Return to the Labyrinth

The title for this chapter comes from a poem by Sarah Teasedale called "Did you Never Know?" See the full text at the end of the chapter.Thank you to all who reviewed, and to Ginny and Leia for their beta help.

Fate is a Wind


Aisling sat cross-legged on the garden path, her mane of hair drifting in the dust free autumn breeze, and contemplated her situation. Somehow the Goblin King had managed to save his own private garden from the worst effects of the weather change. The only glitter that could be seen was the stuff that had arrived with the two of them. A robust breeze still blew through, ruffling their hair with its fingers and making the trees chime loudly in passing, but nothing else was changed in the small enclave.

The King had been explaining some finer point of magic for some time now, and his student’s mind was drifting far afield. It didn’t take long into the lesson for her to realize she was completely out of her depth. Her mind was wandering about, despite her best efforts, having given up on paying attention somewhere between "using your will" and "it's subconscious, really". How contradictory was that? He seemed to believe magic was as simple as "a swish and a flick", and yet it might as well be quantum physics for all she understood his explanations.

It didn’t help that she had so much else to occupy her mind. Between dreams and apples and Izzy, not to mention unwanted lustful thoughts for her instructor, she had a lot to contend with. For instance, just now HE was lounging in the swing once again. He was still wearing the crimson spidersilk cloak, but she was getting an eyeful of the rest of his outfit as well. He certainly knew how to match the mood of his Labyrinth in the most dramatic way possible.

The cloak was draped around his shoulders in many-layered folds and then the voluminous fabric trailed out to dance on the wind. Beneath that he wore a cream poet’s shirt and burnt orange doublet. It was set off by tight breeches in dark green and a pair of gleaming brown boots. His pale hair and even paler cheeks were dusted with golden glitter. She decided the sparkling stuff suited him better than her. He shimmered in the light of the Labyrinth’s autumn sun. It was very distracting.

Jareth paused mid-sentence. The wildling was staring at him again with her soulful eyes, looking a little overwhelmed, or lost. He tapped his fingers across his leg. "Why don't you simply try using your magic?" He suggested.

Aisling stared at him, blinking. "How, exactly, should I do that?"

"Just do as I've been telling you," he said gently.

She blinked again. "I don't think I can," she said with a timidity that didn’t seem to fit her.

"It's quite easy," he assured her. "Just try."

"I can't,” she said again, her expression starting to become stubborn.

His eyes narrowed. "Try." It was an order.

Aisling’s eyes flashed fire as she glared at him. “I. Can’t.” she said, spacing her words out, as if speaking to a child, “You haven’t told me what it is I’m supposed to try, exactly.”

The Goblin King’s lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. “You have not been paying attention,” he stated silkily. Softly. Dangerously. Aisling’s eyes widened before darting away from his gaze. She ducked her head and hunched into herself. She was silent for a long moment before her shoulders slumped and she sighed.

“No,” she said softly, “I haven’t.” Her eyes darted to his face for a moment before looking away. “I’m sorry, your majesty, you are correct. I am distracted.”

With a quizzical brow he watched her, somewhat surprised at her candor. He felt his irritation draining away. “Is there some reason why?” He asked.

Her dark face twisted into a grimace. She could hardly tell the Goblin King that she was having trouble paying attention because she was drooling over him. Nor could she question him about the secrets he seemed to hold over her friend Izzy’s head. But those weren’t the only reasons for her distraction, and she wanted to be as honest with him as she could. She didn’t know why, but it seemed important that she not deceive him more than she had to. She hardly believed he would be so considerate if their roles were reversed, but there it was. She licked her lips nervously, wondering how to be truthful without revealing too much of the truth.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” she finally said. “I guess I’m a little tired.” The King’s eyebrows rose and after a moment a toothy smile crept over his features.

“Bad dreams?” he asked, still smiling, and she realized he seemed pleased with the thought.

“In a manner of speaking,” she said slowly, watching him, wondering at the apparent satisfaction he took in her answer.

“In a manner of speaking, or in fact?” he pressed.

“I suppose it depends on what you mean by bad,” she replied cautiously.

He thought about it for a moment. “Were they…these dreams you had…invasive visions, to the point that you could not sleep, or were they merely,” he waved a hand in the air, leaning close and peering at her with a grin, “run of the mill nightmares brought on by a bad bit of fish?”

She caught herself smiling at the question, and ducked her head to avoid his gaze. She cleared her throat, “They certainly kept me awake most of the night.”

“And can you recall any of them?” he asked.

She thought about it, but it was like grasping smoke. An image of Izzy kneeling at the Goblin King’s feet flashed before her inner eye. But no, that hadn’t been one of the dream images. She had been quite awake for that little drama. “Only bits and pieces,” she admitted.

“Hmm,” he leaned back in the swing again. “What are you not telling me, I wonder?”

