The Progeny of Daedalus

by Jeffrey MacLeod

  They look back up; it is remarkable. A great shaft of orange light descends like an axel about which the stairwell wraps itself. Far above a small and very bright square of light indicates what must be the throne room, where Jorge is waiting. He must have heard all the racket they made on the way down.

  At first the atmosphere is one of fun and exhilaration, as if it is a big game; only Dad remains sombre, and this becomes more obvious the deeper they descend. Often shushing the girls, keeping them close, he holds Leda’s hand tightly and has continual eye contact with the other two, insisting they keep just behind him. If the girls fool around he gives them a withering look and is forever tugging on the cords tied around their waists. Danae mumbles a joke about the cords being a bad idea, but Dad is not in a joking mood. This is impacting on the girls. In addition, he is continually scanning all directions, from one side to the other, his eyes roving both up and down – they are the searching eyes of a hunter – or the hunted. His behaviour would unsettle anyone. And every few turns of the stairs he indicates that they should stop, while he himself hangs over the edge of the central parapet wall, staring down into the gloom below for long moments, before indicating that they can continue.

  No one is speaking now. The lower they go the more the darkness seems to envelop them. They are increasingly aware of just how deep they must be and the weight of everything above – almost the entire earth seems to press down upon them. With it is a growing fear.

  Darkness is the ancient enemy of humankind; in which lurk the primordial predators that once feasted upon us. In darkness there is unseen danger. In darkness we are helpless. Our hunters, be they human or beast, they lurk in the blackness, out of sight, in full knowledge that for their quarry, blindness is vulnerability. Even in our contemporary world this fear persists; the dark alley; the dark woods; the dark cellar. Every horror film ever made uses darkness to great effect – for good reason; it is the one constant in Fear. We are born with this fear, we live with it, and we are terrified of the descent into eternal darkness at the end of all.

  Darkness is all around them, an ancient darkness that has not been disturbed for millennia. Dad and the three girls know that that into which they are descending is primordial; they descend into Fear itself.

  They are slower now, their enthusiasm replaced with trepidation. Step by step they descend, their left hands gripping the central stone parapet, their right hands holding the slack of the cord that connects them. They are bunched up, seeking comfort in the closer proximity of each other.

  Then abruptly the stairs end. Dad pulls up short; he is looking down the last turn of the stairs to a paved floor bathed in gloom.

  “This is it,” Dad whispers. His voice is sliced into a thousand discordant sighs that swirl around them and ascend the lightwell like phantom smoke up a chimney. It is disconcerting in the still air, and each one of them now wishes they could follow their sounds back up to the surface. But they are committed.

  They descend, step by step, until they reach the bottom. The stairs have ended at a stone archway in the outer wall, and they can see that below them is only space to the stone floor, which is still a deadly drop beneath. The stairwell appears to have cut down through the centre of the roof of a huge cavern, the floor of which they had seen from higher up, illuminated by the shaft from the lightwell.

  The archway on the outer wall has no door. Through it they see a straight walkway, with low walls on either side, that runs perhaps the distance of a sprinter’s course, ending in another dark arch directly ahead of them, a blacker space in the gloom of the silent cavern.

  Dad leads them through the doorway, but pauses on the far side and the girls gather around him.

  They are now standing on a stone walkway which is suspended without arch or supporting pillar beneath, traversing the cavern between floor and ceiling. The cavern itself is like the inside of an immense dome, a half sphere that is rooted in the stone floor. It is clearly of human construction, lined with tightly fitting blocks, shaped perfectly to form a smooth interior that curves down in all directions to the floor below. Cut into the ceiling are shapes and symbols that they cannot make out – it is too dark – but clearly they have significance, and they give the chamber an atmosphere of mystic ritual. It is uncomfortable to be surrounded by symbols and signs that one cannot understand. Looking over the walkway’s parapets they see, where the dome meets the stone, around the entire circumference of the circular floor, that the walls are interrupted at regular intervals by more black archways.

