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Shattered	By : TarnishedArmour Category: G through L > Labyrinth Views: 7713 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Based upon the work of Jim Henson; specifically Labyrinth, copyright 1986 by Jim Henson & associated parties. I do not own or have legal rights to Labyrinth, etc., or make any profit from them. *Individual disclaimers for other works in

Chapter List
- 37
- 38
- 39
Sarah walked into the city. This was definitely a city. While it wasn't a city like she was used to seeing, it certainly wasn't a village or town. Everywhere she looked, there were women. Goblin women. No, not women. Gana. Goblin gana. Every single woman was hurrying around, going into and out of different shops, in various states of undress. A sense of anticipation filled the air. There were a few other races there, but the vast majority of the city was goblin gana. There were no males, grasch, in sight.
One gana crone stopped Sarah at the first shop that was open, and it was quite close to the gates of the city. The woman was old, her hair white with age, her yellow eyes pale. Her green-toned skin was wrinkled, and her lips around her wide mouth were thin and wrinkly. When she spoke, though, it was clear that she still had all of her wickedly sharp, tough teeth.
"Come in, dearie. Come in, get out of those leather things and put on chain, like a proper gana." The voice reminded Sarah of the wicked witch that gave Snow White the poisoned apple. It was a hard image to shake.
"Why would I do that?" Sarah asked, wondering what was going on.
"It's the Grasch-gana-grippoldar," the woman replied, shocked that Sarah knew so little. "You are here for to become goblin, yes?"
"Yes." Did she have 'Torment me with strange rituals' tattooed on her forehead?
"Then you must enter. Come in, come in. I have what scrawny little human gana need to be grippoldan gana." With that, the crone opened the door to her shop and Sarah saw several women inside, all lifting different things into the air and talking.
"Grippoldan?" Sarah couldn't quite place the word. She walked in after the crone.
The crone cackled and called out in goblinish to the young women in her shop. It wasn't a shop so much as a tavern that had been converted into a shop. There was a set of stairs that, she surmised, went up to the rooms where visitors once stayed.
"Gana! Come see! Runner-pretty has come to be goblin!" The crone cackled something else, too, but Sarah was still taking in the scene. Whatever the crone had said got the attention of the other women, though, and the scene rapidly changed from friendly, organized chaos to intensely personal and focused.
Sarah was surrounded by goblin gana then, among them two elvenflowers. There was a werewolf, and three women of races that she didn't readily identify. She was, distressingly, the only human. The elvenflowers looked delicate, but they were used to the attentions of the elvenwoodlings, the elvenwoods, and the elvenlords. They could handle goblin grasch. If a goblin or any other male got too frisky, elvenflowers were capable of taking care of the problem. A werewolf was a prize for any goblin grasch, and the other three…she thought they might be orcix, or even ogresses. They were pretty, but their eyes were oddly shaped. They reeked of magic.
Questions flew at her right and left. She was escorted up the stairs into the rooms, and she still had no idea what was going on, what a Grippoldar was, or why these women were taking her…wherever they were taking her.
"What's going on?" she managed, slipping her question in between the werewolf calling for a bath to be drawn and the elfinflower with cherry-blossom hair telling three gana to go get towels and something called exfloianair.
The werewolf chuckled softly. "You have no idea what you have to do, do you?"
"No, I don't. The only goblins I've seen were at the Goblin City-"
"Those…aren't real goblins. Not that they aren't goblins, but they're definitely not the full-grown adult versions." The werewolf asked a gana something in goblinish and the gana replied in kind. "She says they're the children that couldn't survive in goblin society. While the goblins didn't want to hurt them, and the king would have a fit and possibly level the goblin city that dared to go back to the ancient goblin ways of just killing the poor things, they have to be separated from regular goblin society for their own good."
"I heard something like that," Sarah admitted. She looked at the filling tub. "This thing is huge."
"Yeah, well, you're not getting in it alone. We've got the rest of today and tomorrow until nightfall to prepare for the Grasch-gana-grippoldar, and we're going to take advantage of every last minute. Here," the werewolf stripped out of her own scant clothing and slid into the water. "Ahh. Perfect. Probably a bit hot for you, though-what's your name?"
"Sarah. You are?" She took the hint and stripped out of her travel-dusty clothing, more than willing to slide into the tub. Werewolf women, called louplobas, were less aggressive than loupgarou, the males, especially in social situations. The louploba had little interest in determining pack order, it seemed, and Sarah wondered if she was a lonewolf, one who preferred to be away from the company of other werewolves.
"Lunaradi," the werewolf replied, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you Sarah. Say, you're not the Sir Sarah of the Line of Didymus that was just knighted, are you?"
"That would be me." Sarah replied. "How'd you know?"
"My cousin is Lady Ashcray. She wrote to me almost immediately after the Welcoming." Lunardi grinned. "You're one hell of a catch for a grasch. Not many women try to become Queen."
"I've heard. There's been some twenty that have tried. You know," Sarah continued, slowly, "I've been wondering…" she slid into the water and her words trailed off. She didn't know exactly how to put her questions. Everything went back to what she'd learned about the Labyrinthine Realm and the surrounding countries-which wasn't much-in her time in Destria.
"Don't. Not right now." Lunardi grinned at Sarah, eyes laughing. "You've got enough on your plate learning about the Grippoldar. If I'm right, the king is going to join us this time. He only shows up every twenty years or so-unless there's a Queenrunner. In that case, he always comes-if she draws the Grippoldar." Lunardi paused, then shook her head. "Never mind. You need to be prepared for this, and that means relaxing. Believe me, once the Grippoldar starts, nobody relaxes for days."
"Weeks," a gana said, slipping into the water with them. "If the grasch knows what he's doing!"
