiling about; what did he do exactly?"
"Nothing unusual for Brynn. It doesn't matter."
"Are you sure?"
"Are you ready to talk about the funeral now?"
He groaned faintly in response and attempted to continue reading. She closed the book with a snap and plucked it from his grasp.
"It was awful, if you must know." He spoke as if each word was being hauled from the depths of his heart, as if it were a physical labour to drag them out. He'd always been prone to dramatics. "Loathsome. The sort of tripe you'd expect at the funeral of a dead monarch. Now, if you'll give me back –"
She slid the book to the other side of the window, beyond both their reaches. "What were you so pissed about?" she asked, matching his returned scowl with a look of determined defiance.
He didn't seem likely to answer at first. When she turned her head to catch his profile, the spark of rage flickering anew in those eyes seemed beyond words. "They made Lina give a speech," he hissed. "Nothing the woman had done mattered. She executed Lina's lover, sent her away to the desert, destroyed our lives, tried to kill you…and every single person in that room knew it. Lina had to stand there and lament. Nobody acknowledged that it was a complete farce."
The muscles in his neck and jaw were rigid with anger; they only softened slightly when she turned and pressed her face into him. "I'm sorry," she murmured against his throat. "That's not fair. Poor Lina."
"They made a joke of her," he growled. "She's to be their Queen in a few weeks and they put her on display like a chastised child. It makes me worry how that cursed Council will treat her after the coronation."
She let him simmer for a few moments, feeling his rapid pulse beneath her lips. There was no point in talking when he was so worked up. Eventually he calmed, or at least softened his anger into something more malleable. "Would you like to hear what I think?" she asked quietly.
"Always," he replied.
"You're really sweet to worry about her the way you do. But I think, a lot of the time, it's unnecessary."
"I –"
"Just listen for a minute, Jareth." She kept her tone gentle but firm, somewhere between insistent and placating. "Lina had to have known she'd be the centre of attention at that ceremony. She's heir to the Throne. Right?"
"Mhmm…"
"Right. So, bearing in mind that of course she wouldn't want to go, and of course most people could guess how she feels about Mira…don't you think she did the responsible thing? Your people put a lot of stock in custom and tradition, the way I see it. So even though everybody knew the stuff that's happened in the royal family, they saw her put aside emotion and perform her duties as daughter and heir, for propriety's sake. Don't you think they might've been just a little impressed by that?"
Jareth was silent. She ploughed on.
"I keep telling you Lina's tough. You've seen how she handles the Council. In fact, I'm sure that sooner or later she'll give them a piece of her mind about the speech."
To her surprise, he suddenly wore a smirk.
"What?" she queried.
"Lina engaged in a very lengthy, rather aggressive discussion with the Council after the funeral. I was waiting to see her home; that's why I returned so late last night."
"See? I'm pretty clever."
"That you are." He sighed against her cheek. "I think perhaps I let my protectiveness blind me."
She kissed his jaw. "You're just a big brother looking out for his sister, that's all. But, a word to the wise, this whole 'looking out for the women' thing has the potential to be insulting if you let it go too far."
He hummed at her touch, fingers thrumming a rhythm along her waist. "Believe me, that is never my intention, Sarah."
"I know." She dipped her head back into the crook of his neck, eyes closed. "Just…maybe in the future, try not to let our lives get you so tied up in knots? We can look after ourselves pretty well."
"Says the woman who bargained away her freedom to spare her brother."
"Hey, I never said I followed my own advice. Just that you should."
"Let's both agree to ease off from this need to protect everybody, yes?"
"Deal." Could he tell that she was already breaking the pact? Soothing Jareth's hurts was a great distraction from handling her own qualms. And she had to acknowledge her growing addiction to the feeling of cheering him up. The moment when his rigid biting features slackened because of something she did or said was just a little intoxicating. Was that in itself egotistical? No. It was borne of love. She couldn't stand seeing him upset.
"Where have you gone, love?" Jareth murmured into her ear.
"Hmm?"
"You're far away."
She'd been overthinking, as usual. It was exhausting sometimes, caring so much. "Did…did they tell everyone how Mira really died?"
"The Council decided it was best to keep the details to a minimum," he replied. "With you yet to be announced the new Goblin Queen, I doubt it would have been safe to declare your involvement in her death. The public won't know."
"Oh." She exhaled hard. "Well, good." Her hands shook just a little with relief. "God…do you ever feel like you're just waiting for the other shoe to drop? That whatever you do, whatever you achieve or defeat or justify, there's always going to be something else coming around the corner ready to attack?"
"Yes," he answered slowly, "But then again I'm well practiced in living with it. Decades of waiting for the next wish to come will hone your anxiety into a razor's edge."
"And what happens then?" she asked quietly.
"You find yourself cutting out parts of you that interfere with tasks. Hope. Imagination. Patience."
If he hadn't sounded so serious she might've snorted at the drama of it. It didn't seem so funny now. Jareth's life had been really miserable the last hundred years or so. "I won't lose myself," she promised him. "I have plenty of people and things to distract me between wishes."
"That, and you're far too stubborn to let a job change you."
"Exactly." She was growing content in his arms, thoughts fading to background noise and thinking it wouldn't be a bad way to spend the day when it was, of course, interrupted.
"Aren't you two ready yet? I thought you'd be jumping with eagerness by now, Sarah."
Lina's melodic voice held a tinge of impatience, as did her expression. Startled, Sarah offered a wary smile after her confused frown. Jareth didn't move but his hands tightened on her just a little. A strange reaction to have to his sister. "Ready for what?" Sarah asked curiously.
Lina shot Jareth an almost exasperated look, stretching out a foot to kick his boot. "How long did you think you could delay this by just not telling her?"
Rolling his eyes, Jareth finally acknowledged her presence. "A few hours more, at least. I didn't expect you to be on time. It's very unlike you."
"I'm punctual because Sarah's relying on it," she answered with very pointed emphasis. She gave his boot another kick.
"What am I relying on?" Sarah interjected before Jareth could even open his mouth. She'd felt him tensing behind her. If she let them go on she'd never get an answer. "What was I meant to be ready for?"
"We've arranged for you to see Malibar," Lina told her in much kinder tones than she'd used for Jareth. "I thought my fool brother would have mentioned it by now."
