Mythic Journeys

by Paula Guran

  Thesea makes an approximate count of the markers. The Athenian tribute would only occupy a corner of the graveyard.

  “So many?”

  “From all over the world. And more than you think. There are mass graves in the corner. It’s the work of more than one man. The slaughter of innocents is a family tradition.” A dynasty of psychopaths. “Luckily Ariadne’s not like that, although Minos doesn’t know it.”

  “Ariadne?” Thesea’s forgotten her. The sudden warmth in his voice makes her feel jealous.

  “My sister. Half-sister, really.”

  “Were you close?”

  “We still are. I talk to her through the wall, although it’s hard to catch her alone. Minos watches her all the time. He went even crazier after his wife fell in love with my father.”

  “What happened to your father?”

  “Minos ate him.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” There’s not much she can say to that.

  The Minotaur nods, his eyes lowered.

  “Why doesn’t Ariadne hide in here with you?”

  “Is that what I’m doing? Hiding?” He digs as they talk. A consummate sexton.

  “I’m saying all the wrongs things. I’m sorry.”

  “No. You’re right. Minos would rip this place up looking for her. And she stays to make sure Minos treats his prisoner well.”

  “Who?”

  “Icarus. Daedalus’ son. She’s in love with him.”

  “Icarus.” The outstretched wings.

  Thesea happens upon the wrong part of the maze. The Minotaur sits and seethes, his eyes embers in the gloom. Steam rises from his nostrils. He could erupt at any moment.

  She backs away, afraid.

  “Daedalus, which is the real Minotaur?”

  “We’re all made of different parts. One’s not less real than the rest.” He shrugs, seemingly less concerned with the semantics of the soul than she is.

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not.” He doesn’t look up from the machine that whirs in his hands.

  “An omission’s as bad as a lie.”

  “I’ve missed this,” he smiles.

  “What?”

  “You remind me of my wife. She saw through me like I was water, too.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Tell me or you won’t get a moment of peace.”

  He sighs.

  “She did that as well. If there’s anywhere that all his parts are united it’s the heart of the labyrinth.”

  The heart of the labyrinth is the heart of the Minotaur. Daedalus shakes a finger at her when she demands a blueprint.

  “I burnt it. What do you think would happen if Minos got hold of it?”

  Yet here she is, due to string and intuition. Here is the Minotaur laid bare.

  Thesea’s disappointed when he snorts at her but from his embarrassed look she can tell he’s speechless, not dumb. There’s no doubt that he’s more man than animal. His body’s beautiful. A giant construct of muscle slabs laid on bone. His tail, a curl of a thing, sits above his buttocks.

  Thesea holds out her arms to him. His black eyes are liquid in this light. He buries his face in her palm. His nose is wet, his tongue large and rasping.

  He can’t kiss me, not like a man kisses a woman.

  He lays his immense head in her lap. His physiognomy defies her fingers. She touches the curve of his horns.

  “Your neck must hurt.”

  He snorts again, tilts his head one way, then the other as she rubs his neck and shoulders. She massages the knots until they soften. His bones click under her hands. He grunts, grateful.

  When he pulls her down beside him, she stiffens. Brutality is all she’s seen of sex. The Minotaur undoes the memory with a torrent of tenderness.

  There are only these moments, Thesea thinks, I must make them last. But he draws her on to the next moment and then the one after.

  Thesea’s dream’s a riot. She can see each bead of blood, each gash, each contortion. It’s a churning sea of screams. A man’s voice carries above it. Sweat pricks her forehead. She opens her eyes. Daedalus is shaking her awake. She can still hear the man, shouting. He’s close.

  “It’s Minos. Hide.”

  “What about the Minotaur?”

  “He’ll know already.” Daedalus shoves her in a cupboard.

  Thesea kneels and peeps through the keyhole. Minos comes in, followed by a line of men. A line of human string.

  “Daedalus,” Minos folds his arms, “make it obey me.”

  “It’s him, not it. And what do you want to do?”

  “His duty.”

  “As what?”

  “A weapon. I want him to march at the head of my army. I’m going to remind my dissenters who I am.”

  “The Minotaur’s no killer.”

