The Sphinx

Mireia really wanted to scream, too, but after Michael's horribly abrupt one, there grew a rustling on all sides of them. Still, she had to risk one small noise.

"Michael?" she asked. Her answer was half-affirmation half-whimper. She crawled carefully towards that sound as the rustles got louder and decidedly more ominous. Every moment she expected to run into the wolf or something else unpleasant, but when she finally touched something other than ground, it was the material of Michael's shirt, with warm but shivering Michael underneath.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"It b-bit me!" he said. Mireia felt her stomach pinch. Her little brother was going to become like that thing? He couldn't! There had to be something they could do about it. Jareth. She'd convince Jareth to do something. Except he never did anything like that for free. Neither of them were up to another trot through his Labyrinth. Wait! Michael still had a wish. Sure, it was meant to get her back, but surely being a Goblin was better than being an undead, unable-to-die, thing. It couldn't be that bad, right? Drinking, avoiding getting kicked, snickering. She could handle that much more easily than watching her baby brother decaying.

"Don't worry," she told him with a lot more firmness than she felt. "Jareth can fix it. First we've got to find whatever it is that will wake him up and get out of here. Soon. Mooreland?"

"Here," he said in what was clearly an attempt at a whisper. "I don't think we should talk."

"I don't think so, either. And no light," she added. She slid an arm under Michael and helped him stand. Then she guided them both towards Mooreland. There they stood, shivering under Mooreland's haunches as the rustling started carrying other sounds, animal sounds and wind sounds. None of the noises were strictly pleasant. And the louder they grew the less any of them wanted to move or speak. It seemed best to pretend to be part of the landscape.

Something slid across Mireia's foot and she bit her lip. More somethings slid past her ankle and ruffled her hair. She shut her eyes, even though she could hardly tell they were closed in the utter darkness of the center. The rustlings and slitherings became more frequent until they were everywhere and Mireia felt leaves and sticks and wings and things she didn't even want to name brush by all around her. She would have screamed except she didn't want to get any of the stuff in her mouth. The blind noise and the whoosh drown out even her breathing and her heartbeat until Mireia felt as if she were deaf as well as blind. Was she imagining it or was the ground rumbling underneath them? Would it ever end or were they stuck here forever being driven slowly insane?

Then, suddenly, everything was silent. The air felt warm and stirred-up but it was empty. She found that Michael and she had been clenching hands and she carefully loosened her fingers without letting go.

There was no sound and no light and it made her want to throw some kind of panicky tantrum. Then they heard a slight noise. She felt Michael stiffen at her side. The noise resolved itself into unsteady footsteps. A low whispery voice sounded some feet away from them.

"I found this." There was a small 'tap' on her shoe, making her jump. "Thank you." Then there came the quiet but unmistakable sound of something collapsing to the ground. She knelt and started to reach for whatever small thing had rolled near her, then hesitated. How to touch it without touching it? Feeling for her pocket, she pulled out the jewelry case that she'd taken from the skeleton. With the corner of her shirt she prodded whatever it was into the case and snapped it shut. When she stood back up she found that she was shaking all over.

"Let's go," she said. Michael offered no protest. "Can you carry Michael, Mooreland?" she asked.

"Of course." A soft trunk brushed by her and scooped Michael up. As one, they backed out into the corridor and Mireia scrambled around on hand and knee until she'd located the end of the embroidery thread. With a hand on Mooreland's side, she led them back in silence, still shaking.

Michael tried to think through the fog of pain in his wrist. It was very hard but since he'd had more practice thinking than anything else, he eventually got the hang of it. The trick was that you had to have a different sort of thoughts when you were in pain. They came in a slow, hypnotizing rhythm to try and distract from the hurting. His wrist was slippery with blood, which was how he knew that it was a fairly bad bite, but also that it wasn't life-threatening or he'd have passed out by now.

He couldn't think about what having been bitten by that thing meant yet. That was the only good thing about hurting so much. It didn't leave room for speculation. The thoughts were more immediate, like, "Just a little further. You're okay, you're okay, you're okay."

But he also knew that there was something he should be remembering that went beyond that litany. What was it? What was it, what was it, what was it?

It didn't come to him until he heard Mireia say, "Hello skeleton. I'm glad to see you, but only because it's almost over."

"Skeleton," Michael croaked.

"Yes, I told you about him, remember?" she said gently.