Several more women came in, laughing. More than one called out agreement with that remark, including the elvenflowers.
"Okay," Sarah said, rolling her eyes. "You keep saying things like that and laughing. What in all that's living is a Grippoldar?"
"It's our mating season," one gana said. "I'm Gita." She pointed around to the women now soaking in the tub. "These are Cherryline, Teaka, Gyla, Tyra, Retinik, and Guilu." She stopped. "Anyone see a human in the Grippoldar before?" The women shook their heads. Gita yelled something very loudly, causing everyone not goblin to cover their ears, and got a response. Another woman came up the stairs. "This is Goria. She's seen a human in the Grippoldar before. She can explain it better."
"So," came the richer, darker voice of the older gana, "a human in the Grippoldar. You need to know what happens, yes?" Her words were accented. It sounded like a cross between a German accent and Spanish. There was a harshness to the consonants that was belied by the musical quality of the vowels. The sound was oddly beautiful.
"That is exactly what I need to know," Sarah replied.
"Well, the good thing is that after Grippoldar, you are considered goblin gana. The bad news is, you have to get through Grippoldar with a grasch." Goria shrugged. "It's not bad. Just a bit painful." When Sarah raised her eyebrows, Goria stopped. "Better that I tell you in goblinish. I don't have words that others do for the…the…telling." With that, she began to speak in goblinish. Lunardi translated quickly.
"First, this is the goblin mating season. A Grasch-gana-grippoldar is held every six weeks and lasts for three weeks-when the schedule is followed correctly. This is only for the warm months, though. When the leaves change to autumn, there are only three Grippoldar, and in winter months only two. When spring comes again, so does the heat. It is not our bodies that demand the Grippoldar. It is goblin magic at its most primitive. Those who can, breed. Those who cannot, do not. That is the way of it. When gana or grasch cannot breed for six Grippoldar, they leave the Grippoldar forever. Then they take care of and rear and raise the nilbogs. Goblins who can breed continue with the Grippoldar." She paused for a minute and let that sink in. Sarah nodded, so she continued. "Gana who breed are…mated. They take the grasch who fathered their nilbog as mate for one year-until the child is born and can go to fostering with the goblins who don't breed, the hobgoblins. Then they return to the Grippoldar. There is no guarantee of a nilbog, even if one mates with a good grasch." Goria shrugged. "I have three Grippoldar left, if I do not conceive this time. I like the Grippoldar, but I am tired of breeding."
"Then it may be time for you to go now," Guilu said, her voice simplistic. "This is my first Grippoldar. I ache to breed. The want for a nilbog has been getting stronger. I feel the magic now, and want to find grasch." The young gana made a fist and struck the wall beside her. "I hate waiting!"
"But you will wait," replied Gita. "Trust me. You will find the wait worth your while when the frenzy comes over you."
Toothy smiles shone round the room, only Sarah and Guilu not joining in.
"So," Sarah said, her voice unsure, "I have to have a goblin child? Or did I miss something?"
"You just have to go through the Grippoldar. If you breed, you breed. If you don't, there's always next Grippoldar." Gita's voice was matter-of-fact.
"Not for Sarah," Lunardi replied. "See the mark? She's Queenrunner."
Excited chatter filled the room, none of which Sarah understood well enough to answer.
"Is it true?" Tyra asked, eyes wide and bright with curiosity.
"Is what true?" Sarah asked, wondering where the merry hell this conversation was about to go.
"Does King Jareth have a graschtig like a horse?" The gleam in the eyes around her and the intense curiosity made it very clear what the goblinish word meant.
"Um, no." Sarah thought for a minute. "Why would you think I know about that?" The women howled as if she'd just told the funniest joke they'd ever heard. "I guess his reputation precedes him, then?" Sarah added wryly.
"Sweetling," Lunardi snickered, "his majesty's reputation's been preceding him for a long, long time. You're just the first woman we've met who has firsthand knowledge of him. And we've got lots of questions." Heads nodded around the room and Sarah couldn't help the slow grin that tugged at her lips.
"Well," she drawled, "I just might have a few answers."
The interrogation began. Gasps, laughs, and sighs were heard frequently, and no few rumours were confirmed or denied. Most, Sarah discovered, she was just confirming. With a few exceptions. During the interrogation the bath gave way to drying off and eating a good dinner. Over ale, Sarah found herself admitting to some of the things she'd done to Jareth's royal self, and she found an appreciative audience. Goblin gana, she discovered, were more than just curious, they were blunt and free in so many ways that Sarah was put to the blush more than once. On the other hand, it was the first time Sarah had ever joined in a conversation like this, and it was as informative as it was fun.
After dinner was over, Sarah learned the next step in preparing for the Grippoldar. She was a bit behind, and the other women couldn't wait to help her shop and work on her body for the Grippoldar.
"So, I have to get more clothing?" Sarah thought about her purse for a moment. "All right. Where do I purchase it?"
The gana laughed.
"Oh, you don't buy a thing!" Cherryline exclaimed. "Whatever grasch you pick will pay for it all. The only thing you keep are your daggers. And that necklace."
"Meanwhile, let's go back upstairs so you can be oiled and all. Believe me, you'll want the oil in your skin by the time the Grippoldar is over," Lunardi added. "It will help you keep clean and keep your skin well-moisturized. I found out the hard way a few years ago," she grimaced. "Had the worst case of itches-you would not believe! Anyway, after I'd shifted, I got my hands on this oil. It's amazing. Goblin gana have some of the most beautiful skin in the realm, and this is why."
They had made it up the stairs as Lunardi talked, and Sarah saw a line of bottles with a pale gold liquid in them.
"Pretty," she said. "Is everything the same scent?"
