Getting the various kings and queens of the Underground to agree to the dangerous act of leaving the castle had proven fairly easy.  Coming up with a plan for escaping the effects of the demonic crows had come with little effort.  In the style of true warriors at heart had they all gathered about their exit, awaiting the call of the Beast King in his melancholy love song to the wind.  But there were unexpected problems.

“Damn, it’s cold,” Benedick whined in half a cat’s meow.  He was certainly not purring.

“Didn’t think about it, but that is a trait that comes with wind, eh?” Sage said, punching the cat in the arm as if they were busom buddies getting ready for a game of Frisbee and some barbequed ribs at the park. 

“Sorry…” the Beast king said between moans.  “South wind cold.  North wind warm.  North wind not friendly.”

“Isn’t that backwards?” Benedick said, brow arched.

The Beast king merely shrugged his shoulders and trudged on, the wind beginning to clear a path before them.  At this moment it merely cleared away fallen leaves and party debris.

They were in the southern portion of the castle, a small distance from the scene of fighting.  Crows filled the sky relentlessly, but there wasn’t an immediate danger of being discovered.

The danger was behind schedule by a minute or so.

“Eep!” cried the leader of the Fieries.  “Here come them elves!  They looks like they gonna pull all our arms off and use’em fer shish kebobs! That ain’t so groovy!”

“So it does.  And I just had elf meat cleaned off my breeches this afternoon,” Benedick quipped.  “Well, if we have to fight…”

Sage stopped him.  “No. Wait.”

The Beast king moaned more forcefully, and the wind came in a great gust that not only blew the beast’s shaggy fur torrentially about his pug-nosed face, but sent the elves reeling against the wall, where they attempted to raise themselves in their stupor of adrenaline and anger.

“Ah, there you go. Our friend has parted the seas.” He beckoned for the other kings and queens to go before him.  “Shall we?”

Eberon ran before his minions, covering his face against the wind.  “Damn you Sage, I’ll get you!  Just you wait!”

Sage put a hand to his ear mockingly, and replied, “Eh? Sorry chap, can’t hear you.  Got a trip to make!  I’m sure we can continue this conversation later.”

Clearly peeved beyond redemption, Eberon spoke to one of the elves, who looked as if he might slit someone’s throat any moment.  “Look, you get a group of elves, and follow them.  I don’t care how long it takes.  They’ll have to let up sometime.  Bring back Sage, but you can kill the others if you so choose.”

He was clearly ready to satiate his growing appetite for murder.  “Yes, Eberon.”

Eberon looked as if he had been sorely inconvenienced by the whole situation.  “Just get out of my face!  Where’s my masseuse when I need him?  My temples are throbbing.  Oh, right, he went on a murderous rampage this morning.  Would someone tell me when the ride is done?”  With that, he sighed deeply and trudged to his temporary quarters in the castle. 

On one desk sat a cage carrying several bizarre-looking pigeons.  Eberon looked at them disgustedly and remarked,”You are the most creepy aquiline creatures I have set eyes upon.  You have much in common with your master.  I certainly hope he gets the job done as well as you have seemed to.”  He shuffled over to another desk and tried to scribble out a note with a common ball-point pen.  It dried out before he had even begun, and he threw it at the wall in exasperation.  “Stupid pens!  Some things should just stay above ground! Where’s my quill pen?  Dammitall if everything doesn’t go wrong at once!”  He tried to find another pen, in vain.  “I must send Jareth, or Kaleb, whoever the blast he is a message.  I need a pen!”  He looked down, and a quill feather floated before him.  He looked up to find the source, but knew what he would face before it was in front of his eyes.

“Looking for me, maybe?” Kaleb replied as he sauntered into the room.

“Er, yes Jareth.  I was about to send you a message.”  The hautiness disappeared quickly.

“Perhaps about the fact that your most important prisoners have escaped? You could have contacted me directly.  But, I understand.  You didn’t want to face my wrath.”

“Perhaps it was something of that nature.”

“Hm.  Well, I am not angry just yet.  Did you notice if Jareth… the other Jareth… was amongst them?”

“I didn’t see him, no.”  He almost flinched at his own words.

“Really.”  Kaleb seemed to contain his anger well.  “You know, it’s beginning to look as if you are of very little use to me, Eberon.  I’m starting to doubt your abilities.”

“Oh no, you won’t threaten me,” Eberon answered, only semi-sure of his assuredness.  “You’ve pulled that trick on many others before, but I am the king of the elves.”

“Yes, the elves.  Who are now a bungling group of anarchist militia under my spell.  And what else do you have to your advantage, Eberon?”

“Er,… my intelligence.”

“Which has managed to fail you completely unto this point.  Now, tell me, do you really think I am threatening you? Because I wouldn’t have you think that for an instant.”

“Really?  I’m sorry for doubting you, Jareth.”

“Don’t be.  It’s too late for that.”