Aisling’s heart skipped a beat, afraid for a moment that he suspected who knew what. But, no. She took a deep breath, assuring herself that he was speaking only about the topic at hand and nothing else. She forced herself to concentrate on the discussion. “Well, I may have already used my magic. I mean, I didn’t mean to,” she assured him hurriedly, hoping to forestall any anger, “and I won’t do it again.”

He didn’t get angry. He leaned back in the swing and stared at her thoughtfully. His eyes seemed to be staring into her soul, so intense was his scrutiny. The silence stretched out before he finally nodded. “As I expected would happen. And how can you expect to prevent another such problem if you do not know how it happened in the first place?”

She could feel a blush rising in her cheeks. “I do not know, your majesty,” she admitted honestly.

His mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile. “The simple answer is, you can’t,” he said gently. “You must learn control, or accidental magic will be more than just an occasional irritant. It will become a real problem.” He was quiet again, thinking. “I believe a change of tactics is in order,” he mused, “You need less magic theory and more hands on application, I think.”

“As Your Majesty wishes,” she sighed. If she admitted it to herself, she didn’t think she could learn to use magic at all. Not really. She was just a girl, after all, not a sorceress. Just a girl looking for her dreams.

“And that’s enough of that, I think,” he said crisply, eyes narrowed.

“Enough of what, your majesty?” she asked, confused.

“That,” he said. “No more titles. It will go much smoother during these lessons if you think of me as your teacher, not your king. From now on, when we are alone at your lessons you will call me Jareth.”

Aisling’s mouth dropped open in shock. She realized she had never called him by name. The thought of doing so terrified her, and she didn’t know why. “I c-couldn’t, Your Majesty.”

“Jareth,” he corrected.

She shook her head. “Please, I…I can’t.”

“You keep saying that. You have a serious lack of faith in your own abilities, I think.” He chuckled. “Now, little Aisling, say my name.”

She swallowed, her mouth opening and closing but no sound emerging. Her shaggy head shook before dipping to let her hair conceal her expression. Jareth reached out one gloved hand and cupped Aisling’s chin. “Say it,” he demanded gently, lifting her face so he could see her eyes. They were a wide, shimmering amber. He told himself that he needed her to stop being afraid of him if he was going to teach her. Nothing else. It certainly wasn’t a desire to have this strange creature’s eyes look at him with something other than caution or anger.

She stared at him and realized she wasn’t breathing. She forced herself to inhale deeply, then wet her dark lips with a small pink tongue. She tried to speak, but her voice cracked like dry leaves. Another deep breath and she tried again. “Jareth,” she said. The name felt warm on her tongue and vibrated high in her chest, before humming through her body to her fingertips. She shivered.

The Goblin King dropped his hand and stared at her with a peculiar expression on his face. After a moment he blinked, his mismatched eyes coming back into focus. A small smile curled one side of his lips and he shook his head. “There now,” he said, “was that so difficult?” He leaned back in the swing once again. “Now we can get on with the hard work.”

The next hours were slow and frustrating for both of them. The task he had set before her was to create a small glowing ball of light. A basic skill, he called it. She had her doubts. He cajoled and encouraged, ordered and threatened. He led her in a sort of “magical meditation”, his voice soothing and hypnotic, telling her to relax, to feel the flow of magic. By the time noon came and went she had still managed not to manifest even a spark.

She could tell that Jareth was getting frustrated as his normally bored voice became ever more heated. His instructions and responses became shorter and shorter until he was nearly sniping at her. She sniped back in turn, not willing to be intimidated by his temper. It probably wasn’t the best idea, like swatting a hornet’s nest, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

She had just managed to fail yet another attempt, and he appeared ready to explode, when a peculiar thing happened. A tiny twinkling shape hurtled between the two of them, breaking the staring match that had begun. The twinkle paused at Jareth’s sleeve and she recognized it as one of the dainty faeries that infested the Labyrinth. She knew little about them except that they were tricksy creatures, and they had sharp teeth, a lesson Sarah had learned on her first visit. The tiny woman was tugging at the King’s sleeve.

He frowned at the winged figure before brushing it away. “Not now, little one. I am busy.” But the faerie would not be deterred. Moments later she was joined by another, flitting in front of Jareth’s face in what could only be described as an agitated manner. He waved her away as well, frowning harder. Little good it did as the air was suddenly filled with a dozen faeries flitting to and fro, bombarding him. Aisling scooted back, trying to avoid the small swarm, who thankfully seemed focused on the King.

One very bold little creature landed on the King’s shoulder, grabbed a lock of his silken hair, and yanked with all her tiny might. Jareth winced. “Enough!” he intoned, his voice seeming laced with power. The faeries froze, hovering in mid air, as did his student. Jareth turned his head to fix an aggravated eye on the dainty woman on his shoulder. “Attend, siofra. This had best be important.” Her tiny head nodded.

