by Joshua Roots
Even Makha seemed taken aback. His normally regal expression was replaced with a frown carved in stone. He stared at the closed door for a long time, then turned to us.
“Moonrise,” he whispered before marching away with his entourage.
“Well, that was an odd ending,” I said as the mob thinned rapidly. “And the natives certainly seem unhappy.”
“They do. One sec.” He walked over to a pair of clansmen nearby who were chatting quietly. They blinked when he engaged them, muttered something, then departed quickly along with the rest of the herd.
“So?” I asked when he returned.
“No clue. When I asked what was up, they simply offered some lame-ass excuse about needing to get home.”
Glancing around at the rapid departure of Steve’s kin, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d missed something. Everyone had been in such a great mood two minutes earlier. Now they seemed either pissed or surprised.
“Maybe we should ask your mother.”
Steve nodded and we mounted the stairs. As we approached, Lythos saluted us.
“Greetings, Heir. Warlock.”
“Lythos,” Steve replied, but as he reached for the door, the guard put his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“The Alpha requested privacy for the rest of the night.”
“I am the Heir.”
“I am sorry, but there are no exceptions. She was adamant.”
Steve darkened, but I stepped forward.
“Please convey our warmest regards to the Alpha and pass along my personal thanks for being allowed to participate in your ceremony. It was an honor to see one of your warriors join the ranks of the anabasmatai.”
Lythos stared at me a moment, then dipped his head. “I shall. Good evening.”
“The hell was that?” Steve growled as we walked away.
“That was me keeping us on your mother’s good side. Europa is likely pissed that she was forced into this situation, so let’s give her the privacy she wants. Allow her to blow off some steam. I’m sure she’ll be right as rain after a good night’s rest. Besides,” I added with a grin, “we have a date with someone later. Someone who has a better finger on the pulse of your clan.”
* * *
Moonrise took forever to arrive. After returning to our hut, Steve promptly fell asleep while I dove back into the tome. An hour or two later, my legs began to twitch with impatience. With the exception of the acceptance ceremony, I’d spent the entire day inert, and all the nervous energy had finally reached a breaking point. So while Steve napped loudly, I wore a decent hole in the floorboards by my bed with all my pacing.
The only good thing about all the waiting was that my shoulder continued to heal. I hadn’t been exaggerating when I said the Minotaur mojo in the herb pack was doing one hell of a job. Not that I’d admit it, but it was almost as good as the Shifter family Healer. That guy could patch a Warlock together faster and better than anyone.
I knew from personal experience.
Thinking about the old hippie made me homesick. For him, for the folks, but mostly for Quinn. I’d only been on this little adventure a short time, but it already felt like months. And with Steve bouncing back and forth between brooding and his normal angry, I was beginning to feel even lonelier.
More lonely?
Lonlienessity?
Dammit, I needed to brush up on my English.
Actually, what I really needed to figure out was the language of the Minotaurs. Most of the paranormals I’d met over the years spoke human tongues based on their regional location. Since the majority of my interactions were in the DC node of the Underground, that meant English.
So far, the few Minotaurs I’d interacted with seemed versed in human-speak, but it was the language of the lesser-borns that intrigued me. The patterns sounded like Greek or Latin. While I was versed in the latter, the former was still mostly a mystery. Sure, we learned a few Greek phrases or grammatical syntaxes during our training, but it’s not like the Skilled were fluent.
That, alone, was a window to the heart of the problem I was facing. The paranormal world was far older than the human one and yet its residents still took the time to learn our languages. But it was mostly a one-way street. In all my years of training, I’d never once been exposed to anything more than the bare minimum of paranormal histories and linguistics.
That needed to change. If the Skilled were truly adamant about keeping peace between our two worlds, the least we could do was make the effort to educate humans about our fantastical counterparts. Oh sure, I learned stuff on the mean streets during my travels, interacting directly with various species, but that was a poor substitute for being trained in the traditions and cultures of a species. Hell, I was the Council’s ambassador out here in the Minotaur boonies, yet I had little-to-no knowledge on how to behave. And the last thing I wanted was to offend someone like Makha or Europa because I was too ignorant to know the difference between a sincere compliment and a disrespectful joke.
The glaring weakness in our training was definitely going into my report once this whole mess was put to bed.
Steve woke with the first streams of moonlight on the horizon. He stretched, rubbed his eyes, and snapped his fanny pack around his waist. “Let’s go.”
We were silent as we trekked through the freezing wind. Not that I minded the quiet. My teeth were chattering so hard that I couldn’t have carried on a conversation even if I’d wanted to.
Thankfully, Makha’s encampment wasn’t a long walk. Located on the opposite side of the clan’s massive village from the Labyrinth, the thatch-roof homes were larger than the ones nearer to the Alpha. They were also closer together and organized in neat rows. Guards in brown and red armor patrolled the streets, their weapons at the ready and their eyes ever vigilant. A pair changed direction, intercepting us almost immediately as we reached the perimeter of Makha-Land.