Faster than it takes most suicide jumpers to hit ground after a lunge from a five-story building, Kaleb and Eberon were inside Kaleb’s remarkably gloomy palace.  Actually, Kaleb was looking at Eberon, who seemed a mere plaything within the glass cage where Kaleb had placed him.  He had been dressed fancifully in a doll’s attire, and was amongst doll-like belongings.  He was a jester prince, and would be the delight of any four-year old.

“You see, Eberon, I don’t make threats.  And, I have passed my judgment on your behalf.  You are a play-king, so I think I shall treat you as such.  Enjoy your new home.”

As Kaleb began to leave, he added, “Now you can be my entertainment instead of my constant disappointment, eh?”

“This isn’t right!  I helped you!  I did everything you asked, and more!  And this is how you treat me?”  Eberon was shouting, his white makeup leaving a smudge on the glass as he pressed against it.

“Ah, fitting actions for one who looks like a fool.” Kaleb turned to face the elf a last time before he left.  “Besides, what is fair?  What you did to Sage’s wife… Now that was cruel treatment.  Your shining moment.  You, of all people, must understand that fairness never enters the picture.  You, my friend, have no basis for comparison.”

With that, he left, to see in what state Sarah awaited him.  He licked his lips eversoslightly at the prospect of what was to come.

Eberon merely sat and glowered, cursing his self-sown demise.

*        *        *

Toby looked up from the nearly empty plate of cookies to see a blond-haired man step into the room.  A look of recognition crossed his face as Madame Marlena rose from her seat to greet who appeared to be a new customer… with a cute little dog.

“Hello sir.  How can I help you?” Marlena asked, her elfin eyes hinting at a secret past, and her flirtatious grin carrying the grace of a princess.

“Hello Madame.  I am… looking for this young lad you have sitting with you.”

Toby looked a little surprised.  Rattlebeak popped his head up from behind the couch where he was hiding when he heard Jareth’s voice.  Cookie crumbs fell from his beak as he cried, “Sir Didymus!  Long time no see!  What’re you doing with this loser, hey?”  He brushed cookie crumbs off his wings before flying over to the fox.  “Man, what happened to you?  You look like you’ve been attacked by a freezing, desperate dwarf.  What’re you holding your clothes for?”

“Don’t ask, dear sir.  For once, I don’t wish to delve into the tale.”  Sir Didymus sniffled, huffed, and looked off into the distance disdainfully.

Jareth looked baffled by the circumstances, as well as Toby.  Marlena was the only one who seemed to think it such matters were commonplace.  The situation duly summed up, the woman went to the door, turned her “Open” sign around to read “Closed,” then closed the curtains.  “We don’t want the neighborhood spying in on this unique situation,” she explained as she locked the door.

“You’re the Goblin King, aren’t you?!” Toby exclaimed in sudden understanding as he topple the cookies.  “Sorry,” he mumbled shyly to Marlena.

“It’s quite all right,” she soothed.

“Pardon me, Madame, but you aren’t the least bit thrown by any of this?” Jareth asked.

“Just a bit.  But, I do practice magic, and have seen a few talking familiars in my time.”

“Familiars?” Didymus asked.

“Animals who have—“

“Eh, Madame, before you continue this story which will surely rouse our fine knight into another semi-avoidable pitch of anger, let me introduce myself and my companion.”

“Why, yes, of course,” she answered.  “I am Marlena.”

“My name is Jareth, and this is Sir Didymus.  I haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting the Magicmocker fellow…”

“Who says I should introduce myelf to you?” Rattlebeak huffed.

“Well, you certainly don’t have to, but I think you have a wrong impression of me.”

“Rattlebeak.  Don’t ask me nuthin’ else.  I don’t have any reason to trust you.  Last time I had any involvement with you, you had me and Sarah running on a goose-chase all over the Underground.  She wasn’t a happy camper.”

“Yes, but at least you got to eat all of the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I provided her.”

“Er, well, you do have a point…”

“I always have a point.  Whether it is valid is another point entirely.” 

“Well, do come in and have a seat and tell me about your circumstances.  I would offer cookies, but I believe that Rattlebeak has enjoyed them quite thoroughly,” Marlena said genteely.

“They were delicious!” the bird replied.  “I was hoping you had more.”

“What are you doing here?” Toby asked, breaking the frivolous conversation and getting to the point.

Jareth sat down whilst Didymus slinked to a corner where he could dress in private.  He soon returned in full garb, in time for Jareth’s explanation.  “Well, Toby, we need your help…”

*        *        *

Caked in mud and wholly miserable, Granen trudged through Jareth’s “grey matter” in search for some type of escape route.  As he had never actually been in one of Jareth’s paintings, he didn’t know the words that would help him leave.  He had only seen Jareth enter, nothing more.

“Curse you, lad, I’ll teach you to ever pick up a paintbrush again while in a morose state.  Your suicidal thoughts are going to be my death!”

