Glimpse of Us: [Sarah] The Beginning
Wake up, Sarah.
She felt gloved fingers slide between her own, and her brain whirred with new alertness. Her eyes tried to open instinctively, and she felt a surge of panic at the realization that her vision was obscured. She braced for the same baffling shift she remembered from before, but the feeling in her body was different—uncomfortable and loud, as if screams surrounded her that she couldn't quite hear. The familiar flip in her ribcage was there, but a strange lurching sensation overpowered it. Her intestines felt like tangled ribbons of film flying violently from the spools of a VHS tape.
Be kind. Rewind, she thought distantly as she fought to keep her dinner down.
Time seemed to stretch, and she felt suspended within it. Weightless, with only the grip of fingers laced with hers to ground her. Part of her brain wanted to process the feeling of them—something she'd dreamed about for years—but she couldn't organize her thoughts. One second she knew whose hand held hers so fiercely; the next, she was lost again. Everything was chaos and darkness and noise.
Until it wasn't.
There was a sudden awareness of several sensations all at once: The feeling of blades of grass bending beneath her supine body. The song of insects chirping happily. The whisper of an evening chill against her cheek.
The sound of someone weeping.
I'm still dreaming, Sarah told herself as her mind tried to make sense of this new reality. Her thoughts were slow and muddled as she felt around her face, and she remembered the blindfold as soon as her fingertips touched the silk. I'm not dreaming, she decided as she slipped it from her eyes.
Sarah blinked at the newly revealed starlight, luminous punctures in a dark shroud above her. She rolled a tall blade of grass between her fingers just to make sure it was real.
"Am I awake?" she asked foggily, dimly aware she had spoken at all.
"Yes," came a voice connected to the hand that clutched hers tightly.
Sarah turned her head, memories flooding back to her in a sudden rush. Uneasiness spread through her at the quiet, broken sounds she heard coming from where he kneeled beside her.
"Jareth," she ventured.
"Don't." His reply was clipped, and Sarah's eyes had adjusted enough to see that he was not looking at her.
She tensed at the sharpness in his voice, and Jareth squeezed her hand before dropping it. His tone had gentled when he said, "Please."
Sarah watched as Jareth wiped his eyes on his sleeve before rummaging in one of the bags sitting nearby. He withdrew two rolls of what looked like vellum, each about the size of his forearm.
She took the roll he offered her and was surprised at the feeling of the material—not rough and gritty as she had expected, but rather, something closer to soft satin.
When she glanced back at Jareth, he was unrolling his beside her. To her bewilderment, it expanded into a long, sheer, person-sized envelope.
"We will sleep here tonight," he said, his tone matter-of-fact and lacking the warmth Sarah found herself wanting to hear. "Our journey begins in the morning."
Any reassurance would have been welcomed as Sarah watched him slide into what she realized was essentially a sleeping bag. She unrolled her own and slipped into it, marveling at the feeling of the strange material gliding over her bare feet and pooling comfortably around her throat.
She lost track of time as she lay there, rigid and unmoving as she gazed at the stars. None of the constellations looked familiar when she tried to find comfort in a pattern she could recognize. Lethargy needled at her extremities, and she wanted to fidget but was mindful of disturbing Jareth.
Her racing mind churned with concern. Of all the things she'd anticipated, Jareth crying hadn't made the list. The memory of those fitful sounds deeply unsettled her, and her eyes would not close regardless of the orders her brain issued for them to do so. Finally, she dared to peek over at him.
She could see Jareth sprawled out on his side, facing her. He stared at her with hooded eyes, ostensibly waiting for her to speak with pained patience.
Sarah sent him a small, guilty smile and whispered the question that had been rolling around in her mouth. "Are you alright?"
Jareth gave an abrupt laugh, disbelief ringing through it. "Really, Sarah," he said. "I just pulled you from your world without promises nor explanation, and you're asking me if I am alright."
"Yes, I am," Sarah replied as she turned to him and propped herself up on an elbow. "You told me everything I needed to know to make the decision I did."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Did I?"
"You know me better than to think I wouldn't help a child," she told him. "Though the irony that it is your child that needs rescuing is not lost on me."
Until now, neither had acknowledged the child was his, but the way Jareth glared at her confirmed it.
Sarah's stomach plummeted at the hurt that flashed in his eyes, and she made a desperate attempt to backpedal. "Sorry, that was insensitive." She lay back down and rested her face on her hands, pressed palm to palm. "I shouldn't have asked, anyway. It's not like you'd tell me."
His expression looked haunted as he watched her. "I'm sure there are things you prefer not to admit to."
"Such as?" she asked, giving up on getting an answer to her initial question.
"You're frightened," Jareth observed. "Though you try not to show it."
