Lifestyles of Gods and Monsters

by Emily Roberson

  “You don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head back and forth.

  “Then tell me,” he says. His voice is rising. He is angry with me. “Why do you have to protect that monster? Why can’t you help me?”

  My throat is closing. I’ve never said these words out loud to anyone.

  He grabs my shoulders. “Why, Ariadne?” He’s shouting now. “You owe me the truth!”

  The words are stuck inside me. I try to force them out. “He’s my brother,” I whisper, so soft he can’t hear me. Finally, it erupts from me. “The Minotaur is my brother!”

  The pressure of Theseus’s hands lessens. “Your what?”

  “My brother,” I say more quietly. “The Minotaur is my baby brother.”

  I can tell he doesn’t believe me. “How is that possible? How can that be? He’s a monster.”

  I hold out my hands, begging him to understand.

  “It’s more than that,” I say. “He’s more than that.”

  “How?” Theseus looks bewildered.

  “You know about my mom with the bull?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “So after that, my brother was born. He was a baby. A little baby. With the head of a calf. More than a monster.”

  “You saw what happened, Ariadne, he is a monster.”

  “It isn’t his fault,” I say in a small voice. “He doesn’t have any choice,” I try to explain. “He has to eat people. He can’t help himself. It’s like a sickness. He hates it.”

  “What if you could cure him?” Theseus asks me. “What if you could end this?”

  How can he not have been listening? “What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” I say, my voice rising. “I’m not doing this for fun! I do exactly what the gods demand, and in return, they will set him free.”

  “When?” he asks quietly. “How many times do you have to do this before you get what you want?”

  My shoulders slump. “I don’t know. The gods don’t talk to me. How could I know?”

  He takes my hand in his, turning it over and tracing a line on my palm.

  “Maybe they don’t talk to you because you are asking the wrong questions.”

  There is no way the gods want this. It can’t be right. If the gods don’t want this, what do they want?

  I let Theseus wrap his arms around me. I let myself be lost for a moment as he holds on to me.

  Then I hear Icarus. “Ariadne, come to the control room, now. I have to show you something. It’s important.”

  I stand up.

  “Where are you going?” Theseus asks me, keeping my hand.

  “I have to see Icarus,” I say.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  I know Theseus isn’t allowed into the control room, but I don’t care. Right this minute, I don’t want to be alone anymore.

  * * *

  In the control room, Icarus is sitting in a chair, looking at a piece of paper in his hands.

  It’s a picture of himself with wings. He’s spread out the wrinkles and is staring at it.

  He looks up numbly and doesn’t comment on Theseus’s presence here, in the most secure place on Crete, except for the maze itself.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  He takes a deep breath. “I have to show you something, but I really don’t want to.”

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He turns in his chair, putting the picture down on the desk. Then he picks up a small flash drive.

  “Okay, look,” he says. “My dad has a hidden safe in our rooms, and he keeps these flash drives with records of things that he thinks are important—things he’ll use if he ever needs to. He calls them insurance.”

  “Insurance against what?” I ask.

  “He signed a contract to come here, but the flash drives keep everyone honest.”

  “Blackmail material,” Theseus says.

  Icarus shrugs. “I prefer the euphemism, but you can call it that, if you must.”

  I look at the flash drive in his hand. It has a tiny printed label reading: MINOS 10- ARIADNE.

  “Why do you have it?” I ask.

  Icarus runs his hand over his eyes. “You have to understand. I’ve never looked at the flash drives. I didn’t want to know. It always felt better that way, safer, too. But then, after today, seeing you watch the Minotaur—I had to know…”

  Icarus is never like this. So faded.

  “What did you see?” I ask, reaching for the flash drive, but before I can get it, Icarus grabs my wrist, holding it tightly.

  “Ariadne, you have to understand: I didn’t know. I promise you, I never knew.”

  He inserts the flash drive into his computer and an image comes up on the widescreen in front of us.

  It’s Daddy and Daedalus, in Daddy’s office. But you can tell it’s from a long time ago, from their clothes and the lack of gray in their hair.