  “Then he’s no use to me. Persuade him. We march at the next full moon. If he’s not with me then the first place I’ll come is here. There’ll be nowhere to hide. I’ll pull this place down brick by brick. Oh, and I’ll execute your precious Icarus.”

  “Someone should put a knife in him.”

  “I’ve tried to persuade the Minotaur to do it while he’s visiting his sister but he won’t. He says it would be murder.”

  “Then we have to leave.”

  “Not without Icarus and Ariadne.” Daedalus fiddles with a set of cogs. “And I don’t know if the Minotaur can.”

  She snatches them from him.

  “Explain.”

  “This isn’t a prison. I just wanted somewhere to keep him safe.”

  “What have you done?”

  Thesea’s already guessed. It’s why the Minotaur knows who’s where. Why the walls breathe and the floor sighs.

  “He’s like his father. The stuff of gods. He can punch holes in time and space. He is the labyrinth. It’s made from him. Don’t look at me like that. This way he’d never be lost or trapped.”

  “And being able to travel outside?”

  “An unforeseen consequence, but he can’t stay away for long. I don’t know what it would mean if he tried to leave for good. Part of him is in here. In the fabric of this place.”

  The Minotaur’s out of breathe from running. “I got here as fast as I could.” He stands so close to Thesea that she can feel his relief and body heat. He looks from her face to Daedalus’. “What did Minos want?”

  Thesea puts her head next to his.

  “I’m not trying to fight with you but we have to stop Minos.”

  “We can stay in here. Forever if we have to. He won’t find us.”

  “What about Icarus and Ariadne? What about all those people?” She remembers diving beneath the surf and breaking through on the other side. From then on each moment catalogued, her life finite. She’s defied fate. She’s seen a future where even divinity is expendable. “We can stop him.”

  “How?”

  “We’ll need Ariadne’s help.”

  Daedalus has kept them out of the workshop until it’s ready. Thesea glances at the Minotaur. His mouth hangs open.

  A copy of the Minotaur’s head is on Daedalus’ workbench. It’s perfect, down to its eyelashes and moist nose.

  “Did you find it?” Daedalus asks.

  Thesea nudges the Minotaur who’s still staring.

  “Right, yes.” The Minotaur hands him a tube. “The shopkeeper said this will glue anything together.”

  They all turn back to the head that’s watching them.

  “There are a couple of things missing.”

  Thesea knows right away what Daedalus means.

  “Your horns.” The old man nods at him. “I’ll get the hacksaw.”

  “I’ll need them in a fight.” The Minotaur backs away.

  “You’re not going to fight.”

  It’s only when Thesea puts a hand on his arm that the Minotaur relents. She stays but has to turn away. There’s the rasping see saw sound of metal on horn.
>
  Afterwards she uses his forelocks to cover the stumps.

  “How does it feel?” Thesea asks later.

  “Strange. My head’s lighter.”

  “Will this work?”

  “It has to.” He curls a strand of her hair around his finger. “I feel like I was asleep before I met you.”

  “And before you I thought my life was forfeit and I didn’t care because I had nothing to fight for.”

  “Thesea, if it doesn’t work . . .”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “If it doesn’t work, don’t wait for me.”

  “It’ll work.”

  “It would be all right. I don’t want you to be alone.”

  “Shut up and kiss me.”

  “You should know my name. It’s Astaurius.”

  Sword, shield, and helmet have transformed Thesea into Theseus. Girl into boy. She carries the fake head in a bag. It’s heavy.

  As she and Daedalus leave, the labyrinth walls dull as if a light’s going out. She pauses and presses her lips to the stone but it’s devoid of life. It’s as they planned. The Minotaur’s reversing Daedalus’ design. Taking the god-given power of Olympus back within himself. If he’s got it right, he’ll use it to make one final door and come out somewhere else, nothing remaining of him in the stone to tether him there.

  The ground shakes beneath their feet, a subtle tremor spreading out from deep within the maze.

  Astaurius.

  Daedalus is as encumbered as Thesea. He looks hunchbacked because he’s wearing a folded set of wings beneath his cloak. He hefts the second pair in a sack.