“Stay where you are,” one of them warned, sword raised.
We froze. My bowels twitched.
The guards slowed as they approached, frowning at Steve in the moonlight.
“Heir?”
“In the well-built flesh.”
They relaxed, although their swords stayed at the ready. “You are here for the master, yes?”
“We are.”
The pair flanked us. “Follow.”
Crossing into Makha’s territory felt different to my senses. There wasn’t a barrier, per se, but rather a tension in the air, maybe even paranoia. The emotions rolling off of our escorts were drops of rain compared to the ocean of friction surrounding us. The fact that I was able to pick up on it despite my powers being dampened by Minotaur magic made the hairs on my neck stand on end.
Whatever was brewing between Europa and Makha sure as hell wasn’t kosher. Dancing around one another, the tug of war with euphor support, the heightened sentries? All the noise these people were making sounded like they were on the verge of a civil war. I needed to find a way to hammer out an official alliance between the Council and the Minotaurs before the situation went to hell in a handbasket.
Locating Makha’s home was easier than shooting dead fish in a barrel. Not only was it the largest of the structures, it was also the one surrounded by fully armored Minotaurs. Europa’s residence may have been secure, but Makha’s looked downright impenetrable.
The squad at the front door stopped Steve and me as we approached. We were frisked worse than if we were getting on an airplane.
An enormous hand crossed into territory reserved for Quinn.
“Whoa, buy me dinner first.”
The guard glared at me, then signaled to his compatriot, who begrudgingly allowed us entry into the home.
Inside was no less secure. Another pair of guards motioned for us to follow.
“Two by two, hands of
blue,” I muttered as we sashayed down the wide halls and into an enormous room filled with ornate weapons. Like Europa’s home and the euphor meeting chambers, the space contained a large conversation pit with several chaise lounges arranged in a circle. Apparently Steve’s people loved lounging. Or maybe they hated diversity with their furniture.
But the conversation pit was where the similarities between Makha’s home and the other two places ended. Whereas Europa’s house exuded power and elegance, and the euphor chambers political debate, Makha’s dojo represented nothing but straight-up combat. Racks of pikes were stacked neatly on one side of the room, while a wall of various swords occupied the other. Random pieces of armor, most with horrific damage in vital places, filled the spaces in between.
“The master will be with you shortly,” one of the guards said, then the pair took up a post by the door.
“Well, this isn’t creepy,” I whispered to Steve once we were “alone.”
“What do you mean?”
I waved at the plethora of dangerous objects surrounding us. “It’s a frigging murder room, man. Hell, your mom’s pad was also effed up with all that violent art and bloody spear in the entryway, but this is over the top.”
Steve actually chuckled. “We keep trophies of our kills.”
I reexamined a nearby chest piece with a particularly nasty hole in it. At least death had been swift for the previous owner.
I turned away from the ruined armor with a shudder. “You all seriously need some hugs.”
With nothing to do but wait, Steve and I wandered the room-o’-fatality. In addition to the weaponry, Makha had an impressive pottery collection, all of which depicted battles of some sort. As with Europa’s art, the various scenes showed humans and Minotaurs waging massive wars against bizarre creatures.
Staring at the scene, I began to wonder why human texts only ever listed the one Minotaur. Steve and his clan were proof that a lineage existed, but it seemed odd that we had no record of a species that thrived to the point of guarding kings and, apparently, waging war alongside humans.
We’d been allies once. Maybe even friends.
With a little luck and some decent negotiating, maybe we could be once again.
As impressive as Makha’s pottery collection was, the ornate broadsword over the fireplace was the item that called to me. It was enormous, far bigger and longer than anything a human could wield. On the surface, it seemed more ceremonial than combat-ready. The scabbard, which hung below, was encrusted with enormous jewels while the hilt of the weapon was covered with intricate carvings.
Despite its fancy design, there was a dark energy resonating from the sword. It hummed with mystical power like an electric toothbrush. The frequency caused my nose to itch and my skin to crawl. This weapon had seen and done some horrible things in its day, the echoes of which had been imprinted on the steel.
But as creepy as the sword felt on my senses, it was the blade that captured my attention. Polished to a shine, the cold blue steel gleamed in the firelight. Etched into the steel were runes that were startlingly familiar. I stared at them, unable to tear my gaze away. Something distant called to me, its soundless voice echoing in the back of my mind.
I reached up, my fingers hovering over the hilt.
“Welcome,” Makha said, startling me as he entered the room. I spun around as he descended the short stairs and offered us the old Minotaur salute. “I’m honored to have you in my home.”
“Likewise,” I replied quickly, gesturing back. Dammit, had he seen me reaching for his trophy?
Makha’s smile deepened. “You honor me, Creator.”
Relief. Apparently not.
Then I blinked in surprise.
“Wait, what did you call me?” I asked, but Makha was already focused on Steve.
“And Heir. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for your presence.”
“I wasn’t busy.”
Makha gave him a knowing grin. “You’re always in demand, Heir. Even when you’re far away, your people ask for you.”