"Well he didn't." Sarah wriggled free of Jareth, smacked his arm and got to her feet all at once. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, indeed. He was the one to drop it! She planted her hands on her hips. "Why didn't you?"
"Just attempting to delay the inevitable," he replied smoothly, which wasn't exactly a real answer. Rising, he picked at a loose thread as if that were his only reason for frowning. An immaculately embroidered black coat hung off the back of a nearby chair; he gathered it up and tugged it on casually. "Shall we go then? If you're both done beating and berating me?"
"You're not getting away with sass here, Jareth. Why don't you want to see Malibar? And don't tell me it's just because he's disappointed in you."
Glancing at Lina, she received an amused nod of approval. Jareth's composure remained steadily intact. "I don't give a damn about his opinion of me," he said. "I'm just concerned that the weight of his substantial years might have addled his wits. I don't want you to get your hopes up in case he's no help to us."
"I'm certain that won't be the case," said Lina, moving to stand beside Sarah.
"Oh are you?" Jareth quirked a cynical brow. "So you've been to see him in advance, sister of mine?"
"I've spoken with the people who worked with him before he retired," she answered sharply.
"Ah. Not exactly the same thing then, is it? Talking to people he knew three centuries ago and talking to someone his age in person?" Jareth turned to Sarah. "What do you suppose the knowledge of over four thousand years does to a person, love?"
"Four thousand -!" Sarah choked back her surprise. This wasn't the time to be distracted. "We're going to see him. I don't care what state he's in. We'll find out soon enough." She looked to Lina. "I guess you're taking us there?"
"Strictly speaking I'm too busy to be doing this," the Fae answered conspiratorially. "But what the Council won't know won't hurt them. I didn't want to send just anyone to take you."
"I appreciate it," Sarah said earnestly, tidying her ruffled hair and clothes. "Am I presentable enough to meet a four-thousand-year-old Fae?"
Lina was polite about it. Sarah knew that her pants and shirt were crinkled and mismatched. To the woman's request that she might make a few changes, Sarah nodded. A familiar tickling rushed over her, but where Jareth's magic had kissed her like sin Lina's felt like the honest warmth of sunshine. She wore a fitted blouse that gave a glimpse of Jareth's pendant around her neck, and layered skirts the colour of midnight. Studying her new attire, Sarah grinned. It was not unfamiliar of the style Lina often chose, and Sarah felt the stirrings of sisterly affection meeting the woman's approving smile.
"A little better," Lina said, "Not too formal but less – well – human. If Malibar's in a bad state of mind, we don't want to shock him with the sight of you." Her grin was sudden and mischievous. "We'll let the subject of your enquiries do that."
"Perhaps he'll die of indignation before he can babble on too much," Jareth grumbled.
This wasn't like him. Sarah opened her mouth to ask just what his problem was when Lina took her arm. "No time to waste then," she declared, succinctly joining the three of them. "I can't be away too long or someone will notice."
The air was sucked from her lungs, the ground tugged out from beneath her feet, and they were whirled away into familiar blackness.
"There's got to be a way," he growled, teeth bared like some cornered wolf. "Stop telling me there isn't a way."
"There's no magic for sort of thing!" his teacher snapped more insistently. "How many times must I tell you? Stop being such a sentimental, loose-witted –"
"No!" he raged, knocking the old man to the floor. Magic kept him there with uncontrolled force. "I am not leaving this house until you bring her to me! I am so sick of having things ripped out of my hands – the ground I walk is bathed in blood, the air I breathe is putrid – you will bring her to me. I will win this time. You. Will. Bring. Her. To. Me."
Malibar didn't answer. His eyes were bulging, face purple with the strain of trying to free himself of the weave. Blood trickled from his nose. He was choking with the weight of it.
Jareth blinked, coming back to himself, and felt his blood run cold. With a gasp he released the man and stood back. "I…I –"
"Get out," Malibar breathed, clutching his chest in pain. He didn't have to say it again.
Jareth got the hell out.
He had to tell her. It was coming back to him in waves of vivid, sickly colour: the madness, the threats, the look in the man's eyes when he'd started to fear for his life. She'd be ashamed of him…and quite right too. He wouldn't ask to be forgiven. He didn't deserve it. But then…if they could all be spared the scene, if Malibar didn't even remember what happened…it wasn't strictly necessary that they find out what had happened. It certainly wouldn't help anything. Jareth fought the dizziness that came with travelling through a gateway. It took him a moment to stop swaying. These weren't the kind of things you should really contemplate when being transported.
Sarah was looking at him. She didn't ask if he was okay – still a bit mad then, fair enough – but her eyes held a flicker of concern. He squeezed her hand before letting it drop along with Lina's.
"Pretty," Sarah acknowledged with approval, making him notice their destination.
The forest was thickly wooded with trees black as ink and long grasses the colour of jade. The air was still as a breath being held, the grass rippling only under the guidance of some forgotten magic. If that didn't tell him where they were, Lina's careful steps certainly did.
"You could have warned me, Lina," he called to her, flinging out a hand to keep Sarah in place before she could follow.
"Warned you about what?" she asked.
"I know where we're going," Lina replied offhandedly, brushing a trunk with the tips of her fingers. "I thought Sarah might like to take the scenic route."
"Where are we?" Sarah asked.
"How could you have been sure where to take us?" he persisted testily. "We could have fallen to our deaths."
"I was given exact directions," Lina assured him patiently. "Stop fretting so much and answer the poor woman's questions. I hope he doesn't ignore you like that often, Sarah."
"I don't usually let him," she replied.
Her look was one of definite impatience though. He offered no resistance as she batted away his protective arm. Still, there was nothing wrong with following right behind her. "Don't step ahead of Lina," he warned.
Though the trees showed no sign of thinning out, light poured in on them thickly from the west. The closer they got, the brighter everything became, until at last Jareth couldn't stop himself from catching hold of Sarah's arm. "Slowly," he murmured without taking his eyes from the tree line. They all stepped forward as one and shivered against the sudden wind that hit them. The forest disappeared without warning on the edge of a great waterfall. It stretched for miles in both directions along the lip of a canyon shaped like a tear. The other side was beyond sight, even with the sunlight and crisp sky no longer competing with the trees. This was not what made it remarkable or deadly in and of itself.