He pulled his jacket closer and looked for a nice rotten branch to sit upon.  As soon as he did, little glowing orbs of fairies floated around his head. 

“Little fey, there’s nothin’ here of warmth or brightness for you to see.  Just a grumpy old Irishman.”

“You are wrong, Granen of the steppes,” a multitude of crystalline fairy voices chimed.  “You are a warm spirit.  You bring fire into souls.”

“Ah, this painting is evidence enough that I don’t.  I tried hard enough to bring Jareth out of the gloom that he was having at the time he painted this.  Not a thing worked.”

“No.  Look behind you and see your footsteps.”  The unearthly voices beckoned him to look.  Never before had he heard a more feminine voice, and, for once, he did not picture bosoms.  Instead, strangely, he saw wind chimes made of shards of glass.

He did as bidden.  Behind him, where he had stepped, ribbons of colors swayed dreamily and abstractly into the environment.  “How did I do that?” he asked.  “That wasn’t there before.”

“But it was…”  The little sprites inched forward close enough to where he could barely glimpse through squinted eyes a hint of a female figure.  “We speak for Jareth, for he created us.  You created the rainbow of color.  You can see your kind deeds at work.  In reality, they sit, a mere spot of color in the corner of this painting.  But where you walk, the colors come alive.  They live in Jareth’s mind, so here they live, as well.  You helped to make him whole again.”  Their voices trailed into the air, an echo of brilliance.  Their slow cadence filled the greyness with a vibrant calm.

“Wow.  I didn’t realize I had anything to do with it.  Well, I daresay, he’s kept me sane upon occasion.  And driven me insane as well, wot?!”  He slapped his knees and rose.  “You lovely ladies wouldn’t know how I would get out of this mess, would ya?”

“You cannot leave yet, Granen of the steppes.”

“And why would that be?” he asked.

“You think you are only in a painting.  But Jareth’s painting lives in the Mist of Dreams.  This is one of his dreams.  There are many dreams living here, it is but for you to journey into whichever you choose.”

“Why would I want to do that? Seems a bit intrusive, doesn’t it?”

“Some intrusions are necessary.”

They flittered away mystically, and with their departure, came another barely audible voice, calling in the distance. 

“Help me…  I can’t wake up….”

*        *        *

Sarah admired herself in the mirror.  The inky black was slowly drizzling away from her skin and transforming itself into the black feathers and gown she had donned in her reflection.  It was a spectacular site to behold, she thought, to see with one’s own eyes in a matter of seconds the transformation of the soul into something so extreme.  She was far enough past the resistance to feel a sort of cunning for having fooled herself so, to have watched in third person as the woman who was Sarah was twisted into a new creature by… whom?  Was it Kaleb?

No.  She did it to herself, though she had no knowledge of how cunning she was in her own subconscious.  No longer subconscious.  Now, the Sarah that had been tucked away for so long was released, and their would be no more ceremonies, no more grand and lovely speeches, no more placing her needs below that of the creatures of seven different kingdoms. 

Kaleb wanted a playmate, he wanted to treat her like his evil little doll, just as he had done with Eberon.  Yes, she knew of Eberon.  With her dark side unleashed, she was much more in touch with her powers. 

Well, she wasn’t going to be anyone’s plaything.  Besides, she knew exactly which strings to pull with Kaleb.  Now she was in the position to pull them.  She’d pull everyone’s strings.  And they wouldn’t even know what was happening.

She looked around the luxurious chambers that she could easily see had meant to be her bedroom.  She could hear Kaleb walking down the hall, toward her, toward the woman he thought would be the Bonnie to his Clyde.

She fluttered around, facing him like a frightened doe.  He grinned evilly.

“Ah, hello my raven.  Feeling well?”

“What have you done to me?!” she shouted.  “I’m- I’m changing!  This is the most horrible feeling!  How could you do this?”  She clenched her fists in pain, her face taut.  Oh, what an actress Sarah had become!

“Only giving you the opportunity to play the part, dearest.  You’ll be thanking me soon enough.”  He closed in on her and stroked her chin.  “It only surprises me that you haven’t caved in sooner.  You’re stronger than I thought.”

“What does it matter?  You plan to cave me in before it’s all over with.”

“I do.  You’re right.  It doesn’t matter.  But, for safety’s sake, I will have to lock you in this room until you have completed your transformation.  I can’t trust you just yet.”

“You bastard.”

“Now now, no need for harsh words.  You can torment me later when I can fully express to you the things it does to me.”  He pretended to have a chill, walked out the door, then motioned the door shut and locked with the mere swing of his hand, bringing him out of her sight.  At least, her immediate sight.

I can’t manipulate the solid things here, but at least I can see everything within the castle.  That is one advantage I have.  Soon, I will have more.  I’m going to steal the amethyst back from you, Kaleb, and when I do, you shall see who is in control of the Undergound. You’ll see soon enough.