"Not at all," Guilu replied. "This one is definitely for goblin-born gana. This one is good for Lunardi, and these are for elvenflowers." She looked over the bottles, tossing the appropriate ones to the women she named. "Huh. I don't see the human one."
"We'll use a mix of the werewolf and the elfinflower with more of the unscented oil as a base. It should work nicely on her skin," Lunardi said.
Guilu shrugged, "You've got the nose, loba." The women skinned out of the thin robes they had worn to eat dinner, and Sarah listened as the women in her group commented on her build. She was much smaller than any of the other women, which was only to be expected. Goblin gana are tough as their grasch, and the build of a gana is muscle and heavy bone, generous curves showing even on the youngest, Guilu. Goria, the eldest, was rock-hard muscle and more cut than the others. If roundness of form and limb was an indicator of gana fertility, Goria was definitely at the end of her time as goblin. Soon, she would be hobgoblin, and, a century down the road, crone. Sarah looked at the other women. Even the elvenflowers showed strength in every line. Sarah alone, even with her muscles toned and trained, looked delicate and wispy next to these women.
"Oh, so skinny," Gyla said. "She be broke in half with grasch if he don't know what he's doing."
Retinik snickered, adding, "Keep from the young ones. Find a grasch with a good head of hair. He old enough not to snap your little bones."
"Do human women keep squirrels in their britches?" Guilu asked, studying Sarah's body carefully. "And all this fuzz on arms-you try to be peaches?" She had noticed before in the bath, but thought the hair would come off in the water. She had been wrong, obviously.
"It's just…the way it is," Sarah managed.
"Oh, honey," the werewolf sighed, "believe me, I know. Grasch can't stand a hairy woman, though, so come with me. We'll take care of that for you."
Sarah was led into a side chamber, not sure exactly what was happening.
"Um," she said as the werewolf grabbed an elfinflower and said something about sap and hardening agents. "Why would a grasch care about body hair?" Jareth hadn't said anything, and Sarah hadn't had the opportunity to shave her legs here in this realm. She wasn't brave enough to try to do the same with her magic, since she wasn't quite sure how to affect the body just yet.
Everyone stopped.
"You still don't know what you have to do in the Grash-gana-grippoldar?" Gyla asked, finally understanding what had Sarah so confused.
"Not a clue," she confessed. "Not really. I mean, I got part of it, but I don't understand exactly what I'm supposed to do-other than have sex with a grasch."
"Oh." The women looked at one another.
Lunardi patted a table. "Lay down. Let us work on you while we explain."
Cherryline had mixed the oils for Sarah and she and Goria began kneading the oil into Sarah's skin. The massage was a bit rough, but it felt heavenly. Sarah listened as they spoke.
"This oil will help with your skin, keep you from getting raw. It also has a few healing properties in it, but the magic will take care of most of it." Cherryline began, then stopped when she saw Lunardi's reaction.
Lunardi shook her head from where she was working on a different concotion. "Wrong place to start," she advised. "All right, Sarah, here's the way it is. The Grippoldar, the short name, is just that. Goblin grasch come into this city, where all unmated women are, grip a gana-usually the first one they see-and try to mate with her. The flip side is the gana are trying to find a grasch they want. If the wrong grasch grips her, she attacks." The werewolf shrugged. "It goes on for three weeks, like you heard before. The more grasch that try for you, the more attacking you'll probably do. Most grasch don't want a huge challenge, so they'll let go in search of less painful gana.
"Once you stab a grasch, you need to move away from him. Another will start to chase you. If you like him, stay. If not, stab. Even if you do like him, you should fight anyway." Sarah stared at Lunardi, and the werewolf saw the surprise. "It's rough, and it would be deadly, if it weren't for the magic. No one knows why, but this Grippoldar never has anyone die from wounds received during the mating." Seeing that Sarah was completely lost, Lunardi backed up a bit. "Goblins like pain."
"We like to get and give it-feels nice when the hurting stops and the licking starts," Gita added. "The Grippoldar draws on that. The magic draws on the pain, the good parts, and the fun of mating." She pursed her lips. "Goblins mate without the Grippoldar, but it's not the same. Not as rough. Not as good." Gita shook her head. "Fun, that's what mating is the rest of the time. During Grippoldar, mating is all. There is the chase, the fight, and the mating. Everything comes down to the mating, though."
"Right," Lunardi picked up there. "So stabbing or slashing a grasch won't upset him. Just like a grasch catching you and pinning you down while he fucks you senseless won't hurt you. If you don't like it after a few minutes, just stab him deep and leave."
Sarah took a minute and thought about it. "The entire Grippoldar is just one big chase with what could be called rape as the goal?" It was a difficult concept.
The gana snorted. "No man stupid enough to try and rape gana. We like to kill, not just to hurt. Sometimes," came the shark-smiled response, "we like to take lots of time with the killing."
"Besides," Teaka added, "rape hurts. The Grippoldar, even though you're fighting and it's rough and it may not be the grasch you want, doesn't. Everything about it is good. Even the pain is good."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. She'd had fun with pain-pleasure teasing with Jareth, but this wasn't teasing. This was…real. She'd also experienced real pain when combined with sex and pleasure. Those weren't among her favourite memories, but there was an attraction there. Not an everyday thing, but not something she'd never do again. The thought of returning the favour to Jareth definitely had appeal, too.
"So stabbing the grasch will feel good?" Sarah was trying to get through the confusion. She flipped over and let the massaging continue.
"Drives them into frenzy. The more grips, the more fights, you have-you'll get closer to frenzy. Once you're in frenzy, you'd better be with the grasch you want, 'cause there's no going back. You won't be able to think of anything but chase and fight and fuck. There is nothing else when you reach frenzy." Lunardi's voice was calm, authoritative. "And it feels wonderful, Sarah. I know, you're human and not as tough, but it won't matter. I promise."