"There's no sound," Sarah pointed out questioningly. "The waterfall, the wind…I can't hear any of it."
"We call it the Silent Drop," Jareth replied, more interested in her stark wonder than the sight itself. Those wide eyes and parted lips were a distraction from his growing anxiousness. "There's a magic here so ancient that it's part of the land itself. No one has ever heard a sound here. But do you see why I exercise caution? The abyss below would swallow you in a heartbeat if you didn't know to look out for it."
"How far down does it go?" Sarah asked, gripping his arm while she strained to see into the dark.
"Nobody's ever survived to give notes," he replied grimly.
"Oh don't ruin it," Lina chastised. "It's too beautiful to be afraid of." She had her feet planted squarely on the rocky edge, leaning back against a trunk. Her hair was a billowing mess, skirts rippling like waves as she grinned into the wind.
"I thought that about Sarah once," Jareth remarked dryly. "Thankfully that was a mistake I had the chance to learn from." He looked down at her, lowering his voice. "I don't suppose you're going to count this little moment on my 'save the women' record?"
Her smile was fleeting. "No, this is definitely something you were right to be cautious about." She went back to studying the abyss. The silence of the place lent an eerie touch to her pensive expression. Before he could ask what bothered her, Lina spoke up.
"Malibar lives just over there," she pointed a few miles along the lip of the falls. The side of a stone structure poked out from the trees, too far to make out details. "Seems an appropriate place for a historian to retire, don't you think? Living on the edge of a mystery yet to be solved?"
It was typical for a recluse retiree, perhaps trying to avoid an old pupil.
Lina slipped back into the forest with far too much ease for the danger a wrong step could bring. "I'll take us the rest of the way," she called from the trees. "I don't have much time left."
Sarah made to join her but Jareth squeezed her arm. "Wait," he bit out, a rush of trepidation making him itch. He had to tell her. Or at least warn her that she might learn things about him he wasn't proud of. She stared at him with the expectant look of someone about to have their questions answered at last.
"Are you going to tell me the truth about you and Malibar?" she asked quietly.
"I just think you should know, before we go in…there's a good chance he will claim certain events took place…"
"That's the sound of someone covering their ass if ever I heard it. What the hell happened, Jareth?"
Casting a wary glance in Lina's direction, Jareth lowered his voice. "I was out of my mind," he said urgently. "I wish that was a good enough excuse but I know better. Things were…unpleasant for me after you beat my Labyrinth. I took it out on Malibar because I thought he could do something about it but wouldn't. I had no one else. I just want you to understand how ashamed I am, and how deeply I've regretted it."
He felt like a worm on a hook under the force of her stare. It was an effort not to writhe. "How did you 'take it out' on him?" she asked slowly. "I don't –"
"Quickly now," Lina called, popping her head back through the trees. "The quicker we get there the more time you'll have with him."
Sarah was looking at his fingers still wrapped around her arm. He let go of her uncertainly. "Tell me about it later," she told him quietly before heading over to Lina.
Jareth sighed. It was the right thing to do, even if she hated him for a little while. Or a long while. Lina gave him a questioning look over Sarah's tense shoulder when he joined them, but said nothing. Steeling himself for the dizziness, he joined their circle and closed his eyes against the tide of colours streaking through the black. I'm not broken, love. Maybe one day that would ring perfectly true. One day.
Her life had become one never-ending balancing act. She could have joined the circus with the talent she was cultivating. Come and witness the jaw-dropping feats of Sarah Williams the Goblin Queen, able to walk blindfolded across a tight rope whilst juggling a thousand emotional crises at once. She was a little amused by the thought – which then had her worrying that she was going crazy. Sane people didn't laugh at all the shit that got thrown at them, did they? There wasn't much time for thought after they were whirled away, which suited her just fine. Like she really wanted to spend another second thinking about just what the hell else Jareth had to confess to. Didn't he have enough skeletons in the closet?
The place they arrived at was an impressive and welcome distraction. "Okay. Wow." She was aware that she was probably gaping. It was difficult to pick out where the forest ended and the house began. The trees thickened noticeably foot by foot until they seemed to meld with solid stone, forming the walls of a three-story home. The windows were just squares cut into the stone, the only door another archway with vines hanging thick as curtains. Creepers sprouting flowers dark as blood covered most of the stone. Walking around to the side, Sarah could see two very impressive things: firstly, that the house sat right on the edge of the waterfall, and secondly there seemed to be no wall to the side that faced the canyon, only a stone outcrop. The entire inside of the place was exposed to the canyon. Forcing down a sudden onset of vertigo, Sarah joined Jareth while Lina went to the door.
She didn't knock or call out, just placed her hand against the stone. It must have done something because a few seconds later a hand swept aside the curtain and a woman stepped out. She moved like all Fae did, with grace and poise and little expression, carved with willowy features. The noiseless wind, finding no purchase in her surprisingly close-cropped hair, picked at her lace dress with heavy fingers. She didn't seem to notice, greeting them with a reverential curtsy. Or least greeted Lina, kissing her hand and murmuring welcome. Jareth and Sarah she considered with the look of someone who'd lifted a mat and found spiders underneath. She seemed to be sizing up what shoe would be needed to take care of them. Sarah would have been more annoyed by it had she not just noticed the thick scar that smothered the left side of the woman's face. It drowned her petite features, obliterating Fae markings and freckles as it stretched along her throat. Sarah wondered what had happened to her that couldn't be healed by magic.
When she spoke her voice held faint traces of a hoarse strain. "Ma'am, your letter didn't mention that you would be accompanied."
Lina appeared completely unfazed. "I must apologise for the lack of notice, Idris," she replied with all the aplomb of a soon-to-be Queen. "I do have my own need for speaking with him but I'm being called away by duties. Since my companion over there has her own questions, I thought I would let her have my appointment. I hope that's all right. We think Malibar is the only one with the right knowledge for what we seek."
Sarah did her best to look non-threatening, nothing at all like a spider, but it was difficult under the glare she and Jareth were receiving.
"What questions?" Idris asked bluntly.
