Chapter 41
(Fall, 2011AD)
Just as Spike finished up talking to the human couple about effective dinosaurian combat techniques, a thunderous stomping approached. They looked up toward the east to find a two-story-tall brown shaggy creature, followed closely by a legged vehicle with a long curved “nose” with eyes and a dark-skinned female humanoid with sea-green hair.
Spike, so taken aback by the sight of the Gorg (for he had never seen a mammal that large … why he was only a few feet shorter than a typical swamp monster), didn’t notice the robed green-skinned dinosaur approaching him.
“Spike!” a familiar voice shouted with glee.
Spike tore his eyes away from the hairy mountain with legs and focused on Robert Sinclair. “You …,” he hissed in shock. He gestured angrily toward the strange group. “You tell half da valley that you’re lookin’ for help, and all you can come up wit’ is a bunch of cave rats wit’ fancy clothes and an ape on thornoids?” he yelled accusatorily.
“What’s an ape?” Junior asked the lone rider of the palanquin.
“Ix-nay on the accusations, Spike,” Robbie pleaded in a hushed tone.
“Cave rats?” noted Eshe, Queen of Trash, with a cocked eyebrow and a hint of a smile, her arms crossed. “Beats ‘frelling faes,’ I suppose.” ‘Fae’ was a generic term for human-sized elementals or fairies, though it was typically used as a slur by non-fairies … like that greasy toad Wander McMooch. Wander had despised faes for taking over watery abodes best left for amphibians and reptiles and fish alike. He thought they had an obnoxious air about them, obsessed with their superiority over all other beings. That was why he poisoned the lake of Moraine, that was why he was banished, and that was why he no longer trembled before his newest benefactress. Eshe had not treated him that way. She had allowed … no … accepted McMooch’s needs and wants, unconditionally.
“Apes are furry creatures with penchants for both playfulness and violence,” Moulin told Junior matter-of-factly as she climbed down the steps of the palanquin. Despite her dislike of Junior, he was beginning to grow on her. It was true that he wasn’t as beautiful as a reptile or a fish, the usual types of creatures that lived in Moraine, but their conversations had helped her see that he really was more than a dunder-headed lummox. With some proper education, his pure heart would make him an effective ruler.
Spike grabbed Robert by the arm and dragged him away as the newcomers conversed among themselves. When they were out of sight, Spike snarled, “How could you bring dose t’ings here?” He pushed Robert against a tree. “How can you trust ‘em? How do you know they’re not gonna turn on us and let that white predatory cave rat --.”
“Spike, she’s done more for us than we could ever have hoped for,” Robert retorted through gritted teeth.
Spike suddenly let go, his jaw nearly slamming into the ground, his eyes filled with shock and pain. “You … you’re not ….” He couldn’t believe his ears: Mizumi had done something to the water, had done some sort of voodoo with nearly every inhabitant of ‘New Pangaea’, had ‘helped’ Rob take control, had relocated the whole valley through time and space … and here was Rob, defending her! He had assumed Rob was going to get help to stop her.
Robert sighed, adjusting his robe. He scowled. “Look, Spike, I know you don’t approve of her. You’re not seeing the big picture: she rescued us, she placed us somewhere we could get actual resources that we wouldn’t have otherwise. I mean, we have air conditioning again! When was the last time we had that?”
Spike exclaimed, “We’re cold-blooded, Rob! Da heat wasn’t gonna kill us!”
Robert shook his head. “This whole ‘I’m against the sins of civilization’ thing is getting old, Spike,” he replied tersely.
“Well, look where it got us,” Spike shot back, bitterly. He snorted. “You’re sounding like your ol’ m--.”
Spike flew backward, slammed in the stomach by Robert’s thick green tail. He glanced up at Robert, who glowered at him, curling his upper lip slightly. Spike coughed briefly. He hadn’t seen that coming. Rob really had grown the last couple of years.
If he weren’t so concerned over the lives of dinosaurs everywhere … he’d be proud.
<><><><><><>
“What do you mean, ‘The water is poisoned?’ Is that what that Polacanthus told you?” Moulin questioned Robin and Melora, who lounged on heaps of soft moss-covered earth, sipping tea daintily.
Melora looked at Robin, confused. She turned back to Moulin. “Sir Spike never told us the nature of his being. How do you know what he is?”
Moulin smirked. “I study ancient history as a hobby,” she replied smugly. “An effective ruler must be well-educated.”
“Yes,” Eshe commented dryly, rolling her eyes, “because studying lifeforms from millions of years ago is so relevant….”
Moulin snapped her head toward the Queen of Trash, her eyes narrow slits, her voice hissing, and her veins popping in her neck. “And yet, here they are --.”