Sarah gave a little shake of her head. "I am frightened. I don't see a point in denying it."
Jareth didn't reply, but she saw his eyes widen in surprise at her confession and could have sworn he inched closer to her.
She sighed before tearing her gaze from his. Stretching out on her back again, she closed her eyes against the twinkling stars above. Or below. Or wherever she was. "Goodnight, Goblin King," she muttered as slumber tugged her into restless oblivion.
Sarah slept uneasily through the night, haunted by images of a lost child's face trapped in a crystal.
The sun was suddenly bright behind her closed eyelids, and she pulled her blankets up around her face, snuggling into the soft material. She smiled sleepily as she heard her name on Jareth's lips like it so often was in her dreams.
"Sarah," he said again.
There was a tension in his voice that pulled her to the surface. She turned toward the sound, reality and sleep colliding as her eyes snapped open. "Jareth?"
"I'm afraid so," Jareth confirmed. He was sitting beside her, watching her with an inscrutable expression. His bedroll was put away, and he was already dressed in a plain tunic and leggings. A sheathed sword hung on either hip.
Sarah wondered how long he had been awake, calling her name.
"Good morning," Jareth said, his tone surprisingly light. He held out a pastry to her in offering.
"Morning," she mumbled, frowning dubiously at the swords and then the pastry.
"I expect you are hungry after traveling last night," he told her calmly. "And you didn't prepare provisions."
Her suspicious gaze rose to his. "You didn't let me," she reminded him. Her eyes narrowed in on the flakey crumbs sticking to his gloved fingertips as her stomach rumbled.
Jareth chuckled. "Ah, we've arrived."
Sarah felt her brows draw together. "Arrived where?" she asked as she glanced around them in confusion. They didn't seem to have moved.
"At the part where you accuse me of trying to trick you into staying here forever," he told her, accusation and teasing warring in his voice. "The bit where you tell me all about the tales you've read and how wise you are to our ways."
The hairs on her nape prickled, and she shifted uncomfortably. She was about to enlighten him about how much she had learned about the fae, and she was probably going to be at least a little smug about it.
She felt her frown deepen, and Jareth must have misinterpreted her bewildered expression for irritation. "You can't let me under your skin, Sarah," he chided. "Not so early on in our journey. It is simply not sustainable."
Sarah rubbed her arms, smoothing the gooseflesh that had erupted across her skin. "No, you didn't."
Jareth's eyebrow rose as though he didn't quite believe her.
"I feel like someone just walked over my grave," she tried to explain, her words falling short of describing the uneasy sensation pulsing across her nerves.
He noticeably paled, an emotion clouding his features that Sarah couldn't identify—something she didn't like seeing there.
The mood felt suddenly uncomfortable and stifling. She sat up and took the pastry in an attempt to ease the tension.
"If you wanted to keep me, there's not much I could do to stop you," she reasoned, though her voice sounded unsure to her own ears. "I'm here already. I doubt a poisoned cake would be your method, anyway." Her mouth hovered over the first bite, but she hesitated and glanced at him for reassurance. "Right?"
"Correct," he agreed before adding, "You already ate the peach."
Sarah glowered. "Damn peach."
Jareth smiled at her for the first time since her dream, though this time, it reached his eyes. "No tricks," he said, holding his hands up in a display of innocence. "Eat, Sarah."
She took an experimental nibble. The treat was delicious, and she did her best to disguise her reaction. "Are there more of these?" her full mouth asked anyway.
"Plenty," he said, his smile holding. "Finish it."
Sarah felt him watching as she did, his attention on her unnerving. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she blurted.
Jareth cocked his head and studied her for a moment before answering. "I'm sure it is not the easiest thing, trusting me."
Her stomach did a little somersault at the calm intensity of his statement. It didn't answer her question, and she wasn't sure how to respond. In truth, she found it surprisingly easy to trust him, and that scared her more than anything else had so far.
"I'm in my pajamas," she pointed out, skirting his blunt acknowledgment.
"Ah, about that," Jareth said, handing Sarah a pack that sat next to the one he'd retrieved the bedrolls from the night before. "Everything you need is in here."
Sarah stood and took the pack from him. "Thanks," she said, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "Um, can you, like, close your eyes or something?"
Jareth seemed to remember himself and turned away. "Of course," he told her, and Sarah could swear she heard an apology woven into his tone.
"Thanks," she said again and ducked behind a nearby tree that she thought would do little to conceal her if Jareth decided to peek.
Sarah loosened the drawstrings of the bag and was surprised to find a flashlight that looked very similar to the one she had wanted to pack. She wondered at the gesture and couldn't help but smile at the kindness of it.