  There’s another rumble. Behind them there’s the distant sound of collapsing masonry. The maze is a construct that can’t withstand the world without the Minotaur.

  “Hurry.” Thesea takes the spare wings from Daedalus.

  Ariadne’s waiting for them. The watchman lies at her feet. Blood stains his tunic. Ariadne is Minos’ daughter after all. Thesea tries to hide her shock with a question.

  “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  “It would look a bit odd if I was dressed to travel rather than for a party, wouldn’t it?” She looks at Thesea like she’s a simpleton. She’s planned revels to distract the court. “At least this way I’ll be able to take some things of value for us to live on.”

  Ariadne wears silks, too many layers considering the mildness of the day. Her yellow hair’s bound up in an elaborate coil, studded with gems. Gold bangles tinkle on her arms.

  “Clever girl,” Daedalus laughs. “Where’s Icarus?”

  “Here’s a map. He’s at the top of this tower. Father has the only key. I couldn’t get it.”

  “Leave that to me.” Daedalus, lover of locks, will tease out its secrets. “What about the guard?”

  “I took him a cup of wine.” Her smile makes Thesea shudder. “Icarus knows where we’re meeting. Tell anyone who asks about the wings that you’re part of the entertainment. Are you sure those things will work?”

  “Certain.”

  A shockwave escapes the labyrinth.

  “What’s that?” Ariadne asks.

  “Your brother. We best go. He’s going to attract a lot of attention.” Daedalus squeezes Thesea’s hand. “Goodbye dear.”

  “We’ll go this way.” Ariadne pulls Thesea away. She takes one last look at the maze. Another quake nearly floors them but Ariadne just laughs like it’s an adventure. “There’s an Athenian ship in dock. I can play the distressed captive but can you be a convincing kidnapper?”

  Crete gets smaller. Thesea’s still holding up the Minotaur’s head. The ships in port bear witness to the feat. The Minotaur’s dead. The gods are no longer on Minos’ side. The news will carry around the world on the tide.

  Minos is a speck on the dock. Thesea can feel his eyes burning into her, even at this distance but he won’t risk his darling girl. Ariadne’s played her role so well that Thesea wonders at the upbringing necessitating that kind of skill.

  Once they’re safe on open sea, Thesea goes to the prow to be alone, cradling the Minotaur’s head in her arms.

  The sun’s a red ball shrouded by fog. Thesea waits for Astaurius on the beach.

  He’ll come. Any day now.

  She listens to news of Daedalus’ escape and the nations refusing Minos’ demands. He’s forced into unwinnable wars on too many fronts.

  Gulls’ cries carry over the water. There’s the lonely lap of waves. A figure walks up the shore towards her. He looks familiar.

  “It’s you,” he says.

  Thesea takes up a fighting stance, sword in hand.

  “Don’t you know me?”

  It’s the fisherman’s son, the one who used to plague her. She lowers the sword a fraction.

  “I live up there, with my family. Remember?” He points to a house high on the cliff. “These are for you.”

  A generous gift of line and net. A loaf of bread. “If you want to fish, come and ask. I needn’t be the one to teach you. My mother or sisters can show you.”

  When Thesea eventually knocks at the door it’s his mother that answers. The promise holds true. The women cluck about her, teaching her to fish and forage, to cook delicacies in the embers of a fire.

  She sits with his mother one evening, learning how to repair nets. She admires the older woman’s dexterity.

  “I was pregnant before I wed. By another man.”

  Thesea looks up but her teacher’s intent on her task.

  “My husband knew. He was good to me. I came to love him very much. There’s many who’d judge me, not knowing my story.” She sniffs. “It’s no one else’s business. It’s a hard thing bring up a child alone. How far gone are you?”

  Thesea’s startled. Her stomach only show’s a slight fullness. She blushes.

  “My boy didn’t eat for weeks after you were taken away. He’s loved you since he was a child. He loves you, no matter what.”

  Thesea doesn’t want to listen. She feels like her reclaimed life is over without the Minotaur.

  Astaurius, why don’t you come?

  “So that’s what happened. Come and kiss me goodnight.”