"Okay," Sarah replied, taking it all in. These weren't goblin gana with her, not all of them. Werewolves weren't insane, and, despite her opinion of their reproductive methods, neither were elvenflowers. And neither race was keen on the idea of pain as an aphrodisiac. Especially werewolves. If a werewolf was hurt badly, they usually shifted and attacked, lost to the animal instincts. For Lunardi to be here willingly said that there was something to the Grippoldar that Sarah couldn't understand without experiencing it. "When the Grippoldar is over, what happens?"
"At the end of that time, the gana go to the crones, who let her know if she's pregnant or not. If she is, she's mated to that grasch until the child is old enough to be sent to the fosterers. Then she returns to the Grippoldar-unless she likes the grasch. If she likes him, she stays with him and accepts his collar." Lunardi paused, then added, "Unless she accepts his collar during the Grippoldar."
"If she takes the collar, though," said Retinik, "she doesn't have to keep it. If her grasch pisses her off, she can leave. He'll pout, but he'll find another gana." She shrugged. "I kept one grasch for three years, had three nilbogs with him. They're in fostering now, and I want to find good grasch that I want to keep before I leave the Grippoldar." She sighed. "I've only got a few fertile years left before I start fostering. A good grasch makes for good nilbogs, and good nilbogs make good goblins."
"Oh," Goria added, "if you take his collar and you're not sure you want to keep him, do not let him take off your clothes, and do not take off his. It means you have a year together and that you won't fight him or take another grasch in that year. There's more to it, but that's the big thing."
Sarah stared at the woman. "You mean I'll have clothes on the entire time?" she asked. She was expecting to run around naked with a dagger in her hand.
The gana snickered. "Of course. You'll wear gana clothing that grasch like." Shark-smiles gleamed around the room. "And you'll like too. Not soft or like those silky things you had in your pack, but they get you where you need to be for the Grippoldar."
"Looks like you're ready for the next part," Lunardi said. "Lie still. And trust me." The werewolf took advantage of Sarah's position and dumped the sap-based mixture she'd been working on all over Sarah's body, excepting only her head. She and Teaka began smoothing it all over Sarah's body in a thin layer. They were very thorough, even getting areas Sarah hadn't thought about.
"What's this for?" she asked.
"Got to get rid of that hair or no grasch will take you on." Lunardi shoved a piece of boiled leather into Sarah's mouth when she opened it to ask her next question.
"Bite," the werewolf advised. "Hard."
Sarah just looked at her, even more confused. The werewolf kept talking, giving fine points on the town and where the best chases could lead, all the while she and Teaka gently sprayed the thin layer of sap with something that made the sticky stuff feel like sticker paper was covering her body. Two gana held down her arms and two more held her legs.
Sarah stared at the two women, trying to work the leather out of her mouth to ask a question. At that moment, though, the elfinflower and the werewolf both peeled up a corner of the sticky stuff and yanked. Sarah screeched around the leather and bit down hard. Every bit of hair on the front of her body was ripped out by the roots, and the werewolf had been very thorough. Little pinpricks of blood welled up on her, everywhere. Sarah was then flipped over and the process was repeated on the reverse side. She screamed again and tears trickled from her eyes as she struggled against the gana. She was stronger than she looked, but the gana had gravity and experience on their side. They'd done this with Lunardi the day before. When the werewolf stepped back with a huge smile and the gana let go of her, Sarah jumped up and punched the woman full in the nose.
The werewolf yelped, cradled her sensitive nose, and looked wounded.
"I'm doing you a favour," she whimpered. "You can't get a grasch if you're all furry."
Sarah spat out the leather. "WARN a girl!" she snapped.
"But it hurts more if you know it's coming," the elfinflower replied.
Sarah started to shout something else, then stopped and groaned. And where had she heard that again? Right. She was forgetting that. All of it. She had something else to add to her list of things to forget forever.
"Okay, so anybody got some salve for this?" she asked, looking at her bleeding body.
A sympathetic gana brought over several warm, damp towels and a pot of salve. The women, including the now pouting Lundardi, batted Sarah's hands away as they started rubbing the healing salve into her skin. Sarah gritted her teeth and then started asking questions about how she could pick out a good grasch for herself, given that she had a few disadvantages that the gana present didn't have.
The women were incredibly helpful, if not particularly gentle, and Sarah felt much better after the salve and another round of oil was worked into her skin. She got a lot of answers, and, when she had been oiled the second time, was able to get up and pull on the gana robe that she'd been given after her bath. It was late, but she wasn't tired, or even sore. The healing salve had been potent enough that she didn't hurt. With the others, Sarah began looking around the shop on the ground floor, studying the wares available for gana to wear, to be paid for by the grasch she finally accepted.
Sarah picked out several different things, but the gana told her those were for more experienced gana.
"A grasch sees you in that and he knows you know all about the Grippoldar. He won't think, just take, and you can't afford that. You gotta have something tells grasch to think," Guilu said. "I know. I got the same speech from these gana," she thumbed toward the women who were looking through the options for less-experienced gana. "Don't care, myself, but then I'm goblin."
"A bad first Grippoldar can sour a gana," Goria advised. "Seen it. Had two nilbogs in seven years, then became hobgoblin too young. Died early, too. Lots of gana don't make it to crone, but they at least make it to odgobs. The gana who didn't have good first Grippoldar were changed afterward."