  The shaft of light, which has descended the entire depth of the lightwell from the surface, strikes the floor in the exact centre of the hall, creating a bright circle of light within the greater circle of the cavern. At the centre of that is the large rectangular block of stone, dramatically illuminated, like an honoured tomb.

  They are quite awestruck. They simply stand, looking around in silence with open mouths and trembling hands. They had not expected anything this grand or beautiful.

  “It’s amazing!” says Ilia.

  Amazing…amazing…amazing…amazing…mazing…mazing…mazing…azing…azing…azing…zing…zing…zing…zing…ing…ing…ing…ing…

  They all look around, as if they can actually see the echoes swirling around the vast hall.

  Dad’s eyes are widest of all.

  “It’s like the inside of the Pantheon,” he says, “but underground, and a lot bigger. It’s huge – maybe three times the diameter of the Pantheon. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  And indeed it is a lot like the Pantheon. A dome anchored in the roots of the earth; perforated by an oculus of light; a perfect endless circle that has no beginning or end. Minutes pass as they all absorb it in silence, turning around and around.

  “Where do you think those doors lead?” asks Danae softly, the first for several minutes to break the silence. Her whispered voice echoes around and around the cavern.

  “It’s got to be the Labyrinth, doesn’t it?” Ilia responds. “And this chamber is its centre?”

  Dad turns to his eldest daughter, genuinely impressed.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” he agrees, with some pride. “I’m sure you’re right. After we enter the Labyrinth, we have to find our way back to here.”

  “So this is the centre?” Leda says, seeking clarity.

  “I think so.” Dad nods as he says this, then mutters under his breath: “the centre of the world.”

  “There’s fourteen doors I think,” Leda observes aloud. The stairwell and walkway obscure some of the chamber, but if the doors are at regular intervals then Leda has extrapolated correctly. She was ever one for counting. Apparently in the great Lightwell there had been 3652.5 steps – the last one had been half the height of the rest.

  It has only been a passing observation for Leda, but it seems to strike Dad with great significance.

  “Fourteen,” he echoes, as if in a trance. It is as if something he has experienced in a forgotten dream has been recalled to him, and memory floods back. “Fourteen.” He looks from door to door, as if to check the math. “Everything is repeated fourteen times, but two things in the world seem to be repeated only once…”

  “What?” Leda inquires, genuinely confused. He slowly turns to her, terribly distracted.

  “Above, the intricate sun; below, Asterion.” Dad is definitely somewhere else as he says this. To make things even creepier, the name of Asterion is repeated as a phantom echo around and around the cavern – more so it seems, than any other word that any of them has uttered.

  “No, I mean what are you on about Dad?!” Leda is a little exasperated and a little scared; she needs her father to concentrate. The tone in her voice seems to have the desired effect. Dad’s eyes focus on her intensely, clearly returning to the present.

  “No, sorry. It was just something from that Borges story, The House of Asterion. He wrote that everything was repeated in the House fourteen times. So it is very strange that there are fourteen doors
into this hall…”

  The girls all look at Dad; they don’t seem to find the coincidence as strange as he does. Seeing their quizzical expressions, Dad smiles:

  “Yes, you’re right, we should move on!” But Dad does not. Instead he looks up and starts to scrutinize the ceiling above them. It is perhaps ten times his height, from where they are standing halfway along the walkway, but as it is quite vast, they feel very close to it.

  “What do you make of the patterns carved in the stone, girls?”

  They all look up, craning their necks. As the hall is quite dim, the carved shapes in the ceiling appear as sharp, black shapes. Leda is the first to respond:

  “Well that looks like a bull, Daddy.”

  It is; the familiar head of the bull that is ubiquitous to Crete.

  “And a few stars scattered around?” Ilia adds.

  “That’s what I thought girls. I guess the bull makes sense, if the Labyrinth was built to house the Minotaur. Not sure about the stars though…” He glances around at some of the other shadows carved into the ceiling, but from their current angle they are difficult to make out. After a few moments Dad turns to face the door at the other end of the walkway:

  “Well, I guess we should get on with this.”