A small pouch lay on top of folded clothing, and she withdrew it to peer inside. A few personal toiletry items greeted her: A toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a comb, a washcloth, and a bar of soap in its own smaller wax-lined bag. His thoughtfulness was encouraging, and she felt lingering suspicions that this was all a villainous ploy to ensnare her dim slightly.
She unscrewed the top of a wineskin attached to her pack and sniffed. It didn't smell like anything. She took a cautious sip, confirming it was water, before brushing her teeth and washing her face. To her amusement, the washcloth dried almost immediately. She didn't spend much time on her hair, running the comb through the worst tangles and braiding it loosely over her shoulder.
The clothes in the pack consisted of leggings, short-sleeved tunics, and long-sleeved poet shirts. Beneath that, she found bras and panties that were similar to, but not the exact items she owned. She numbly checked the tags; all sizing was correct.
A sudden heated flush suffused her cheeks, and she quickly decided not to dwell on the fact that he had thought to include undergarments, let alone that he had guessed her sizes exactly. It could be worse, she thought. At least he packed breathable cotton items suitable for an adventure instead of gaudy lingerie.
The temperature was mild, so Sarah dressed in a green tunic and leggings. Both fit her perfectly, as though tailored for her. At the bottom of the pack was a belt similar to the utility belt she would have worn during field research, with a few pouches and slots for other items. She smiled as she fastened it around her waist and wondered if she would find unique mushrooms to collect on their adventure.
Her bare feet were pleased when she uncovered socks and a pair of leather boots at the bottom of the bag. By this point, she wasn't the least surprised when they slid on easily.
"All I need is a bow, and the Sheriff of Nottingham wouldn't stand a chance," Sarah announced as she joined Jareth.
"I hate to disappoint you, but the odds of you needing a long-range weapon on this journey are slim," he said, and Sarah stiffened as he approached her with a sheathed dagger in his hand.
Sarah exhaled in relief as he fastened it to her belt, but her breath caught when he withdrew the blade. "Like this, from below," he explained without preamble. He showed her his grip—the blade protruding from between his thumb and curled fingers. "Stab upwards if you can," he instructed with a severity she didn't like.
Sarah balked. "What exactly am I supposed to be stabbing?"
Jareth ignored her question. "If you hit something soft, twist the dagger. If the blade becomes wedged between bone, pull it out and stab again." He demonstrated his form once more before swinging the blade upwards harshly. "And again. Keep stabbing until it's dead."
She was so taken aback by the matter-of-factness of his graphic lesson that she almost laughed. "Jareth…"
He ignored her again and continued, "And for the love of the gods, do not do this." He flipped the blade in his hand, pointing it downwards before raising it above his head. He acted out a frantic stabbing motion. "Aiming from above doesn't allow you to use your strength as well as stabbing from below, and it exposes your important bits to injury," he explained. "It's much harder to control an attack this way. You're less likely to hit something vital, and you can't use your own weight unless you are dropping in from a height or have a significant size advantage."
Jareth twirled the dagger again and offered it to her, hilt-first.
Sarah hesitantly took it and adjusted her grip as he had shown her. She glanced up to find him looking at her expectantly.
After a resigned sigh, she obligingly leaned her weight into a mimed upward thrust, groaning loudly as she twisted her dagger through invisible resisting flesh. She mimed pressing a foot to the back of her foe to leverage, pulling out her blade before stabbing again and again with a victorious scream. Her eyes tracked her imaginary enemy's descent to the ground, and she stuck out a foot and tapped the air experimentally. "Dead," she said and looked up at Jareth. "It's definitely dead."
Sarah didn't know what she was expecting to see on his face. Part of her had hoped to see the quirk of his lips or a playfully arched eyebrow.
Jareth looked decidedly unamused.
"Tough crowd," Sarah grumbled, carefully sheathing the blade. "I'm going to use this thing like I'm hailing a taxi just to spite you."
Jareth grimaced wordlessly at her threat and proceeded to detach one of the two sword scabbards from his belt before fastening it to Sarah's near her right hip.
"You've got to be kidding me," she said with a groan. "I feel like I could just as easily hurt myself with this thing as I could anyone—or anything—else."
Sarah gasped as a queer feeling flitted up her fingertips as they wrapped around the hilt—a strangely familiar buzzing that both grounded and unsettled her.
The expression she saw on Jareth's face when she looked up at him distracted her from the sensation. He looked unnerved. Agitated.
"What's wrong?" she asked, shifting uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze.
Jareth exhaled a shaky breath and, once again, ignored her question. He withdrew his sword and took a step back, assuming an offensive position.
Sarah's heart jumped up her throat, and she unsheathed her sword, instinctively mirroring his retreating action. She didn't like the intensity in his eyes one bit. "Jareth, what—"
"Use your left hand," he commanded.