  Daddy leans back in his chair. “What are you telling me, Daedalus?”

  Daedalus paces back and forth. “I’m telling you that the oracle is clear. You are going to have to sacrifice the white bull. The gods sent it so that you could sacrifice it to honor them.”

  That’s our bull. The one that rose from the sea.

  Daddy slams his hands on the desk. “It’s mine. It came onto my beach. To show that I was right in my war with Athens. Now you’re telling me that I’m supposed to sacrifice it?”

  “Listen again to the oracle, Your Majesty,” Daedalus says, and you can tell he’s modulating his voice, forcing himself not to get too excited, too pushy, which is the surest way to find yourself stuck as Xenodice’s lead pedicure tech. He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, the small sheet you are given after visiting the Oracle at Delphi, and he reads, “The gods granted you a gift in victory over Athens. As his due, Poseidon demands a monumental sacrifice in turn.”

  He lays the paper down, carefully, with the reverence that it’s due as a sign from the gods. “That means this bull.”

  I look at Icarus. “Daddy always says the gods didn’t want him to sacrifice the bull…”

  “Shhh,” Icarus says.

  On screen, Daddy frowns. “I won’t sacrifice it. It’s mine. It’s the proof that I was right in attacking Athens. I’m not killing it.”

  “Your Majesty,” Daedalus begins.

  “Enough. The gold we take from Athens will have to be enough for the gods. I’m done with this conversation.”

  The feed fades to black.

  “So it could have ended then,” Theseus says, his fists clenched.

  I’m shaking my head. “It can’t be right,” I say. “Daedalus must have misunderstood the oracle. If the gods wanted Daddy to sacrifice the bull, he would have done it…”

  Another image starts.

  We’re back in Daddy’s office. Daedalus and Daddy are in evening wear.

  “Where is my wife?” Daddy asks. “Why is she not at the party?”

  His voice is louder with each word.

  Daedalus looks very nervous. “She tried to jump the paddock fence again, Your Majesty. To see the bull.”

  I blush in my seat. This is when my mother first fell in love with the bull. I remember her face in my room the other night, when she got me ready for the drawing. Her fascination. Her certainty. Her words—How could I have been wrong when the gods made it so?

  Daddy is very still. Not saying anything, waiting for Daedalus to continue.

  “If I may offer a theory,” Daedalus says.

  “Go on,” Daddy says.

  “The gods must be causing this, Your Majesty. It will be abated if we sacrifice the bull.”

  “What have I told you about this?” Daddy’s voice is controlled, but his face is red. He is far angrier at this suggestion than he was at the fact that my mother was trying to make love to a bull. His anger breaks through in a rage as he stands. “We are not sacrificing that bull. Take more from Athens. Give that to the gods.”

  Even through the screen and through the years, I lean back
, away from his rage.

  Daedalus holds up his hands, staying remarkably calm. “Your Majesty, by our calculations, Athens has paid us as much as they possibly can without causing the full collapse of their economy.”

  “What difference does that make to me?” Daddy asks, his voice quiet.

  Daedalus bows. “As you say, sir. What about your wife?”

  Daddy collapses in his chair. “Figure it out, Daedalus, do whatever you need to do to make this go away.”

  “The wooden cow,” I say in a whisper.

  Because my father was so stubborn, so unwilling to admit that the bull was supposed to be sacrificed to the gods, he let Daedalus build that wooden cow.

  A new video starts.

  Daddy is pacing the largest dining room, while Daedalus stands very still holding a piece of paper. A vase full of flowers is broken on the floor.

  “Get on with it,” Daddy says angrily. “Things are worse and worse. What have you figured out?”

  “My theory is that since your wife…” Daedalus pauses, taking a breath. Then pushes forward. “Since your wife consorted with the white bull, prior to her pregnancy, this creature is the product of that union.”

  “Half bull,” Daddy says, looking daggers at Daedalus. “Did you know that this was possible when you set all this up?”