The faerie tiptoed daintly to Jareth’s ear and seemed to whisper something. The King stiffened, his face becoming remote and cold. “You are certain?” he asked. The faerie nodded once more and his lips set into a grim line. He looked at Aisling, and she shrank back at the intensity in his eyes. “The lesson is over for today. You may return to your duties.” He stood and the faerie on his shoulder took flight again. “Come little siofra,” he ordered, “Show me.” With a flick of his wrist a hole opened in the air, beyond which Sarah glimpsed a familiar landscape of mossy trees and putrid pools. The faeries flitted through, their King following, and the opening winked out of existence with a small pop. Alone in the garden, she sighed and headed back for the castle. All the while trying to convince herself that she was not curious about where he had gone.


.:O_O:.


The Bog of Eternal Stench was a putrid, festering place. Rarely did the Labyrinth’s denizen’s venture among its trees, not even the most adventurous of the goblins, due to the noxious fumes that roiled up from its bubbling pools. They would no doubt be surprised to know that the King was not so rare a visitor to the area as might be expected, although today’s jaunt was hardly planned.

Jareth stepped out from nothing onto the spongy ground beside one small pool. He did not appear unduly concerned that he was close enough to be splashed by the foul water. Despite rumors to the contrary, there were ways to remove the stench from one’s person, especially when it was your magic that helped create it in the first place. The flock of faeries fluttered about his head, their wings rustling like tissue in his ear. All else was eerily quiet, except for the bubbling of the pool behind him.

The lead faerie pointed off beyond the trees and uttered a few musical words before darting off to lead him. Jareth just nodded, and strode off in the indicated direction, his steps sure on the marshy ground. The faeries followed at a respectful distance. He followed the sprite as she threaded through the twisted trees, brushing aside the heavy curtains of trailing moss as he progressed.

He walked for nearly fifteen minutes, penetrating ever deeper into the bog. The trees grew more dense and tangled, and the pools more numerous. Jareth avoided them with an ease born of familiarity, following his winged guide. Finally the faerie stopped and pointed at a dense copse of blackened trees.

They grew next to a high stone wall that was encrusted with twisted looking vines and clumps of Watcher’s Moss. The small eye-stalks were stunted and twisted, their “eyes” tinged yellow and red. Jareth ignored them. They were, surprisingly enough, normal for this part of the Labyrinth. The stand of blackened cypress was not.

He paced closer examining them. Most of the trunk and the branches were not black, but dark ashy grey. Dead, but dead as if they had been dead for years. He suspected that they hadn’t. The bottom of each was covered in a black substance that seemed to shimmer with a strange opalescence; oil on the surface of a pond. He crouched down about a foot away from the blackened area, studying it. The ground was cracked and dry, like it had been scorched. He picked up a rock lying within the affected area. It crumbled into ash in his hands, fine and powdery. No living plant could be seen within the blighted space.

The King was frowning in earnest now, his eyes deeply troubled. He stood and backed away from the copse. With a flick of his wrist and a swish of his hand he produced a crystal. It gleamed with a soft luminescence in the gloaming dark of the forest. He threw it at the trees, careful to aim for the bare portion of the trunk untouched by the black paste. The trees exploded into a fine dust just as the globe shattered against the foremost one. The fine particles drifted off on the wind.

Once the trees were gone the wall was revealed and the black substance seemed to collapse in on itself until it was a thick, gooey puddle on the ground. Beyond it, at the base of the stone wall, Jareth could see the source of the blackness. A thick, oozing tar was bubbling slowly out of a chink in the wall. He turned to look at the swarm of faeries still hovering behind him.

He bowed his head at them. “Thank you little ones. It is best if you hie from here.” The lead faerie chimed her agreement and in a twinkling they were gone, leaving Jareth alone with the ooze. Carefully he removed his fine cloak and hung it from one of the trees behind him. He walked over to the black puddle and stood over it, examining it and the wall closely. The stuff was not shimmering now, but was a dull, angry darkness that seemed to absorb the light around it. He smirked as he crouched next to it.

“Not today, I think,” he murmured to himself. The pool seemed to vibrate in reaction. He stripped the leather gloves from his fingers and placed them in the pocket of his vest. He rubbed his elegant, long fingered hands together and then drew them slowly apart. In the dim light of the swamp something glistened between his pale fingers. A silken web of crystalline strands seemed to stretch between his parting hands.

He moved the magical net toward the black substance, and it reacted violently, bubbling and shrinking back toward its emanation point. Slowly, slowly the net advanced and the ooze retreated, finally turning from molasses to oil as it slithered back into its hole. Jareth’s palms touched the wall on either side of the chink and smoothed the net, now more like a crystalline cheesecloth, over it. With each pass of his hand the aperture got smaller and the stone more natural looking. When he was finished he passed his hands over the blackened earth and it faded to a more natural color.