"That's for her to say," Lina replied patiently. "But they are quite urgent, as are my own duties. Forgive me but I will have to say my thanks and leave them with you for the time being." She took on a speedier tone, turning away from Idris, who'd opened her mouth to protest. "I'll return for you both in an hour," she told them. Then, in a lower voice: "Don't offend anyone. We need him."
Before any of them could utter a word she was gone. Their host's gaze took on an unfiltered strain now that the heir had left them. She looked straight at Jareth, chin raised and arms folded at her chest. "He has nothing to say to you."
Jareth retained a calm demeanour, though a hint of colour crept into his cheeks. "I didn't expect him to. Sarah here, on the other hand, needs at least a few words."
Idris' scar pulled her mouth into a frown despite the clear surprise in her grey eyes. She studied Sarah as though having worked out a puzzle. "That's her, isn't it?" she demanded. "The human you disgraced yourself over and –"
"They actually call me her Majesty these days," Sarah cut in before Jareth lost his temper. He was stiff as a post beside her; she rested a hand in the crook of his elbow. "My name is Sarah Williams. I'm the Goblin Queen." She thrust out a hand. "Nice to meet you."
She took Sarah's hand almost without thought for it, pressing chilled fingers against hers only momentarily. "So it's true then," she murmured, losing interest in Jareth. "A human has taken the Labyrinth Throne."
"How did you hear about that?" Sarah asked, nonplussed. Had word spread so quickly already?
"Missives from the Palace were sent throughout the Domain. Everyone knows her Majesty Mira El'Maven is dead and that the princess' coronation will happen shortly." It was unnerving being the sole recipient of that sharp gaze. "There was also brief mention of changes to the Labyrinth Throne. No details of course but it set tongues wagging. And it seems they've guessed correctly."
What other things had been guessed? What rumours were floating around the Domain about her and what she'd done? "Look, I'm not here to cause trouble, I promise. I just want to talk to Malibar. Please. I've got a lot of questions to ask. Things I need to know."
Idris opened her mouth – to argue, no doubt – but a voice from within cut her off.
"Idris, what's taking you so long? Let her in –"
Sarah had never really thought about what a truly old Fae might look like, but Malibar left no room for imagination. He stumbled through the vines like debris swept out with the tide, momentum carrying him forward though he seemed frozen in shock. His dark trousers and shirtsleeves would have been a tight fit on Jareth; they sagged on Malibar like a poorly made scarecrow. Every part of him stuck out sharply: hipbones, shoulders, knuckles, cheekbones, nose…his baldness gave him the look of a monk. Staring at him, Sarah was reminded of a very sharp stick she'd put her foot through as a kid. He leant hard on a cane and looked in danger of snapping in half with a good push, yet Sarah thought this was another stick she'd be stupid to step on. There was an ancient strength in those murky eyes, a cold intelligence so long-harboured it had the potential to be dangerous in its fermentation.
Malibar squinted at Jareth, bony hands wrapping around the head of his walking stick. When he spoke again, it was in a voice every bit as cold and well-honed as his wits. "Which are you? Jaster or Mira?"
Apparently his eyesight was the only thing failing him.
Jareth tensed at the question, as did Idris. "Neither," he answered sharply, then less certainly: "Both. It's me…Jareth."
Sarah didn't expect him to move so quickly. One minute the old Fae was peering into Jareth's face with difficulty, the next he'd disappeared behind the curtain in total silence.
"You shouldn't have come here," Idris snapped. "He'll injure himself running from you."
"He doesn't need to run from us," Sarah replied smoothly, moving closer to the curtain. "Did you hear me, Malibar sir? We're not going to hurt you. I just have some questions."
"She needs to speak with him," Jareth hissed at Idris. "His anger with me has nothing to do with Sarah."
"Sarah?" All three of them turned toward the voice behind the curtain. "That was the name of the girl," said Malibar.
"Yes," Jareth sighed, glancing at Sarah from the corner of his eye. "She's the same woman."
The same woman as what? Did Malibar know she'd run the Labyrinth as a teenager? "Yes, my name is Sarah Williams," she called to the curtain. "I'm not sure if you saw me just now but I'm – I'm human. And because of some…things that happened I also might be, slightly, well…immortal." Idris' hard expression was needling at her again. She ignored it and went on. "I have a problem, sir. I don't know what transference from Jareth might have done to me. And it's pretty important that I find out because I'm also the new Goblin Queen and a lot of people are counting on my sticking around for a long while. So I'm sorry to spring Jareth on you like this, he's not even really here for anything but moral support. He can stay out here if you like. I just…I just need your help. Please."
The cane worked its way out from behind the curtain of vines. Feeling his way more slowly, Malibar edged out into the open. He peered at Sarah with difficulty. The faded markings around his eyes gave him a severe expression. Sarah did her best to keep still so he could make out her face, even offering a careful smile.
"How did he do it?" the old Fae demanded softly.
Sarah blinked. "Do what?"
"Do what, she says, do what…" he grumbled. "How did he break you?" he snapped. "How did he bring you here, to the Dream Reality, though you'd chosen to return Above?"
Her skin crawled with the intensity of Jareth's staring over her shoulder. Shaking her head both relieved the feeling and showed her confusion. "He didn't do anything," she told Malibar. "My brother made a wish and I took his place. I've been here for my own reasons and now I'm staying for my own reasons."
Malibar laughed in her face. It wasn't kind, rather a bark of bitter amusement that made her jump. "So you don't know then, do you, girl? The little prince didn't tell you anything. How typical. He is a hoarder of information, that one."
Her patience was slipping. Every second they spent on this secret was time taken from the answers she needed. She was about to turn on Jareth and demand the truth when he beat her to the chase, catching her arm gently.
"I wanted to keep you."
She would have thought he'd just misspoken but for the fear and urgency in his expression. "What?"