"Listen to gana-older-than-you," the crone said, her eyes flashing with memories. "My first Grippoldar, I wore something like this," she lifted a simpler outfit. "Had twenty-three years as goblin before I went hobgoblin. Lots of nilbogs-even twins. Now look. I got shop, I be crone, and I tell you what my hob told me. Take first step good with grasch looking for this kind of ganastil. No collar this time, even if you have nilbog in you at the end. Grasch looks for this ganastil knows how to treat gana."
"Ganastil?" Sarah asked.
"The style of clothing a gana wears. Ganastil has several different looks." Goria motioned to where she had picked out her ganastil. "See? My ganastil has more leather, less metal. Grasch new to the game look for me. Grasch who know the game and want someone who knows it, look to me. Grasch want different gana. Aren't human men the same?"
"I guess," Sarah replied. "Then again, I wound up with Jareth, and he's about as far from an ordinary human male as you can get."
"Years of experience," Cherryline said, grinning. "Makes it worthwhile."
"You could say that," Sarah replied, grinning back. "So, this lets grasch know that I'm new to the game?" she asked.
"Yes, and that," she pointed to what Guilu was going to have to wear, "is for new goblin gana. See the differences?" Sarah looked over the clothing, such as it was, and nodded. Sarah's clothing even looked more delicate, though that probably wasn't the word for it. The outfit she finally chose was one that she was told drove certain grasch wild. She wasn't entirely certain she wanted wild, but this was better than some things that new gana would wear. At least it covered her. Well, mostly.
About three hours before sunset, Sarah pulled on the chain bikini top and felt the pinch around her nipples immediately. The loops were larger there, and there was no lining. She looked at the mirror. Not bad. A bit in-your-face, but goblins, she'd figured out, weren't exactly the subtle sort. In-your-face was pretty much the only way to go. Surprisingly, the feeling wasn't bad. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it didn't let her forget what she was there for, either. She worked on getting into the rest of her ganastil.
She chosen two steel armlets which, thanks to the built-in sheaths, would hold two of her smaller daggers. A grasch without a gana's wounds is a lousy grasch, or so the saying went. According to the gana, a few bleeding stab wounds turned grasch on. She remembered some of the advice she'd gotten over the last day or so.
"If he can't last at least five hours on the first round, stab him and move on. Make it hurt, too." When Gyla said this she had looked disgruntled.
"Isn't there medical term or some sort condition for a male with an erection lasting more than four hours?" Sarah asked, remembering something Steven had said, was it that long ago?
"A bad condition?" the gana looked at one another. Then they started snickering. "Maybe it's a bad thing for human male, but we goblins call it a good start."
She really hoped that the Grippoldar wasn't going to be as…painful as she thought it would be. The gana swore it was fun, really, but Sarah had some doubts. In fact, she had a lot of doubts. She tried to ignore those thoughts and put on her bottoms, a kind of loincloth, also made of chain, but with a scalemail belt to keep it on her hips. Low on her hips. Between the way it dipped in front and back and the thin, crotchless chain "skirt" that dangled in front and back, she may as well have been wearing nothing. Well, nothing that caught the skin and prickled and seemed to have a sexspell on it. Any gana would have been able to tell her that was the Grippoldar anticipation that was coming over her. By the time she put on her boots and added daggers to belt and boots, she was panting. Maybe it was the way the other women were reacting. Maybe it was something more. Her magic wasn't giving her any information that she could use. She was along for the ride and hoping that she got through this without permanent damage.
Finally, just before the sun set and the grasch were to raid the town, her group of gana friends were all ready. They all hurried out into the streets and toward the huge, open square toward the center of the city. The grasch would come rushing into town from the gates, and it was up to the gana to give a good fight and a good chase before letting themselves get caught.
Outside of town, Jareth paced. He was with a large gathering of grasch, ready for the hunt. It had been several years since he had joined the Grippoldar. As he watched the sun sink lower in the sky, he felt the goblin in him starting to rise to the surface.
Born to the race of kings, King by virtue of his own will, he had drunk of the King's Cup. The blood of every race flowed in his veins, though the full strength and weakness of each race was inaccessible to him, the instincts and some of the toughness of the races, their thought patterns, were available for the using. He called on the goblin in him now, but he didn't really have to do so in order to join the Grippoldar. As there were times that he felt more human than anything, there were also times that he felt more goblin. Everything that was not goblin in him fell away as his breathing grew shallow with anticipation and his eyes turned feral. He had often chased and caught lovers in his life, but this was Grippoldar.
His thoughts turned more grasch than they had in a long, long time.
Tonight, he hunted a different game. Tonight he hunted a gana who would fight back. He welcomed the pain the gana would give, the wounds that would drive him into frenzy. He would hurt her just as much before they fell prey to the mindless need that would bring them together. And it would. He knew it would. Gana would be his. He would collar her. Keep her.
Forever.
Jareth did not think about the realm. Oakheart had his duties, there was nothing that could interrupt the Grippoldar. The King would not be the king if he were interrupted. He would be another goblin, unable to think past the moment and the woman he hunted.
And it was good.
Sarah paced with the women in the courtyard. She did not notice her thoughts growing more animalistic as the magic of the Grippoldar inundated the city. Grasch were waiting for the gates to open again, for the sun to sink below the horizon. Grasch hunted gana in the dark.
They were out there. She could smell them, feel them. Magic was here, and it was primitive, pulsing inside her own magic like a great heartbeat. Like music. Like The Rite of Spring had pulsed in her when she had gone to see the dance with Karen. Her fingers trembled as she fingered her daggers. She wanted now.
She would be chased. Grabbed. But until she was with the grasch she wanted, she would fight. She would wound, slash, stab. And she ached to spill blood, to drive the need higher.
He was out there. She knew it like she knew her own need.
Her blood seemed to burn inside her.
A howl rose from the gates.
Grasch come.
Good.