Steve grunted noncommittally.
“Come, come,” our host cried, waving us toward the circle-o’-chaises. “Join me, won’t you?”
“What the hell is with your people’s obsession with these seats?” I asked Steve under my breath. “And don’t say, ‘tradition.’”
He smirked.
“Can I get you anything?” Makha asked. “Drink, food, females?”
I shook my head. “Thank you, but I’m in a relationship and not very hungry. And after my exposure to mellimpura recently, I need to dry my liver out for a few months.”
Makha chuckled. “I certainly understand. Many Minotaurs have suffered the consequences of our prized drink.” He turned to Steve. “Heir, are you sure I cannot get you something?”
“I’m cool.”
“Very well. You may leave us now, Melifinous,” our host said to the guard.
The Minotaur frowned. “Master, I—”
“You believe the Heir a threat to me? Or perhaps this tiny human?”
“Again with this?” I grumbled.
The guard blanched. “No, master. I simply—”
“You’re concerned for my safety. That is your job and I appreciate it.” He darkened. “But your job does not entail questioning me when I give you an order. Depart so we may speak in private.”
Melifinous bowed his head, then vanished immediately.
Makha turned back to us. “Forgive him. My people mean well, but they’re sometimes more paranoid than necessary.”
“Steve says you can never be too cautious in the Minotaur world.”
Makha gave my buddy an appraising look. “The Heir is very wise.” Then to me, “You received my gift earlier, yes?”
“I did, thank you. It’s been an excellent read so far. Very eye-opening about the history and legends of your people.”
“It’s also a window into the soul of the Minotaurs. We were monsters once, our world nothing but twisting paths and savagery. It wasn’t until Ariadne pulled the great Asterion from the Labyrinth that we became more. Theseus didn’t defeat the monster in the maze, the monster was defeated by being removed from it.”
“I wish human history was as beautiful.”
He smiled. “I’m sure parts of it are. To be fair, the author of that tale was a wonderful writer.”
“Speaking of which, I’m actually surprised it’s in Latin. It sounds like many of your people used a different language.”
“In the past we spoke a derivative of Minoan, but as the world shifted and we were forced from our homes, we learned new languages as a defense against those who would persecute us. As such, most of us have a passing knowledge of human tongues, to include Latin, Greek, English, French and so on. The lesser-born, however, still speak the language of our ancestors.”
“Minoan?” I asked, surprised. “I’ve heard of that before. It’s related to Linear A, a writing system scholars have been trying to decipher for generations. All based in Crete, right, Steve?”
“That’s what we were taught growing up.”
I looked between them. “Guys, this is huge. Linear A has vexed academics since it was discovered. If there’s a link between it and your Minoan tongue, it would be a huge discovery.”
Makha laughed lightly. “Perhaps someday. For the moment, however, there’s little we can do if my people remain isolated. Besides, ours is not so much a written language as it is symbols and sounds. That’s why the book I gave you is in Latin. There have always been bards who wished for our tales to reach a broader audience, who wrote to appeal to other readers. Many were persecuted for those views, but thankfully some of their works survived. That tome is from my personal collection.”
“I’ll return it once I’m done.”
He
held up a hand. “It’s a gift. I intend for you to keep it.”
“Thank you. I am honored.”
“It’s you who honor me.” He grew serious. “Allow me to offer my deepest apologies for the slight you received earlier. That was unbecoming of my people.”
I frowned. “I’m not following.”
Makha’s lips thinned slightly. “At the ceremony. You deserved as much honor as Enneticia, yet you were denied it.”
“It’s honestly no big deal. I’m just happy that Enneticia received her initiation.”
The euphor smiled weakly. “You’re far more forgiving and understanding than I would be. Were you a Minotaur, you would have at least been considered for anabasmatoi. As a human, you should have been granted uiothetos. Ignoring your actions is an affront to you and your Council.”
I grinned awkwardly. “Steve told me about anabasmatoi, but uiothetos? Small words, please.”
Makha laughed. “Apologies. It means ‘adopted as a son’ in your tongue. In this case, it would have made you an honorary member of the clan.”
“I appreciate it, I really do. But my job here isn’t to gain accolades or titles. It’s to make sure that whatever rift is brewing between our people is repaired.”
“Which is why denying you uiothetos is such a glaring offense. How much easier would it be to mend the rift if the leader of our people publically accepted you as one of our own?”
Dang, he had a point.
“Well, I wasn’t offended, if that helps. Besides, I can still be of service without being one of you.”
“You truly believe that?”
“I do. Down to my core.”
“That’s heartening to hear. I, too, would like to see our relationship restored to what it once was.” He glanced at the pottery, his eyes glazing as his mind drifted somewhere else in time.
“Tell me,” he continued after a moment. “Did you mean what you said before the euphors about your clan’s moral code? That it was what drove you into the Labyrinth?”
“Absolutely. Shifters have always sworn to protect others from harm.”
“It didn’t matter to you that those in jeopardy were Minotaurs?”