"I'd been…losing myself," he muttered, clearly making the effort not to shy away from her stare. "My Kingdom was a mire of filth. It was hard not to get bogged in self-pity every other year. You…you were a challenge I hadn't had in a long time. You were sincere and overconfident and stubborn. I thought that keeping you would save my sanity, no matter the way it was done." His fingers slid down her arm to grip her fingers, hesitantly, as if afraid she might recoil. For the moment all Sarah could do was listen. "There is no magic to make a person love against their will, but I wanted you to. I hurt Malibar because he couldn't help me bring you to me." With a squeeze of her hand his posture stiffened, tossing the hair from his eyes like some defiant king of old. There was no fear in him now. "It was a lapse in judgement that lasted only a few hours, and I am ashamed to the core of my being for it, but I make no excuses. What's done is done, and you know that I'm not that person anymore."
She was aware that she probably should have felt disgusted, embarrassed by him, angry, afraid…to her own surprise, Sarah found that she really didn't feel any of those things. People had crazy thoughts when pushed to their limits. Jareth's life so far definitely granted him a few days of insanity. Her own frantic wishes had nearly cost her a brother, after all. She could understand his reluctance to tell her that he'd wanted to trap her like a bird. The fact that he hadn't ever done it spoke for itself. No, his mother had been the one to force Sarah back into the Goblin Castle against her will. Jareth wasn't the bad guy. Despite the pointed lack of fear on his face, something eased in him when she gripped both of his hands. "I get it," she told him earnestly. "And no, you're not that person anymore. You never were to begin with." That was definite relief on his face now. So much for not afraid. "But I can't forgive you for whatever you did to Malibar…it's up to him to work that out with you."
He looked like he really wanted to kiss her, but was taking great efforts to restrain himself. "Thank you," he murmured instead.
The old Fae had been reticent throughout the exchange between them. He received Jareth's patient attention with further silence, studying his old pupil like a bird of prey. Sarah thought of judges behind benches, weighing and measuring and ready to punish. Sharp chin raised up, Malibar folded bony hands over the top of his cane. "I will have the two cuts," he said bluntly.
Sarah didn't know what that meant but the Fae seemed to. Idris' mouth opened and then snapped shut, a disapproving scowl narrowing her features. Jareth nodded unflinchingly. He started to shrug off his coat when Malibar's cane whipped up and tapped his hand, stilling the movement.
"No," the old Fae said. "On your face. I want you to see them when you look in the mirror. I want you to remember your shame. See that you do not lose yourself ever again."
If this bothered Jareth, whatever it meant, he didn't let it show. His resolved hardened; he resettled his coat and moved to stand before Malibar with his chin held high.
The historian raised a hand. "You spilt my blood and sought unseemly magic." A finger-length blade had suddenly appeared in his grip. Before Sarah could do anything, he slashed it down Jareth's face. None of the Fae moved, except the hand Idris flung out to stop Sarah from rushing forward. Magic kept her in place though she demanded angrily to know what the hell was going on.
"I acknowledge and regret," Jareth bit out, fists bunched tightly. Malibar made another quick slash and apparently the deed was done.
"What the fuck?" Sarah growled, finding herself released from the invisible hold. "What did you do to him?" She grabbed Jareth's arm and inspected his face but there was no blood. Two scars ran down his right brow, interrupting the graceful markings she'd always liked. A few inches long and only thin, they looked as if they'd been there for years.
"He wanted my forgiveness," said Malibar coldly. "I have given him only what he deserves. That is the end of it."
"Two cuts," Jareth murmured to her while she gingerly touched the scars. "One for the act committed, one to show your regret. Are you surprised we settle matters any other way?"
"Not really," she admitted quietly. "Just seems unfair that you have to see it every day when you're clearly sorry."
He shrugged. "The scars inside us are much harder to bear."
"You bothered me for a reason, I believe, Sarah Williams," Malibar interrupted. "Do you expect so much of my time that you are happy to waste it out here on my doorstep?"
Of course it was too much to ask that she might have a minute to process things with Jareth. Giving him a look that plainly said they'd have to talk about it later, she addressed the old Fae with reserved politeness. She'd almost pitied him before their little act of forgiveness. Now she wasn't sure what to make of him, even if it was an accepted Fae custom. Anyone who could scar another person without blinking warranted careful attention. "Actually, I don't have a lot of time before our escort comes back to collect us. Would you mind if we get started?" There. Polite enough, without actually apologising. Her gaze flicked over to Jareth and she wet her lips nervously. How would she get him to stay out of the conversation?
Studying her – bird of prey, a judge, an examiner – Malibar nodded. "We will talk alone, I think." His words stopped Jareth's foot before it could move another inch. "Your situation sounds a private one to me." His voice softened, if only just. "Idris, would you take Jareth to my garden?" The woman complied with a light nod for the historian and a sour look for Jareth.
They separated and Sarah followed Malibar inside.
His home made the library seem like a naïve attempt at book collection. Every surface was crammed with books and scrolls, maps and drawings and artefacts. Papers labelled by volume lined a spiral staircase etched out of stone that made its way through the middle of the house. Everything was swathed in information, drowning in fact and history and description. She'd been right before: the west-facing wall was totally exposed to the elements, flooding the rooms with light and wind. Strangely enough, nothing fluttered or blew away. She felt the kiss of rushing air and the spray of water every now and then, yet nothing in the house was affected.
Uncertain how to begin, she watched Malibar approach a heavy stone table set in the far corner by the open wall. It was piled high with books and writing instruments but he ignored these, flicking a wrist and snapping his fingers. She was curious but not overly surprised by the great hollow space that suddenly opened up in the middle of the table. From its depths Malibar plucked out a handful of very old, very fragile looking tomes. He placed them to side, replaced the surface of the table and conjured a petite round magnifying glass. Several of the books now floated open in the air around him; he peered at them through the glass without once acknowledging Sarah.
"I am not surprised easily," he said from behind the books. Pages flicked and turned; he seemed to be able to read them all at once. "But I will admit it an unusual happenstance to hear a human use the word transference. It is a term only the most highly intellectual of us would recall. If I didn't know that I'd taught it to the prince myself, I'd have thought I'd misheard you."
Sarah was flooded with nervous energy. Here she was, about to find some kind of answer about the future, and now she wasn't sure if it was a good idea. Never mind the things she didn't want Jareth to know; what if she learned that one of those visions was true? What if it was the one where Lina died, or their children died, or he was a mortal condemned to life without her, or he was sent back to the Above and trapped there forever? Was that knowledge she could handle?
"You want to keep something from the prince. What is it?"