  “No, Your Majesty, I did not,” Daedalus says. “But the wooden cow was the only way, without sacrificing—”

  “Don’t say it,” Daddy says. “I don’t want to hear another word about sacrificing that white bull.”

  “Yes, sir,” Daedalus says. “This creature is new to science. I am calling it a Minotaur. It means Minos’s bull.”

  “I know what it means,” Daddy says thoughtfully, a growing sparkle in his eyes. “It is a new species, you say?”

  “Yes,” Daedalus says. “New and uniquely dangerous. And getting more so by the day. Surely you have seen the reports: the slaughter of the cattle with Ariadne. The incident with a member of the kitchen staff who had been sent down to take a meal.”

  “You got that hushed up, Daedalus, there is no reason for anyone to know…”

  “He ate the boy, Your Majesty.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. Get to the point, Daedalus. What does the oracle say?”

  Daedalus reads the oracle’s message, carefully, leaning backward, away from Daddy’s rage. “The gods granted you a gift in victory over Athens. As his due, Poseidon demands a monumental sacrifice in turn.”

  “It’s the same as the last time.” Daddy slams his fist on the table. “They can’t even have that bull now. It was more trouble than it was worth—refusing to breed with my cattle and tearing up the fences—Heracles captured it. I sent it to Athens. I would be shocked if anyone will be able to kill it.”

  “I killed it,” Theseus says. “I killed that bull.”

  “Shhh,” Icarus says.

  “I no longer believe the gods are asking for the bull, Your Majesty,” Daedalus says. “I think they desire another sacrifice. A greater one. I think they are asking you to sacrifice the Minotaur.”

  Daddy’s eyes narrow dangerously.

  “You think they want me to sacrifice my Minotaur?” Daddy asks, his voice thoughtful.

  Daedalus nods. “Yes, sir, I do.”

  He is silent for a long time. Leaving Daedalus to stand and wait.

  When he speaks again, there is a strange light in his eyes. “I have a task for you, Daedalus. I think you will like it.”

  Daedalus steps forward.

  “I need for you to build me an underground maze,” Daddy continues. “As large as you can make it. The largest in the world.”

  Daedalus has a familiar hungry look. The excitement of a new project.

  “When?” he asks.

  “As quickly as you can,” Daddy says. “Money is no object.”

  Daedalus gets a faraway look, already laying the plans.

  “I’ll send you a list of specifications,” Daddy says. “Oh, and Daedalus, bring Aegeus of Athens to Crete. I need to talk to him.”

  “What about the Minotaur?” Daedalus asks. “Do you want me to contact the priests about the best way to sacrifice him?”

  Daddy’s lip curls. “Daedalus, you have no vision. We aren’t going to sacrifice the Minotaur, we’re going to use him to glorify Crete.”

  The television goes dark.

  “See?” Theseus says, looking at me. “You see? The Minotaur is meant to die.”

  “That can’t be right,” I say.

  “Wait,” Icarus says, holding his hand out as the next video starts. “It gets worse.”

  Daddy is in his office with Daedalus standing behind his chair when Aegeus walks in.

  “My father,” Theseus whispers.

  Aegeus is gray-haired, with a very nice suit and a heavy gold pendant over his tie. He has an expensive watch on his wrist and a heavy ring on his finger. He looks tired behind his tanned skin and white teeth.

  “What can I tell you, Minos,” Aegeus says to Daddy. “You have bled us dry. We have nothing more to give.”

  His gold pendant and watch suggest there might be a bit more they could give.

  “I have an offer for you,” Daddy says, leaning forward. “A mutually beneficial offer.”

  Aegeus has a greedy look. “What is it?”

  “We have a new monster in Crete,” Daedalus says from his spot behind Daddy.

  “A Minotaur,” Daddy says, savoring the word. “It requires human flesh to keep it calm. As food.”

  Aegeus looks disgusted, but he quickly masks it. He is clearly interested in finding out what they are offering.

  “What does this have to do with me?” Aegeus asks.

  “I need fourteen teenagers, once a year,” Daddy says.

  “To feed your monster,” Aegeus says thoughtfully.