Jareth ran with the grasch. No one cared that he was king now. He didn't.
He had only one thought.
His gana.
Now.
Sarah snarled and slashed the face of a grasch who took her hips in his hands. He reeled away, licking his lips and grabbing another gana by the arm. Sarah didn't follow his progress. There. Flash of gold over white skin. She growled and her dagger drank deep of a grasch's side. She yanked her dagger free, eeled away, and stalked after her grasch.
He turned. Smiled. She was sighted.
Now, she wanted.
But first, the chase.
Sarah let him see her. Far enough away to have to work to get to her, close enough he could see the blood on her dagger, the snarl on her lips.
He chased.
Sarah turned and faded into the crowd.
Another hand thick with muscle and hard from fights, another slash.
Free.
Moving, surging, going to the winding streets.
He followed.
Jareth saw her.
Gana.
Blood on pale skin, a dare on her lips.
Her body screamed to him. She wanted.
He followed, shoving though the crowd, catching a fair arm and getting a slash in return. He let go of the gana and followed the pale beauty in the enticing ganastil down a winding street.
Tracking. Watching.
Wanting.
Determined.
He smiled.
Panting, Sarah hid in the dark doorway. It was deep enough shadow that she didn't show.
He crept past, searching. She laughed cruelly, slashed her dagger down his back, and leapt away.
Fast.
He was fast.
She ran, dodging into another street, passing a gana and grasch as they grunted against the wall, gana fighting as he shoved into her.
Good. Fight until he gives in. Fight until he gives what you want. Grasch and gana never peaceful.
Footsteps. Close.
Too fast.
A hand. She turned, shoved her dagger toward him.
He countered. Pushed her against the wall. She struggled, leaning back, shoving.
It didn't matter.
She felt him grab her wrists and hold them high as he shoved into her. His hand bruised her hip, ground her wrists into brick, bruising and scraping the skin.
Good. So good.
She hissed, wanted more.
He growled victory.
Yet she fought.
She bit. She kicked.
And he bit back.
Sarah arched into the bite he gave her, blood running into his mouth. He let go of her wrists and held her hips still, she clawed at his back and shoulders, drawing blood.
He bit her lip, her neck. She bit his shoulder.
Fighting, clawing, they fought one another. Sarah nearly escaped him several times, but he held her. Pinned her. Rode her until the need was satisfied and the pleasure came.
Jareth panted, then cried his victory to the night sky.
His victory cry was greeted with the pommelnut of a heavy dagger to the cheek, cracking the bone, splitting skin.
He snarled at the gana who struck out at him. After the chase. After he had given her what she wanted. What he wanted.
She shoved him off of her, kicking hard with her legs and standing. The chain clothes were still in place, the need they gave with their pinching and scratching making her fight again.
She wanted. He would chase and catch until she was ready to stop fighting.
Then she would take more.
And he would be her grasch.
Maybe, if he was good, she would take his collar.
But only if he was good enough.
To be good enough, he had to catch her again.
Gana were right, Sarah managed a thought. Four hours is a good start.
But only a good start.
Jareth watched as the gana stood again. His eyes flashed. This was his gana.
She just didn't know it yet.
She ran.
He chased. He caught.
She fought.
He took.
She fought.
And the need came and the pleasure came and the blood flowed and the pain spurred him on.
She moved away again.
He licked the blood on his lips. Her blood.
He laughed, low and dark. The sun was up now.
Still he chased.
Gana are trouble, Jareth felt the thought more than he thought it. But this trouble is mine.
And worth every wound.
Chase after chase, he caught her.
Time and again, she fought him.
Over and over, the blood and the pain drove them higher.
Until exhaustion overtook them.
And they slept where they fell, across a bed in an inn that had seen better days.
Jareth wrapped around her, holding her down while she slept.
Sarah nearly purred as her grasch took hold of her again, pinning her down while she slept.
She would keep him.
He had earned her.
In the late morning sun, Jareth and Sarah woke.
Jareth smiled down at the gana who had bruised and bloodied him. Sarah stared up at the grasch who had caught her and forced her time and again to take him in.
The frenzy was over. She had been chased enough. Caught enough.
Now she wanted to enjoy the grasch she had decided to keep.
Sarah lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips.
"More. Now."
Jareth bit her chin lightly, ground her wrists into the bed, and gave his gana more.
He had to keep his gana happy so she would stay.
Sarah arched and met her grasch each time he pushed into her.
She chose well. This grasch felt so good.
And the pleasure swamped them again.
After several days of single-syllable demands, of thoughts that were no more than that and frequently less, Sarah and Jareth slowly regained the ability to think. All around them, the grasch and gana had paired off, the heat wearing from them as the Grippoldar wound down a bit. Unlike many, Sarah and Jareth had been in a room alone when the frenzy left them. Not that goblins cared who else was around-Grippoldar or not.
"Mm," Sarah moaned softly, stretching her aching body. She was able to think again, and in full sentences. "Wounds festering yet?" she asked, digging her thumb into a particularly nasty wound. She'd stabbed deep, and Jareth shuddered when the pain went through him. It felt good.
"You keep that up, I'll collar you and ride until you beg for mercy," he warned. He pressed into her bruised and raw wrists, watching her shiver and hiss in response. "You like?" His voice, dark like hers had been, called up the dark desires in her again.
"Mmmm," she purred. "I won't take your collar," she challenged, watching the flare of anger in his eyes as she spoke. "Not until you convince me you're worth it."
It was a challenge he accepted.
Jareth snarled and turned her over onto her hands and knees.
Sarah screamed and bucked back into him as he dug his nails down her back and made her bleed. She screamed again as he took her hard, without oil. He was not playing by the rules. It hurt. She bled more, but she welcomed the pain. Pain was pleasure here, now. Then she bucked back against him. She panted. She screamed. She begged.