The blunt assuredness of the question took her by surprise. "H-how did you know?"
"I'm very old." He peered at her over the edge of a book. "And not mistaken?"
"Well…no."
He crooked a finger for her to join him at the table. Obliging, Sarah wet her dry lips and tried to stay calm. She needed answers. She needed to know if Lina was going to do something stupid. Her own conscience could damn well deal with it; Jareth could not lose his sister. The books were written in Fae language; she gave up trying to decipher them as they floated around her head. "Do they say anything about transference?"
"They say everything about it," the old Fae replied. "These are the accounts of its development since the Birth of All Things in the Domain. In the first century it was discovered by a mother hoping to prolong the life of her sick son. She didn't know what she'd done, of course, so it took a few more decades of study to recreate the process. But it had to be monitored for the sake of self-preservation. A just cause had to be supplied before any were deemed worthy of receiving another's years." He seemed to linger on her a moment too long, perhaps trying to make a point.
"You don't think saving another person's life is enough reason?" Sarah asked contritely, unable to stop herself.
He waved a hand and the books rearranged themselves. He flicked back and forth between them all. "A grain of sand on a beach seems inconsequential, and yet without each grain there would be no beach. You make of that what you will. I myself did not invite you in to discuss morality. Tell me how it came about that the little prince gave his years to a human."
How was she meant to sum up the last few tumultuous months of her life? "Jareth was sentenced to death because of me. He had to hand over his title as Goblin King to –"
"I don't need the politics," Malibar interrupted impatiently. "I need the facts. Were you injured? Close to death? What happened to him afterwards?"
She'd had a lot of time to get used to Fae insensitivity. It should have been difficult to talk about the experience, about the sacrifices of that day and the chaos afterwards. But she was so close to finding answers now that the information poured out of her. "I took a dagger through the spine. It went right through my abdomen and broke out the other side. I was pretty obviously dying. Jareth took the dagger, cut open his hand and pressed it against me. Then he told me to live his years, to take them all, and I remember him falling asleep on me. When I woke up he'd been sent to the Above by his mother. He's mortal now."
Malibar didn't even blink at the story. He barely seemed to be listening, searching fervently through the pages of a crumbling old book. The magnifying glass illuminated keenness in his cloudy eyes. "And you?" he asked distractedly. "Have you tested yourself?"
She wished he would look at her. At least feign interest. The biggest events of her life seemed quite small to a four-thousand-year-old Fae. "For what?"
"Longevity. The ability to self-heal. Increased protection from physical injury."
"I haven't thrown myself off a cliff out of curiosity, if that's what you mean."
His severe face suddenly appeared over the rim of the book, a strangely eager expression giving him an eerie look. "Perhaps you should try that," he said in a voice touched by something unhinged. "We might learn more from practice than theory."
"I hope you're joking," Sarah snapped.
He didn't seem to have heard. "No no no, foolish suggestion, never practice over theory you know that…" he mumbled to himself in rapid bursts, focus returning to the books. Sarah tried not to let it bother her. Living for that long, you were bound to have a few screws loose. "Ah. Here." He jabbed a gnarled finger into a page and beckoned her to come forward. "This is the only official record of transference between two species. It happened in the third century, between a Fae and one of the Kiri."
Again the pages meant nothing to her, written in a language she couldn't grasp. "Is a Kiri like a human?"
"Human enough for it be helpful," Malibar replied. "They have the same tendency to die after less than a century." He slid a finger along the paper, reading and processing and connecting theories. She could see the cogs spinning beneath that wrinkled forehead. "But this one… he lived for nearly seven hundred years." He frowned, which shouldn't have bothered her because he did that a lot. But this frown was noticeably grim. The cogs whirled. The cloudy eyes hid ideas.
"What?" She vainly tried to read the text, palms sweating. "Did something happen to him?"
Malibar waved the book away, adjusting the magnifying glass so that he could peer into her face. "You are hiding something from the prince," he said. "What is it?"
"What happened to the Kiri?" she demanded again.
"He saw things," the old Fae said shortly. "He lost his mind after two centuries."
Sarah shivered. She didn't want to give voice to her panic, but… "Is that what's going to happen to me?"
"Do you see things?"
This was it. The answers she needed. The help she'd been seeking for days. "Yes," she bit out.
Malibar gestured at two stone stools that hadn't been there before. He took a seat on one and waited for her to take the other. "Tell me about them."
Sarah took a breath and began. "I keep having these – these memories that aren't memories. They're from Jareth's perspective and it's always in some kind of future." She hugged herself tightly. Possibly immortal and going mad with thoughts of Jareth's potential heartaches and triumphs…the silent wind from the west felt cool enough to chill the bone. "Some of them are horrific, some of them are so normal they're almost boring…but I always feel them the way Jareth would. They're too real to be dreams. I don't want him to know because sometimes I see things that scare me. Things I don't want to happen to him. I'm afraid that telling him will make them true."
"How often do they occur?"
Sarah shrugged. "I'm not sure. A few times a day. When I sleep. When I'm in the middle of a sentence. They just come and go."
"Hmm."
"Is that what the Kiri went through?"
"In the beginning. But they quickly became the feverish nightmares of a madman." He waved a hand and each of the books he'd been studying piled themselves neatly in a stack on the table. He rested a hand atop the pile and closed his eyes. The cogs were spinning again. Sarah sat huddled in on herself and desperately tried not to think about spending five hundred years totally insane. You can fix this. You have to. You have to stop Lina. After a while, Malibar spoke up. His voice was full of thought and reason, weighing and measuring information as he spoke. "Not just any Fae can be put on the Labyrinth Throne," he said. "We have to be tested for our ability to weave and display people's dreams. It is a way to tempt and challenge the runners in order to determine their true worth. We all have varying capabilities. But for Jareth, even when he was merely my pupil…it was a specialty of his."
"Why does that not surprise me?" she muttered. I ask for so little. Just let me rule you, and you can have everything that you want. Ball gowns and masks and the love of a brooding dusk-eyed King. "What's that got to do with –"
"Dreams aren't reality, Sarah Williams. They are possibilities. They are our potential futures and fates. What you describe is Jareth's potential future."
"So I'm seeing his dreams?"