  “My Minotaur,” Daddy says. “Only the bravest and most beautiful would be acceptable. Send them here, as competitors, to fight in a maze that Daedalus is finishing. A fight to the death.”

  Aegeus drums his fingers on the chair, thinking. “Why fourteen?” he asks.

  “Because I like fourteen,” Daddy says. “Seven girls and seven boys. It’s a lucky number.”

  “He can’t—” Theseus says, then stops himself, because we know that he did.

  “The competitors…,” Aegeus says. “Must they be of the true, old, pure blood of Athens? Of the nobility?”

  Daddy rubs his hands together. “I am sure the Minotaur will find the blood of new Athenians as tasty as he does the oldest families. As long as they are residents of Athens, brave and beautiful, that will be enough. And you can keep your gold.”

  “We are quite depleted in gold now,” Aegeus says, his face crafty. “I am not sure that we have the funds to hold a competition to find the bravest and most beautiful. Or to get them to Crete…”

  Daddy leans in, leading Aegeus. “I’m sure we could find some kind of stipend. A stream of funds that would make things easier.”

  Next to me, Theseus growls.

  “My people could never know,” Aegeus says. “My brother is always scheming against me. If he knew about this…”

  “Not to worry,” Daddy says, smiling. “Daedalus will handle the transfers. It will be invisible.”

  Aegeus holds out his hand. “Done.”

  The screen fades to black and Icarus pauses the video.

  Beside me, Theseus’s fists are clenched on the arms of his chair.

  “He sold them.” He says it quietly. “He sold them. One hundred and forty-one kids so far, and how many more in future years?” Theseus jumps up. “Why didn’t he argue? Why didn’t he fight? Why didn’t he make war against Crete to stop it?”

  Icarus stares at the screen. “I don’t know,” he says.

  “I … I…,” I say, not knowing what to say, what to do. There must be more here than we have seen. Some private message from the gods. Some reason why this was allowed to continue.

  “Ariadne,” Icarus says, putt
ing his hand on my shoulder. “There’s more.”

  I am shaking my head. “I can’t watch it, Icarus. I can’t…”

  “You have to watch, Ariadne,” Icarus says. “It’s about you.”

  Theseus takes my hand. I let him hold on to it, dreading what I will see. I force myself to breathe, force myself to sit up higher in my chair. I’m not a child. Whatever is coming, I can handle it.

  On the widescreen, Daedalus paces back and forth in front of Daddy’s desk, his hair wild from running his hands through it. They both look the same as they did in the video from Aegeus’s visit, so it must be around the same time.

  “The Labyrinth Contest debuts tonight, Your Majesty, but I’m not sure we’re going to make it. The earthquakes are damaging every quarter of the city.” He stops walking and stands in front of Daddy. “Every time we get near the gates to the maze, he rattles the foundations of the palace. For the sake of the gods, Your Majesty—you are going to have to sacrifice him before he brings the city down around us. The only thing that calms him is Ariadne.”

  “I will do no such thing,” Daddy says. “I’m not giving up on this. We are having The Labyrinth Contest, and we are not sacrificing my Minotaur. You told me the answer weeks ago, we just have to have the balls to see it through. If the only thing that calms the Minotaur is Ariadne, then she will be the one to lead the competitors to the gate. We will make her the Keeper of the Maze.”

  Daedalus looks down at his hands. “She is a child,” he says quietly.

  “She is my daughter,” Daddy says, his face firm. “She will do as she is told. Bring her here.”

  In the next image, I am standing in front of my daddy’s desk. Six years old, in my chiton. My long hair curled and tied back with a bow. Holding my mask in my hand. I look like a baby, my hands still dimpled.

  Daddy walks around the desk and kneels in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders. “The gods have a plan for you, sweetheart,” he says. “And for your brother. He can do more good for our family this way.” He wipes a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “Be brave, my sweet girl. Remember, it won’t be forever. The ways of the gods are mysterious. Only they know what they will do.”

  These are the words I’ve heard countless times.

  “How long will he be down there?” I ask. “How long until he is cured?” The questions I’ve always asked.