She felt a surge of magic. He took her like she had expected now, and she was unable to do anything but react. Her body controlled her, and the ancient goblin magics controlled her body.
She called for more. She moaned. She cried. She capitulated.
In the end, when her arms went slack and she fell into the old mattress with a sob, when he collapsed on her bloody back, she accepted his collar.
Jareth smiled. She had worn deep into his energy. But he had won.
Sarah was his gana. She would never get tired of him. He wouldn't let her.
Sarah smiled. He had given her good reason to take his collar. She had won this game.
Jareth was her grasch. Now, all she had to do was keep him humble. Keep him coming for more.
She felt the leather and brass collar go around her neck and laughed softly. There was a thin leather braid attached to it, a leash.
"You're mine, Jareth," she purred, sliding from under him and leaning over him.
"And you're mine," he replied, stretching out under her, pulling her down to him with the leash.
Sarah was still laughing as she caught his bloody, bitten lip in her teeth. He hissed as she bit gently. They both knew who had power here. Sarah wore the collar only because she wanted to keep him. If she took it off, he couldn't do anything about it.
"Mm. Gana content," she sighed. She was. She was getting very tired.
"Grasch wants more," he murmured, drawing her to straddle him. The magic of the Grippoldar was part of the magic of the realm, of the land. Jareth was recovering quickly. His hands went up to the chain top. He pulled it off.
Sarah shivered. A naked gana didn't play the game. A naked gana stayed with her grasch. And she stopped fighting, until the same Grippoldar next year. A full year. It was as close to a stated commitment as either one had gotten.
Sarah let him strip her. Then she returned the favour.
Jareth closed his eyes, heart exalting. A naked grasch didn't have to chase what he'd caught. A naked grasch had a willing gana. A naked grasch could take his time, tease his gana. He willfully forgot the labyrinth for now, ignored what he had to do and what she had to do to finish her run. Right now, there was only the gana before him. And she was his.
He pulled himself off the bed and carried his naked gana into a huge bathtub he had abruptly conjured. They sank into the hot water with hisses of pain that quickly bloomed into pleasure. He had made sure to summon the ready bath he'd prepared in an extra suite, one with bathing salts in it. He could translocate without serious effort. He didn't dare try the crystal magic that could create a new and magical bath right now. There were limits, even for his abilities.
As they soaked their aching bodies, courtesy of the punishment of the Grasch-gana-grippoldar, Sarah and Jareth moved together gently in the water, leaving the mating heat far behind and revelling in the closeness of grasch and gana.
At the end of the third week, all grasch and gana went down to the square to see the crones. In the tents, attended by a crone with strong goblin magics, their matings confirmed or rejected. Jareth and Sarah stood in line, Jareth holding a leash to her collar and Sarah holding her dagger. They were one more goblin pair among thousands.
Neither Sarah nor Jareth had bothered dressing again. She wouldn't worry with clothing until after she had gone back to the inn where her packs waited. After she slept and ate, she would dress and return to her journey. Jareth wouldn't dress until he was back in his castle. As they waited, they ran their hands over one another. They watched as more than one pair coupled in the lines.
The freedom of goblins, the utter surrender to their animal instincts, had roused the same lack of regard for propriety in Sarah. She didn't care that it took hours to move through the lines, that others would watch or even yell out advice to one another. The crones took their time in their tents, checking carefully for nilbogs growing in gana wombs and recording matings and collar-bound pairings.
More than once, Jareth and Sarah had alleviated the boredom of the wait in the way of grasch and gana, though not always coupling. Several grasch winced when Jareth let Sarah take him in her mouth. More than one grasch had memories of sharp teeth and angry gana eyes. Gana smiled at the sight. The king grasch was brave, and so he should be. Thoughts about Sarah had been reversed when Jareth had returned the favour. Friends called out to one another, laughed and boasted about their Grippoldar.
After a few hours of relaxed conversation and laughter, sometime in the afternoon when Jareth was about to accede to her demands for more, Sarah saw Lunardi. The werewolf was curled into the arms of a goblin giant. She was looking at Sarah and Jareth with lazy, contented eyes. Sarah bit Jareth's shoulder as he lifted her into place and pressed into her. As he pleased her again and she looked at Lunardi and smiled around his flesh. The werewolf laughed softly. Sarah bit harder, drawing blood again.
Sarah licked her lips and whispered into Jareth's ear. A soft laugh filtered back to the wolf as she watched Sarah get pressed into the wall and the tease became a please.
Sarah leaned back in Jareth's arms as the werewolf and her grasch finally came even with them in her line.
"A collar," the wolf said, grinning.
"Mm," Sarah replied. "I'll keep him," she replied, pure wickedness in her tone. "For a while."
The wolf laughed. Sarah introduced her to Jareth. The wolf introduced her grasch to the other pair. They talked for a few hours, the grasch mentioning orders that the Grippoldar be held as rigidly to the natural schedule as possible.
"Not that I'm complaining," the wolf added, laughing. "I like Garok." The grasch looked down at her and gave her a toothy grin. "He bites."
"And you bite back," he said, evidence of just that all over his arms and legs. "All over." Sarah snickered as Jareth grinned. Sarah had bitten him there, too, and she had been ridden hard for it. Granted, she hadn't drawn blood, but there was some bruising. During Grippoldar, pain was pleasure. The more of the first you gave, the more of the second you got.
"So does this one," Jareth said, looking down at Sarah fondly. "One hell of a gana," he sighed, nipping her earlobe hard.
"None of that. We're next," she warned. It didn't deter her grasch.