Eshe smiled and bowed slightly. “Point taken, Milady.” Perhaps Moulin had a gift for prophecy that avoided detection. After all, from what she understood, Moulin had criticized her mother for challenging destiny in Mizumi’s quest to woo Jareth. Also, it would make sense for a water elemental to engage in hydromancy, which used either ripples or oil layers to predict the future.
Moulin shook her head and glanced at the two human royals. She pointed at their white teacups, adorned with roses and lilypads. “If the water is poisoned, how are you drinking tea?”
Robin smiled. “We always prepare ourselves. When the water of this stream was condemned by the reptilian creature, Sir Spike, it occurred to us that we had packed plenty of supplies for a whole month in the back of the carriage!” He laughed heartily. “We had completely forgotten!”
Moulin groaned, letting her face fall clumsily into her hands. It was bearable when there was just one naïve oaf to deal with …. Faced with a trio of permanently happy faces … she may not survive this royal excursion at all.
<><><><><><>
The basement of the theater where Sarah’s award-winning play was being held had seen it’s fair share of drama itself. When the crown prop was discovered stolen, a porcine drama queen mopped up the floor with the aging thief.
Now, it was just cold and dark.
Sarah sat down on a small stool among the many props, including a two-foot-tall crown made of gold and silver and jewels. Her dark brown hair shielded her eyes as she sat crying. The crystal pillar had shattered, its shards disappearing shortly after Jareth had left yesterday.
For some strange reason … a reason she could not understand … she felt safe in the basement. It reminded her of falling into the oubliette dungeon, the dirt walls of which glittered with some sort of sparkles, like the ones she had seen on opening night. Despite the fact there had been no doors or windows or supplies, indeed only a jumbled dusty skeleton had been her companion, she had not felt afraid.
Of course, she didn’t make the connection between the skeleton and her own supposed fate.
Suddenly, Sarah felt a bit of warmth near her face. She looked up, wiping her eyes … but there was nothing. She stood, glanced left and right, and cleared her throat. “Who’s there?”
Nothing but silence greeted her.
She had expected a response, a gruff “me” blurted out from the darkness as the sound of a striking match brought forth a warm, almost intimate glow that had given her a sense of relief.
Though she had not been afraid in the oubliette, she still welcomed company.
When he had patted her on the hand sympathetically, she didn’t feel intimidated like she had been by Jareth. Jareth was very much like his own labyrinth, endlessly changing and beautiful but dangerous. He, on the other hand, acted selfish, but had risked his life to save her from that gargantuan horned door robot called Humongous. Jareth, meanwhile, always stayed in complete control over the situation … or so he thought. Sarah had done the impossible … she had solved a maze designed to keep people from getting close to him.
And yet, talking to this powerful being was like talking to a narcissistic teenage boy: he desired her, he took any instance of her wishing for some time alone as a huge insult akin to requesting lifting a mountain into the air with one’s bare hands, and he had no empathy for anyone.
Perhaps he was more than what he seemed … but even after all these years … he hadn’t changed all that much. It hadn’t been for lack of trying: Boober’s chastisement had cured her of her innate egotism. She wanted to like him, she wanted to see him as more compassionate being … but he was willing to destroy everything he worked so hard for, just for her.
While most would consider that romantic, Sarah couldn’t.
After all…
…
…what was to keep him from destroying her because of a new, more attractive whim?
She wasn’t a fool. She wasn’t some headstrong hormone-driven teenager anymore, either. He had all the red flags of someone who lived impulsively and violently. He spied on her like an abusive, possessive husband. Perhaps nothing in her life was outside his awareness. He traps and kills those who stand against him.
What did he need?
Boober had told her to see the needs of others. What can you do for the one who only seeks to dominate you so you’ll spend the rest of your days cowering at his feet? What words can be said to someone who confuses power with love?
She just couldn’t see the answer. She shook her head and began to pace the room.
“Get a grip, Sarah,” she told herself angrily, clenching her fists. “You’re over-the-hill now. You can figure this out. Argh!” she grunted as her knee hit a fake tree that leaned against a wall. She rubbed her leg and continued to pace, albeit more slowly. “You’re forty-one: too old to be dense and too young to be senile. There has to be an answer.”
She sighed and resignedly plopped herself onto the stool once more, burying her face in her hands. “I just can’t see it,” she grumbled. She felt something light fall at her feet. She reached down, picked it up, and examined it. It was a long golden leaf, roughly a foot-and-a-half in length. She sniffed it. She expected it to smell of gold paint. Instead, it smelled like tea. Ceylon white tea, to be exact, she noted to herself in surprise. She looked at it more closely and discovered that it wasn’t painted at all – it really was golden naturally.
She stood up and decided to head home.
Maybe this was just what she needed, after all.