"If the wolf didn't kill-who did?" he got out. There was a silence from below.

"I don't know," she said at last. "It doesn't matter now. We're almost there."

"Almost," said a new voice. It was strong and female and neither kind nor harsh.

"Michael, do you have the candle?" asked Mireia, so calm she must really be frightened out of her mind. He fumbled in his pocket and found the candle, handing it down to her before he remembered.

"No matches," he said.

"Don't worry about that," said the voice. "Hold your little candle straight out and I'll light it for you."

"Um," said Mireia.

"Oh don't worry, I don't plan on hurting you now. These things have to be done properly." This pronouncement was hardly reassuring. But then, once again, they had little choice in the matter. Whatever-it-was was blocking the way and they could hardly turn around.

Michael saw a thin flame shoot out into the darkness and then it was gone, leaving Mireia gingerly holding a lit candle. Not four feet away lounged a giant patchwork animal. A large body with yellow fur blocked the passage. Wings were tucked neatly at its sides. And the open, intelligent face of a pretty woman watched them expectantly. The sphinx yawned and got casually to its feet.

"I was wondering when someone would come along. I have a new riddle and everything." She paused to lick her teeth and eye Mooreland speculatively. "And I'm hungry." Mooreland made an uncomfortable noise and took a step back.

"If we don't answer this new riddle you'll eat us?" Mireia squeaked.

"Oh, no," said the sphinx her face showing beautiful disbelief. "First I'll strangle you. Then I'll eat you."

This conversation was succeeding in making Michael forget about his wrist for a brief time. Would it hurt a lot worse, for instance, to be strangled as opposed to bitten?

"What's this riddle then?" Mireia was saying. "And how long do we get?"

"You get until I decide you're not going to get the answer and I get too hungry." She tossed her hair back and fluttered her wings. "You've come into my Labyrinth, that is the price you're required to pay. Here is your riddle:

"I sought my first in starry skies Where shines the April sun; My second came before my eyes, And warned me to be done.

'Tis Very hard to lose one's sight; I'm blind as bat or mole; Once hills and fields were my delight, Now I'm no more my whole."

"Michael?" said Mireia in the first unsteady voice she'd ever let him hear.

"I'm thinking," he said, through teeth that he'd only just realized were clenched with the effort to not hurt.

'I sought my first in starry skies,' he thought. But the sun is also shining and it's April. Well, it's a something. At least I don't have to guess what the speaker is. I hate those. 'My second' means it is a repeating phenomenon. And it obviously made the speaker blind. The last verse was mostly a trick to distract you from knowing that you're looking for the what the speaker is talking about, not the speaker themselves.

Michael bumped his wrist and it twinged painfully, making him aware that the Sphinx was pacing. He watched it nervously while he waited for the pain shooting through his whole arm to calm down again.

Bat or mole makes you think it has something to do with being underground, but it can't because there's a starry sky and April sun. That must be another trick. He went back to the first stanza. What happens at night while it's sunny? Or maybe the other way around-in the day time with stars? No-And then it came to him. An eclipse. Quickly, he ran through the rest of the verse. An eclipse could blind a person, couldn't it? That's why they used mirrors and sunglasses at school. That had to be it.

Michael pushed himself--one armed--away from where he'd been resting on Mooreland's fur. The Sphinx turned her face towards him and he shuddered slightly with the hunger he saw there.

"The answer is: an eclipse."

It happened gradually, as they all warily watched the Sphinx. She did not move, merely stood watching them in an unfocused sort of way. Then she nodded once and she changed. It as the sort of change that left one to wonder if they'd actually seen it or just imagined it happening-like you'd imagine a shadow moving in a dark room.

The Sphinx no longer looked hungry but infinitely wise instead. The eyes in the woman's face were deep pools of nobility. She sat straight-backed on her haunches and looked at them.

"Pass," she said. Even as she said it as soft burst of wind came down the passage and blew out the candle. Though he could not see it, Michael thought the passage in front of them felt empty.

"C'mon," said Mireia, the determination back in her voice as she led the way slowly and as straight as she could manage back to where Jareth lay unconscious. Michael might have asked what she was going to do, precisely, but it didn't seem worth it. He went back to trying to ignore his arm. That was, until they stepped into a dim circle, surrounded by smooth stonewalls. The dimness looked like a blaze of light after the complete darkness of the Old Labyrinth. In the middle of the circle, Jareth was sprawled, snoring very faintly. This succeeded in distracting Michael for a while because he'd never imagined even the possibility of seeing Jareth like this.