"Like they haven't tested a mating gana before," he murmured, leaning her forward and hitching her hips higher. Sarah stumbled into the tent and barely braced on the table as he slid into her again.
The crone cackled.
"A strong pairing, yes?"
Saran nodded and shuddered quickly as a wash of intensely personal magic slid over her.
"Gana," the declared. "No nilbog, no mating."
"Collared," Jareth replied groaning. He was close. He'd forgotten about how goblin crones could speed things up with their spells.
Sarah moaned and tensed hard. "Yes. Willfully collared."
The crone took their names, recorded the mating in her book, and cautioned them. "You have one year for a nilbog, or the mating is void and gana is open to other grasch."
"Like hell she is," Jareth grunted.
Sarah moaned, then snarled at the crone. "Like hell I am."
Cackling, the crone waited until they finished their round. They didn't take long.
"Out. Other pairs need checking, and I'm too old for the game." The crone was pleased at the way the king responded to his marked gana. This one, she felt, had promise. Not like the other ones. This one liked the gana's games. Good, dark pleasure ran in her. She just needed a little one in her to make her king happiest of grasch.
Jareth leaned in and kissed the withered cheek. "Yes, agra," he teased. The crone swatted at him, swearing at him in goblinish that he was older than her many-times great grandmother had been, and he dared call her agra.
When they were outside, Sarah felt the last of the Grippoldar magics let go of her abruptly. Then she started aching all over. Several wounds sent sharp, nasty reminders that, yes, pain really is supposed to hurt.
"Oh, fuck," she said, panting in what was now very real pain.
"Shit," Jareth hissed. "Forgot how much this hurt when the fun was over."
"What…" Sarah managed, "did you call her?" She was trying not to cry and failing miserably. The answer might work as a distraction, but her now completely-competent mind doubted it.
"I said 'yes, mother.' Mgrph." Several goblins were heading to a large green tent not far away. "Come on. Healer's tent." It looked as far away as Mab's keep.
The goblins heading for the tents were leaning heavily on one another, a chorus of moans and groans filling the air. Even goblins couldn't withstand the pain of the Grippoldar after the compulsion faded.
"We can't heal each other?" she gasped, not wanting to walk that far.
"As hurt as we are? As tired?" he countered. The thought of walking all the way to the green tent hurt. He didn't want to experience the reality of it. And his face was in agony. Damn, but he was tired now. He tapped into the land, amassing enough energy to help support Sarah. She was about to collapse onto the cobblestones, and that would only make it all worse.
Sarah moaned, and, leaning on one another carefully, they managed to get into the tent. A familiar woman was muttering about the goblin idea of a good sex romp when she looked up and gasped. Immediately, she hurried over and caught Jareth and Sarah as they started to fall toward the floor.
"I should have known," she sighed. Marta looked at her brother and Sarah as she steadied them. "No wonder it's worse than usual. You were here. How many times do I have to remind you that when the mating magics are in effect, you just make it worse?"
"Better," Jareth corrected, grinning at Sarah. Marta helped held Sarah up while he carefully collapsed onto the nearest cot.
"Definitely better," Sarah agreed, grinning back at Jareth. Marta helped her lay down next to Jareth, sighing when she snuggled up to the man who'd put her in that condition.
Her brother, on the other hand, was wounded by her very sharp, very present daggers-Sarah still wore her armlets-and he wrapped his arms around her, closing his eyes in contentment. Much as it hurt, Sarah in his arms felt just about perfect.
Seeing the pair fit themselves together like puzzle pieces, Marta just groaned, wove a healing spell, then tossed a blanket woven with sleep and healing magics in it over them. "Oh, Sarah, I thought you had some sense. Never mind. Just lay there. Try to rest. And for pity's sake keep your hands to yourselves."
"Aw," Jareth teased his sister, tapping the land for more energy. He would recover more quickly this way, letting the majority of the healing spells in the blanket go to Sarah.
"And we were just getting started," Sarah added, enjoying the opportunity to hear Marta's squawk of indignation and the tirade she started.
Neither one paid attention once the spells in the blanket took effect. They drifted off to sleep and let their wounds heal as they rested.
In the morning, Sarah was ravenous. She woke alone, a note from Jareth beside her.
Had to get back, love. You're one hell of a gana. Have to do it again, soon. Thank the one who made that outfit. Here's the gold. I'm keeping the chain. You can keep the daggers.
J.
"And you're one hell of a grasch, lover," she purred. Stretching and laughing softly, Sarah stood and began walking down the street, gold in hand to pay for the now-missing chain ganastil. The daggers from her belt and boots had been waiting for her, neatly stacked on Jareth's side of the bed on top of the note. She carried the live steel carefully, her step light and her smile wide. She'd eat at the tavern, maybe before she got dressed. Clothing was always optional in the goblin territories, and right now, she was feeling quite comfortable in her skin.
All in all, she'd take being gana over elfinflower any day of the week.
***
Jareth bounded up the stairs to his throne room, taking them two at a time. He was late for his own court, but hey, he was the king. It's good to be king. He couldn't help the huge smile on his face.
He threw open his private door into the huge room, and his smile grew wider and more wicked as he saw his courtiers jump and turn to watch him. He practically skipped down the steps to his throne and called out to the assembled throng.
"Good morning, boys and girls! What have we today?" He flopped into his throne and settled in his usual casual pose, drawing a crystal from the air and playing with it as Oakheart called the first case before the king.
Oakheart hated the Grippoldar. When Jareth returned, he was always so full of himself it was disgusting.
On the other hand, he was always in a good mood after Grippoldar, so it made everyone breathe a little easier. But the swaggering. The smugness. The sheer satisfaction of the man was very hard to swallow.
All in all, it was a devil's trade-off, and Oakheart lost both ways.
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