"It is more than that. He did not just bestow upon you his longevity. He gave you the potentiality of all of his combined years. Do you know what a Fae experiences in one lifetime?"
"I'm guessing a lot."
"And you would be correct. Your visions suggest he may have given too much – he instilled in you his ability to touch that potential." A bony finger tapped on the top of the book pile. "From what I've read, the Fae involved with the Kiri gave too much. It must take significantly more strength to transfer to a mortal, and even more so to someone with no magical ability. Transference between Fae allows one to give years to another, but leaves their magic intact. The case was not so with the Kiri, and it seems the same with you and Jareth."
Her head was aching. She wished that damn wind would stop prickling her skin. "So he…what…burnt himself out? Because I don't have any magic?"
"It is difficult to be certain, with the little precedence we have to measure by…but I do think so, yes."
"So do you think that's what happened to the Kiri?"
"Quite possibly. But in those days their kind was of little import to us. His madness would have been considered a side effect of longevity, the inability of a lesser species to cope with prolonged years. Further research was disregarded for that reason."
Disgusted, Sarah found herself uneasy about suddenly being so much like the Fae. Someone obviously cared enough about one of the Kiri to give up a long life for them, and the others just let him go mad? Because they didn't expect him to handle immortality? She'd been thrust into a life that was wholly alien to her and had accepted it for the fact that she was at least more humane than the Fae. But what if she became like them after a few hundred years? What if her morality began to fog, her patience slip? What if she outlived Jareth and lost her mind just as the Kiri had?
"You have more questions," Malibar said.
Sarah's jaw tightened with determination. She would not be another freak occurrence in some dusty old tome. "Is anything that happens in the visions set in stone? Or can I change them?"
"That depends."
"On what?" she asked impatiently.
"On what you believe. Do you put faith in pre-destiny? Or self-fulfilling prophecy? Do you believe there is a higher power controlling your strings?"
Sarah wasn't sure how to answer that. She'd began to believe in fate, in a way, with everything that had happened with Jareth. But that was more of a comfort belief, wasn't it? A way to reassure herself that she would always be with him, no matter how life turned out in all those other planes of existence. But then she thought of the choices she'd been making the last few days. How she would run the Labyrinth, but in her own manner. How she would let others help, but as long as they obeyed set rules. "I think…that I have a lot more control over my life than I sometimes feel."
The old Fae nodded. "Then that is your answer. Those visions will only become realities if you let them."
"Okay, next question: how do I stop the visions? I want to shut them out."
Malibar vanished from the stool and reappeared by the west wall. He stood where the stone floor became cliff, where the water cascaded viciously underfoot. Sarah joined him, vaguely worried he would topple over the edge with a big enough gust of wind. Her hand itched at her side, just waiting to catch him. "Humans have an obsession with seeing the future, do they not? Many would do anything for the chance to possess your gift." He stared down into the violent water, pensive. The wind touched them both here, whipping Sarah's hair into a frenzy.
"I suppose," she shrugged, tucking strands behind her ear in vain. "Not everyone though."
"Not you?"
"No."
"Why?"
"It's too much responsibility. If it was my future I was seeing, I'd second guess every move I made, worried about which outcome would prove to be true. As it is, I can't sleep at night for stressing about the things Jareth might go through."
Malibar frowned. "Why does it bother you so? Surely you can simply ignore the visions."
"Because I love him," Sarah replied, as if it should have been obvious. Of course the old Fae wouldn't see it that way. "I don't want to know if he's going to be in pain, especially if I can't stop it."
"Then you are a coward," he said dismissively, still not looking at her. Again, she got the impression that he was only half listening, processing things in the back of his mind. "You would squander a talent for fear of facing harsh truths."
Sarah's hand stopped itching to catch him. Maybe she would beat the wind to pushing him over. "You think I give a shit what you call me? I've been underestimated by you people for months; I'm well past the point of caring what any of you think. I love Jareth and I don't want to see him get hurt. That's all I'm going to say. Besides, the Fae can reorder time, can't they? I've seen Jareth do it. How is that not playing with the past and future? Doesn't that mess up your ideas of the 'Fate's design', or whatever you all keep saying?"
Still, the old Fae did not look at her. The water seemed to fascinate him. Or whatever was going on in his head did, at least. There was a lost light in those eyes that said he was deep in thought. "The design is a pattern already laid out for us," he muttered distantly. "It has no creator, it simply exists. We catch glimpses of its core when touching time. We see things that must not be changed. Things that cannot be reordered. Our ability to touch time is something of a parlour trick."
Wasn't he at all pissed by what she'd said to him? At any rate, this was getting her nowhere. "Look. You said you don't have time to moralise. I don't have time for philosophy. Can I stop the visions or not?"
"Are you certain you want to?" he asked, head snapping up quick as a snake.
"Yes," Sarah replied emphatically. "I want them gone."
The lost light in his eyes was almost feverish now. "It may be possible to manifest them as something else in you."
"How?"
"I have a theory."
And he pushed her over the cliff face.
He refused to feel anything under the hatred in her stare. If looks could kill, then Idris would be named a murderer soon enough. A spot between his shoulder blades itched viciously under the strain, but he maintained a face smooth as silk. It was frustrating enough being sent off to the garden like a child wanted out of the way. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing her presence made him uneasy.
But then, why wouldn't she leave him alone? Why sit in the cropped grass with her legs tucked up and her arms crossed as if she'd been forced to stay? He certainly had no desire for company in the garden, least of all hers. He leant into the tree trunk with exaggerated nonchalance, staring at everything but the Fae woman he'd grown up with. The one glaring at him with such intensity he could swear there was more than anger to her expression. It had to be something deeper. She looked…tortured. Even beneath the scar, there was an ugliness borne of some dark emotion.
He pressed his head back into the bark and let his eyes fall closed. Ignoring her would be the best option. It would get them through the next hour with little pain.
"I loved you."
Perhaps not. Jareth shook his head at her. "You didn't love me, Idris," he murmured softly. "You idolised me. I was nothing more than a prince to you, a romanticised image of royalty."