  Instinctively they speak quietly, both to try and minimise the resulting echoes, but also because they are all very uncomfortable making their presence any more obvious than it needs be. This place has been silent for so long that it seems sacrilegious to disturb it, like speaking in an echoing church during a ceremony. But also, although it is completely irrational, they all fear what may hide in the darkness.

  Because the Darkness always hides something.

  …Concealed in the familiar shadows He listens and observes…

  Dad and the girls approach the door ahead, stepping slowly and silently. They feel like they are creeping up on a ferocious dog that restlessly slumbers. There is no other sound but their footsteps and their breathing. As the door looms up in the dim light they recognise the motif cut into the stone face; a series of circles within circles, but each one broken to allow a path through them to be traced to the centre – it is the Labyrinth. They have seen this motif everywhere in Crete – on ancient Minoan coins from Knossos; carved into stone lintels and walls or crumbling ruins; imprinted on clay tablets and other objects that are held in the Heraklion museum. Not even Leda feels the need to give voice to their recognition.

  And they are about to enter.

  They pause and look at one another, then back to the door before them. They are each thinking the same thing; what if it is locked? To resolve their concerns, Dad reaches out with his large, strong hand and places it flat upon the labyrinth motif; he visibly braces his shoulders, and pushes.

  It gives.

  Silently, the door swings back, perfectly balanced upon its hinges even after 3500 years, revealing a black, rectangular throat that does not beckon, but threatens. Dad, who has been holding his breath, exhales, breathing the words:

  “Its doors are open day and night. Anyone may enter.” He literally chants this, and the chant echoes eerily around the great hall in unearthly whispers.

  But immediately in front of them, the words fall dead.

  “Let’s get inside girls, away from this damned echo.” Dad does not normally curse in front of his girls, but he clearly means this. To fading echoes they huddle into the deep shadows of the corridor beyond the door. It should have been a dramatic moment, when they stepped over the threshold into the Labyrinth of Daedalus, but there is a slight urgency as they are eager to escape the reverberating hall behind them, so the moment is missed.

  But now they all pause. They are suddenly aware that this really is that time.

  “Well girls, we’re in.” To the relief of them all, the echoes have now ceased. “So the care starts from now! We’re bound together, and I will tie the end of the fishing line to the door here, and unravel it as we walk. Ilia,” and Dad turns to his eldest daughter with utmost gravity, “you’re the last, so if you can be responsible for unravelling the fishing line please?” She nods, matching Dad’s seriousness, and takes the line from him. He also gives her a stick to use as a spindle to more easily allow the line to run as they progress. “You need to tell us if we are going too fast, sweetie. We absolutely cannot risk the line breaking. Ok? So if we are going too fast and you cannot unravel it in time, or if you are getting near the end of the line, you need to tell me straight away.” Ilia nods again and Dad continues. “I have the chalk in my pocket – I will be marking the walls as we go as a back-up.” Dad looks at all three of them, one after another, to ensure they understand. “If we get separated, you follow the line back to here, to this point, and wait! Wait as long as you can. When you cannot wait any longer, climb back up the stairs to Jorge.” At this Leda looks upset.

  “But Daddy, we aren’t going to be separated!” She is so insistent that it seems almost a command, a reflection of her growing fear.

  “Of course not sweetie, I will always be with you. I’ve promised you that before, remember? Like the Wolverine – I won’t grow old and I won’t leave you. But… we do need backup plans! Ok?” Dad bends down and looks straight into her eyes, then kisses her on the tip of her nose. She nods, still looking both stern and afraid. Dad turns back to all three of his daughters again.

  “Do you all remember how to get into the centre of a labyrinth.”

  Yes, they agreed.

  “Keep turning left,” Danae verbalises the answer.