He glanced over at Mireia, who was watching Jareth with a strange expression on her face.

"Mireia?"

"He looks so different," she said absently.

"Not that much," he said. "Just more relaxed." He decided he didn't entirely approve of her expression after all. "Are you going to wake him up, or what?" Michael asked, trying to goad her into action.

"Yes." She seemed to shake herself. "Of course. That was the point." She knelt beside him and pulled the jewelry box out of her pocket. When she opened it, with her back to Michael, all he heard was a dismayed noise.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked anxiously.

"Did you lose it?" asked Mooreland, equally nervous sounding.

"No, it's just-this can't be it. It's a seed." She turned around and showed them the slightly damp peach pit resting on the cheap blue velvet of the jewelry box. Michael collapsed carefully onto Mooreland's back again and tried not to weep with frustration.

But Mooreland had different ideas. "Well?" he asked. "What are you waiting for? Put it in his mouth and let's get on with it. The Bog may have dried some, but I still smell worse than the goblins."

"I was going to ask you about that, but it didn't seem polite," Mireia admitted, brightening slightly. "Do you really think I should give it to him? I'm almost certain it came from whatever killed the wolf."

"So what?" Mooreland said. "If the pit was poison, the wolf would have eaten that, too." Michael thought this sounded fairly good.

"I think you'd better do it Mireia," he said.

"Okay." She took a deep breath and turned back to Jareth. She pried open his mouth with one hand and carefully dumped the pit into it, trying not to laugh nervously at the sight. Then she let his mouth close. Nothing happened. So she put her hand out to pry his mouth open again and see if she could get him to swallow the seed.

A surprisingly strong hand flew up and seized her hand, startling a brief shriek out of her. Michael gave a strange sort of hiccup. They all watched as Jareth opened his eyes. His other hand came up to his mouth and they all watched, perplexed, as he drew out a silver and gold pendant. He looked at it, brows drawn together, then he palmed it and sat up.

"Are you okay?" asked Mireia.

"I dreamt that a white owl kissed me." Jareth's disorientation seemed to drain away and his gaze sharpened on Mireia. "Yes. I'm fine. What is that smell?" He glanced towards Mooreland. "Oh, the Bog. I see. And Michael. What have you done to your arm?"

"I was bitten," said Michael, feeling inexplicably sullen and sheepish at once.

Jareth was silent. Instead, he stood up and straightened his clothing, while Mireia watched him, looking faintly worried. "How did I get the wish wrong?" she asked when he continued to remain silent.

"Perhaps I'll tell you later, if it's relevant." He didn't even look at Mireia as he spoke. Instead, he was concentrating on Michael. "I believe Michael has something to say to me."

"Yes, he does," said Mireia. "He needs to wish to be cured, but not killed like the wolf we met. Go ahead Michael." Michael looked down to see Mireia's grim, determined face, and Jareth's intense yet rather expressionless face. He knew precisely what he had to do.

"Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the.circle inside the Old Labyrinth, to take back the sister that you have stolen."

"Michael!" Mireia shouted, so loud that it echoed. Both he and Jareth ignored her.

"My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great. You have no power over me." The last words came out so clear that they almost seemed solid in the still underground. Michael could vaguely hear Mireia crying in the background, but otherwise his words seemed to have taken up all the air.

"Stop, Mireia. This is no cause for grief," said Jareth. And with that, the crying stopped and Michael rather thought Mireia had been sent somewhere else, though he couldn't seem to gather sufficient wits to check, or even be concerned. "Bring him down," Jareth commanded Mooreland. Michael was aware of the leathery trunk wrapping gingerly around him and supporting him to the stone floor where he stood unsteadily on his feet.

"Your majesty," began Mooreland. "Might I ask that you heal-"

"No, you may not ask that," said Jareth. "Ask what you meant to ask and nothing else, or I will send you away to be dealt with later."

"But Michael-"

"Will also be dealt with," finished Jareth.

"I can't," said Mooreland.

"Very well, then. You will have to wait." Jareth blew a crystal as if it were a bubble at Mooreland, and the giant sand elk was gone.

"I'm going to turn into something undead, you know," said Michael, feeling sick and alone and rather let down.

"Not necessarily. Which is why I present you with this option. Listen well."