He stood, slipping his gloves back onto his hands. He frowned up and down the wall, looking for any other signs of weakness. He would have to inspect it tomorrow, first thing in the morning. Satisfied with his work, he turned and made his way back the way he had come, grabbing his cloak as he passed, and pondered what could have made the wall crack in such a way.

Mere moments after his departure, a dark, inky shape detached itself from the natural shadows off the wall. It looked after the King, if a shape with no eyes can be said to look. It flowed over and inspected the healed fissure closely, testing it with one shadowy hand and gazed off toward the castle, before slipping away into the bog.

.:O-O:.

Back at the castle, Aisling was back at her chores and trying not to wonder too much over the abrupt end to her lesson. It was probably for the best anyhow. She hadn’t been learning much.

She made her way through the castle corridors toward Jareth’s study, this time to fetch Izzy at Nel’s request. When she reached the room, she glanced inside to see Izzy moving books from the shelves onto several orderly piles. She knocked lightly on the doorjamb, so as not to startle the other woman.

Izzy turned at the sound and regarded Aisling with a quizzical, if silent, expression. “Nel wanted me to fetch you to the kitchens,” she said.Izzy nodded, and made a gesture that Sarah interpreted to mean she would head there soon. She nodded her shaggy head.

Just then she noticed that Izzy was not alone in the room as Twiggy came careening from behind the desk, swaying beneath a pile of books larger than he was. He dumped them in a pile in the middle of the floor, partially knocking over one of Izzy’s stacks in the process. Sarah rolled her eyes.

“Do you want me to…?” she began, pointing at Twiggy and nodding out the doorway. Izzy just shook her head, apparently fine with the little goblin’s dubious help. Sarah just shrugged her shoulders and nodded. “Ok, well, I’ve delivered the message,” she said, and headed back to the kitchen.

Back in the study, Izzy went silently back to work, restacking the books and sorting the pile that Twiggy had brought her. Behind her, Twiggy had moved on to a more ambitious project. He was climbing one of the larger stacks of books that swayed and groaned with his passage, toward the topmost shelf of the bookcase. A large heavy tome was wedged into the shelf and Twiggy wanted it.

Standing on tiptoes the little goblin reached, straining, for the book. He got his small hands on it and grasped it, wiggling and pulling to try and get it unstuck. Below him Izzy was waving her arms frantically, her mouth open in a silent shout, but of course he did not see her. He got a better grasp on the book and wrenched with all the strength in his small body. As a goblin, this was not inconsiderable.

The precarious pile of books beneath him could take the abuse no longer and slowly began to topple. He scrabbled for purchase, but it was useless. The tower fell and Twiggy was left dangling from the end of his prize. He flailed and wriggled, and above him the hefty book inched forward with a loud scraping sound. He screeched as it broke loose and tumbled forward, sending him falling to the floor. It landed with a thud on top of him, along with a small box that had apparently been lodged on the shelf behind it. Several more books followed suit and fell with a deafening clatter.

Izzy scrambled over and started digging Twiggy out of the pile of pages. She had just laid hand on the curious box, a small wooden thing with a now broken lock, when Twiggy’s head appeared. He looked at her sheepishly. “Twiggy sawwy?” he asked hesitantly. She just frowned at him and he ducked his head.

Instead of chastising him further, much good it would do even if she could speak, Izzy turned her attention to the box. It was worn and weathered, and the small lock had been smashed in the fall. Hesitantly she opened it, allowing her curiosity to get the better of her. “Is it something to pretty?” asked Twiggy, clambering onto Izzy’s lap and peering into the box.

Izzy did not answer of course. Inside were three objects, a lock of brown hair clasped in a barrette, a small scroll of parchment, and a bracelet of multicolored beads that looked like glass, but felt much lighter. She was about to reach for the parchment when Twiggy’s small hand darted in to seize on the bracelet. “Pretty!” he squealed.

He didn’t get far. Izzy snatched the bauble back and put it into the box, shutting the lid with a snap. She shook her head at the pouting Twiggy and stood, the box securely under her protection. Twiggy sulked, but as soon as Izzy motioned her hand to her mouth, like she was eating something from her fingers, he forgot the little treasure. It was dinnertime, and that meant a chance to see his Neila. With a skip and jump he raced out the door. Izzy followed at a more sedate pace, closing it behind her, the box still in her hand.


"Did You Never Know?"

Did you never know, long ago, how much you loved me --
That your love would never lessen and never go?
You were young then, proud and fresh-hearted,
You were too young to know.

Fate is a wind, and red leaves fly before it
Far apart, far away in the gusty time of year --
Seldom we meet now, but when I hear you speaking,
I know your secret, my dear, my dear.

Sarah Teasdale