  Helena comes first, still posturing and playing out the tale. Next, Astaurius, unusually tall and strong for his age. When they laid him on her belly she didn’t know if she was disappointed or relieved that he didn’t have horns and a tail.

  “Are you coming?” her husband asks.

  “One minute. You go ahead.” She tidies the platters away, folds up a pile of clothes.

  When she’s sure she’ll be left alone she takes out a key. It unlocks the chest in the corner, which is hers alone. The Minotaur’s head looks up at her. She raises the lamp and light animates the liquid eyes. Daedalus’ work was a marvel built to last.

  Her husband’s dozing. She blows out the lamp and lies down beside him. Her throat thickens and she tries to swallow the tears. He rolls over and a gentle hand wipes her face. She takes it and kisses it.

  Her husband says, “I wonder what happened to Daedalus.”

  Daedalus and Icarus. Flight is so much more certain with polyurethane resin than with wax.

  The sun is dazzling. They soar.

  “FOXFIRE, FOXFIRE”

  YOON HA LEE

  If I’d listened to the tiger-sage’s warning all those years ago, I wouldn’t be trapped in the city of Samdae during the evacuation. Old buildings and new had suffered during the artillery battle, and I could hear the occasional wailing of sirens. Even at this hour, families led hunched grandmothers and grandfathers away from their old homes, or searched abandoned homes in the hopes of finding small treasures: salt, rags, dried peppers. As I picked my way through the streets tonight, I saw the flower-shaped roof tiles for which Samdae was known, broken and scattered beneath my feet. Faraway, blued by distance, lights guttered from those skyscrapers still standing, dating to the peninsula’s push to modernization. It had not done anything to prevent the civil war.

  I had weighed the
merits of tonight’s hunt. Better to return to fox-form, surely, and slip back to the countryside; abandon the purpose that had brought me to Samdae all those years ago. But I only needed one more kill to become fully human. And I didn’t want to off some struggling shopkeeper or midwife. For one thing, I had no grudge against them. For another, I had no need of their particular skills.

  No; I wandered the Lantern District in search of a soldier. Soldiers were easy enough to find, but I wanted a nice strapping specimen. At the moment I was posing as a prostitute, the only part of this whole affair my mother would have approved of. Certain human professions were better-suited to foxes than others, she had liked to say. My mother had always been an old-fashioned fox.

  “Baekdo,” she had said when I was young, “why can’t you be satisfied with chickens and mice? You think you’ll be able to stop with sweet bean cakes, but the next thing you know, it will be shrimp crackers and chocolate-dipped biscuits, and after that you’ll take off your beautiful fur to walk around in things with buttons and pockets and rubber soles. And then one of the humans will fall in love with you and discover your secret, and you’ll end up like your Great-Aunt Seonghwa, as a bunch of oracle bones in some shaman’s purse.”

  Foxes are just as bad at listening to their mothers as humans are. My mother had died before the war broke out. I had brought her no funeral-offerings. My relatives would have been shocked by that idea, and my mother, a traditionalist, would have wanted to be left to the carrion-eaters.

  I had loved the Lantern District for a long time. I had taken my first kill there, a lucky one really. I’d crept into a courtesan’s apartment, half-drunk on the smells of quince tea and lilac perfume. At the time I had no way of telling a beautiful human from an ugly one—I later learned that she had been a celebrated beauty—but her layered red and orange silks had reminded me of autumn in the forest.

  Tonight I wore that courtesan’s visage. Samdae’s remaining soldiers grew bolder and bolder with the breakdown in local government, so only those very desperate or stubborn continued to ply their trade. I wasn’t worried on my own behalf, of course. After ninety-nine kills, I knew how to take care of myself.

  There. I spotted a promising prospect lingering at the corner, chatting up a cigarette-seller. He was tall, not too old, with a good physique. He was in uniform, with the red armband that indicated that he supported the revolutionaries. Small surprise; everyone who remained in Samdae made a show of supporting the revolutionaries. Many of the loyalists had fled overseas, hoping to raise support from the foreign powers. I wished them luck. The loyalists were themselves divided between those who supported the queen’s old line and those who wished to install a parliament in place of the Abalone Throne. Fascinating, but not my concern tonight.