It was her turn to shake her head. The pale strands of her hair barely moved, they were so short. When had she cut it? It had been so long since he'd paid any attention to his old life. "You are still so blind," she hissed, "Even now. What do you think will happen with you and this human girl? That you will live happily ever after like those ridiculous fairy tales her kind lap up? She will outlive you, Jareth. Or else she will go mad, or become something else entirely, or grow bored of you because humans have such short attention spans." She was on her feet, matching his tension and hard features. "And then what? You have thrown your life away on a whim. You have betrayed us all for a passing fancy."
It took much restrain not to flash his teeth in a feral snarl. Jareth stepped towards her, his low voice thick with controlled anger. "You know nothing about her," he said. "Nothing. And if you ever think to punish her for your own misguided perceptions…" He cracked his jaw, eyes like the heart of winter. "I will end your existence. I will erase you from the Fate's design as if you'd never been. But first, I will make you hurt."
Idris laughed coldly in his face. "You think me as primitive as your precious human? I would never stoop to such a low level." She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. She thrust her scarred face into his defiantly. "Do you know how I got this?" When Jareth didn't answer, she went on heatedly. "I was trying to defend you. I found Malibar the day you hurt him. I'd promised grandmother I would watch out for him. He is the only living relative I care about, but the day he told me what you'd done, I refused to believe it. I convinced myself that he was losing his mind with age. I went to find you. I visited the Castle. But you were gone, far away in the Above somewhere, one of the servants told me. Watching a girl. And do you know what happened then?"
He knew. Suddenly he knew.
"Your subjects found me," she spat hoarsely. "They caught me by surprise and tried to rip my throat out. I had to kill them all to escape with my head." She'd slipped a hand up to touch the rippling flesh of her scarred neck. "I keep this scar so that I remember never to betray my family again. Malibar is the only person that matters to me. And I was punished because I didn't believe you'd do anything so foolish. I'd wanted to see with my own eyes that you were sitting on that throne as you should have been, with that arrogant lost hatred on your face. I'd wanted to see you smile for the sake of seeing me."
Her fingers had left her throat and ghosted over his own. Seeing the look on his face, she shook her head. "You needn't fear my attentions any longer. I gave you up the moment I received this scar."
"And that's how I know you never truly loved me," he replied quietly, shaken. "Sarah is riddled with scars because of me. You can't see them, but they are there. She has been moulded and diverted from herself and challenged in ways you can't imagine. And yet she still chooses me every single moment. Her love is honest and hard and I will fight to keep it every day of my life."
He reached up and covered Idris' hand, drawing it away from his skin. Her fingers stiffened against his; they were so much colder than Sarah's, so nimble and unkind. When he let them fall, Idris opened her mouth to speak but was drowned out by a short scream.
Sarah.
Her stomach lurched with the sickening drop. Silence roared in her ears, fighting with the scream torn from her throat. There was the icy drenching spray of water, a violent heated shudder down her spine…and then nothing. Stone beneath her hands and feet, splayed on all fours as she was. Hair dripped down her shoulders in soaking tendrils. She gasped and threw herself as far back from the cliff edge as she could get.
"What the fuck," she hissed, trembling all over, shielding her face from the vertiginous sight.
Malibar's shadow fell over her. "It was a necessary test," he explained over the laboured sounds of her rapid breathing. "I needed to know if Jareth had transferred any of his magic to you. That is why you can touch those future realities, Sarah Williams. You just saved yourself with his magic. And now that we know you can use it, you can learn to channel it into other abilities. To divert it from the visions you so desperately wish to be rid of."
"You son of a bitch," she gasped, gingerly getting to her feet just as Jareth came racing through the room. "You had no idea if that would happen or not. I could have died."
"Sarah, what –?" Jareth reached them in seconds, standing protectively between her and Malibar. He glowered at the old Fae. "What did you do to her?"
"I have given her answers," Malibar replied tersely. "She will thank me for them soon enough."
"Like hell I will," Sarah spat, shivering in Jareth's arms. She pushed back the slick hair from her face. "You dumped me over a waterfall on a fucking hunch."
"But do you see?" Malibar asked heatedly over the top of whatever tirade Jareth had been about to deliver. "What you did required no thought. Magic is instinctual. It is what you live and breathe. It is nothing like the spells and potions your human stories describe. What you just did proves that you can divert the power into other channels. You can rid yourself of the visions."
"What visions?" Jareth asked sharply, one hand on Sarah's arm and the other half reaching out as if to strangle Malibar.
The old Fae was staring at Sarah expectantly. "You still have a question to ask, don't you?" he said.
Though she was dizzy with adrenaline and fury, Sarah fought back the vicious curses on her tongue and glared at him. "Can Jareth get his magic back again?" she asked reluctantly, angrily.
He wasn't looking at her. His attention had fallen on the people joining them in the sunlit room. One was kind-faced and awash with concern; she brushed lithely past the other who seemed stiff with rage. "Idris called on me," Lina said urgently. "Are you all right?" She smoothed down Sarah's dripping hair.
"I'm fine," Sarah answered, more concerned with the way Idris was glaring daggers at Jareth, who seemed all too willing to reciprocate the look. She turned back to Malibar. "You haven't answered me. I need to know."
"You will have to wait for another meeting," he announced vaguely. "I believe the princess here has matters of her own to discuss with me."
If this surprised Lina, she didn't show it. Instead, she nodded and asked diplomatically if Idris wouldn't mind seeing them back to the Castle. The woman looked as if she absolutely would mind, but after a look from Malibar she nodded stonily.
Images of old visions flashed by Sarah's eyes. Hints and guesses and events that would tear Jareth apart in the future, if she let it happen. "No," Sarah breathed out quickly. "You can't – I need to –"
"I am an old man," Malibar growled. "I have little patience for greedy children." The look he tossed Jareth was impatient. "Take her Majesty the Goblin Queen back to her Castle. She looks as if she needs a warm bath."
Jareth's hand tightened on Sarah's arm, but his jaw clenched. He clearly wanted to know what the hell was going on. Sarah's mouth felt impossibly dry. She couldn't let Lina talk to Malibar about anything. She couldn't.
"What do you want me to do?" Jareth asked her in a murmur.
Stop your sister, Sarah thought silently. Before she could say a thing, Idris had taken them both by the arms and whirled them away into blackness.
No, Lina. No.