"I'm right-handed," she told him, ashamed at the squeak in her voice. She didn't like the intensity in his eyes.
Jareth shook his head in warning, readying to strike. "Not with a sword, you're not."
That overwhelming feeling of déjà vu washed over her again, much more visceral than before.
Like someone walked over my grave.
For a moment, Sarah just stood there, stunned and disassociated. She was slow to respond when Jareth lunged at her, easily twisting his blade around hers and flinging it to the ground.
Sarah was still struggling to feel fully in her own body as she watched Jareth loop the toe of his boot in her sword hilt and kick it up into his hand. She took it reluctantly when he held it out to her.
"Use your left hand," Jareth repeated.
Sarah frowned but moved the sword over to her left hand and shifted her feet, ready to meet another attack.
Jareth watched as she adjusted her position, then nodded dispassionately before turning his back to her. "Come," he said. "We must move."
Sarah scowled, feeling completely unprepared for whatever they might face. "You can't just hand me a dagger and sword and expect me to be able to use them in a real fight," she complained.
He didn't bother to look back as he moved away from her. "I know," he said, regret lacing his tone. "We don't have the time."
She felt her scowl deepen as she followed after him and couldn't help but notice how unnaturally quiet his footfalls were.
"Sheath your sword, Sarah," Jareth called over his shoulder. "We can't have you tripping and impaling yourself before you get to play rescuer, can we?"
His tone was cold and detached again, and it made Sarah's stomach twist with unease.
Jareth turned back to her with an impatient expression on his face when her comparatively loud footsteps did not follow. "Giving up so soon? I thought you braver than that."
Rage built in her chest and bubbled out her throat as she pointed a finger at him. "Listen," she demanded, an uncharacteristic bite chilling her voice. "You just handed me two deadly weapons that I don't know how to use. I have no idea what is going to happen to me, and I'm only here to help you and your child. You could at least try not to make a habit of being rude to me. I deserve some respect, just like you do. Just like anyone."
A muscle twitched in Jareth's jaw as he appraised her coolly. After a moment, he sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "I do appreciate your help."
His apology mattered, but Sarah wasn't finished. "I work in the sciences, a field dominated by men who want to treat me like a little girl. I haven't gotten as far as I have in my career by proving them right," she told him bitterly. "Don't treat me like a child, and don't make the mistake of underestimating me."
Jareth was smiling at her now, condescension replaced with what seemed like genuine admiration. "Noted."
Tension released in her shoulders, and she dropped the arms she hadn't realized were crossed defensively over her chest. She'd made her point, she decided. "Where are we going?" she asked, moving beside him.
Jareth turned and pointed beyond the tall grass of the sparsely treed field they had rested in. "Do you see where the trees thicken?"
Sarah squinted, nodding when she saw the thick band of what appeared to be forest on the horizon.
"I will be unable to use any magic past that point," Jareth told her, and it was clear from his tone that he was not pleased. When she opened her mouth to ask why, he sent her a sad smile and shook his head.
Sarah sighed. Of course, he couldn't tell her. She examined the dark treeline ahead of them. It looked ominous enough, even if they had his magic to guide them. Hearing that they wouldn't was a blow to her confidence.
They were walking again before she realized it. She was lost in her thoughts, and to her annoyance, she stumbled a few times before resorting to her years of field training, concentrating on lifting her knees high to avoid roots and debris hidden beneath the grass.
She was so focused on the measured movements of her feet that she didn't immediately notice how the hum of insects died away the nearer they got to the thickening trees. She only realized how close they had gotten when the earsplitting silence became impossible to ignore.
A feeling of wrongness crept up Sarah's spine when she looked up at the dense jungle sprawled ahead. She wondered absently how this entirely different biome could exist right next to a grassland without any transition. She could feel an oppressive energy coursing from the trees, visceral and disconcerting. Nothing here felt welcoming in the slightest.
Sarah reached a hand toward a tree and felt a sharp jolt of warning slide up her fingers. She withdrew her hand with a hiss.
Jareth peered down at her and asked, "You feel it, don't you?"
Sarah nodded. She wasn't sure exactly what she felt, but she felt something. "Where are we?"
"We are at The Beginning."
Time is running out for us
But you just move the hands upon the clock
You throw coins in the wishing well for us
You just move your hands upon the wall
It comes to you begging you to stop, wake up
But you just move your hands upon the clock
Throw coins in the wishing well for us
You make believe that you are still in charge
'The Clock' by Thom Yorke
A/N: Shoutout to Geliot99 for being an awesome beta and for helping me with the swordplay bits, especially.
I decided to ditch chapter numbers because the prologue messes up the formatting, and I SIMPLY CANNOT with that.
Thanks for reading! I hope you're liking this so far :) Let me know what you think!