  “Yes. Keep turning left. At every fork you take the left option. When you come to a dead end, follow the left hand wall. Put your hand on it and follow it if you have to. It will take you back the way you came. When you come to the next junction, turn left again. It’s a long way to do it, as you follow the outer wall of the tunnel and will go down a lot of dead ends that lead back to where you entered them, but it is the only way to be certain.” Dad eyes them all earnestly until he is sure that they have understood. “And how do you get out of the Labyrinth, if you cannot follow the line?” Dad is looking even more serious. Ilia is the first to answer:

  “Do the opposite,” she says.

  “Keep turning right,” adds Leda.

  “Exactly. You will follow the same wall that you followed on the way in. Just keep following it until you are back here. Take the right hand option at every fork. Follow the right hand wall. You should see the chalk marks.” Dad pauses, standing stiffly for a moment looking at his three girls, then exhales heavily. It is as if he has just blown out some of his tension.

  “Ok, I guess we are ready to go. Now the wings of Daedalus may be anywhere, so we should investigate anything suspicious. My guess is that it will be in the centre of the Labyrinth; it just makes sense. If Daedalus brought them back here deliberately to hide them in this maze, I’m guessing it will be at the centre of it. Because you need to overcome the riddle of the maze to reach the prize. I could of course be entirely wrong.”

  “So situation normal then Dad?” comes Danae’s dry response; she just cannot resist the temptation, even in this environment. But right at that moment, a bit of Danae Sarcasm is quite reassuring. Some things in the world are constants – the Sun above, the Earth below, and a facetious quip from Danae in any given situation.

  Dad flicks on his torch in a fairly dramatic manner, as if he has just cocked a gun then, with a last reassuring look at each of his daughters, he turns around and faces down the corridor, bringing the light to bear.

  Smooth stone floor, smooth stone walls; it is wide enough that they can walk two abreast, although not without a little jostling at times. Ilia and Danae decide to walk one behind the other, but Leda comes forward and takes Dad’s free hand. His torch is quite powerful and they can all see that the corridor runs into its first junction around 30 or 40 paces ahead. Walking cautiously, Dad leads the way.

  …In the Great Hall He waits in the deep shadows. He has heard them; He has seen them disappear through the d
oorway into His House. There is no need to follow, for they will come to Him. In the end, they all come to Him. All paths lead to this centre, but none have ever led away.

  He is curious. Perhaps it is His Redeemer, finally, for who knows what shape he will take.

  But He is full of doubt…

  At their first junction they can turn left or right down an identical perpendicular corridor. Dad pauses and, for the first time of many, releasing Leda’s hand, he takes the chalk from the side pocket of his cargo shorts and squats, drawing a heavy, thick arrow on the floor that points back down the way they came.

  “Avoid stepping on it girls, we don’t want to smudge it. If you need to come back and you cannot follow the line, you can follow these arrows. They will point to the way out.”

  He turns left and they resume their wary progression. Their eyes gleam in the darkness as they strain to identify anything unusual, anything that might indicate a hidden object or secret alcove; but there is nothing, just the stone floor beneath, the stone walls on either side, the stone ceiling above. Following down this grey passageway they come upon an opening to the left. Dad glances back at the girls and they see the torchlight reflecting in his eyes – two points of light. He squats and draws another white arrow on the stone floor, then takes the turning. They repeat this several times until they come to a dead end; an impervious stone wall rises up before them.

  “The first of many, girls” he says, but his voice is a little shaky. They turn back and he follows the left wall, which takes them down two blind alleys, until the wall leads them back to the initial corridor that they were in, Dad’s chalk arrow stark white on the dusty floor.

  Here they pause, while Ilia rewinds all the loose fishing line on to the plastic wheel; they have to do this every time that they find they have retraced their steps to a point of divergence. Because of this their progress is slow and, when they find themselves backtracking, they have to be careful not to become entangled in the line that has been released. Ilia quickly becomes quite expert at releasing and then rewinding what Dad calls their lifeline.