Ariande's Web

by Fred Saberhagen

  "Who are you?"

  This time he was asking about the individual who spoke to him, not the whole collection of them, and so his question was understood. My name is Silenus. But that does not matter. What matters is that spring has come again, and yet our god is dead.

  A second voice now joined in the ghostly whispering. Our god is dead, yet spring has come to the world regardless. Is that not strange and unbelievable? It was a weird, affecting lamentation, all the more intense because it was so inhuman.

  This was one turning of the year when the previous avatar was not going to revive. The body was little more than a skeleton by this time, but the rich cape that Alex remembered was here, now only a weathered rag. The golden winecup Dionysus had drunk from in the great hall now lay near the skeletal right hand. Dionysus, at least in this most recent avatar, had not bothered to bear weapons, at least none of any ordinary sort. If a divinity became so weak that he needed a commonplace sword or spear, they weren't likely to do him any good.

  The fleeing god had left his thyrsus-staff in the great hall, where it had been incinerated by Shiva. Alex wondered whether the staff might have reconstituted itself somehow, as sometimes the tools of the gods did in legend. If so, it was not here.

  And there was no sign of the Face.

  Overcoming first his awe, then a growing distaste at this disturbance of the dead, Alex began to search, first carefully, then more vigorously. But what he was looking for was not to be found.

  The countenance of the corpse, eyeless and noseless now, was still utterly and routinely human. No more and no less horrible than that of any man long dead, a kind of placid and routine horror. Nothing that ought to frighten an experienced soldier, or raise his hopes. Yet a wild hope, that had in it a strong component of new fear, had been born in Alex now. He repeated his question, this time as a demand. "Where is the Face?"

  We took it away. We wanted to make sure that it remained out of our enemies' reach.

  "You mean someone else has put it on?"

  It would be a mistake to bring about our god's rebirth just now here on Corycus. When the Twice-Born lives again, he must be given time to grow, develop, become familiar with his powers before he needs to use them. Here and now, Shiva would allow him no such time.

  "Then where is the Face?" Alex persisted. "You've hidden it somewhere?"

  When you have arrived at a certain temple of Apollo, we will tell you more. In that place you may discover our god's Face, and put it on.

  There was a silence that seemed long. Those last three words kept echoing in the young soldier's mind, while their meaning seemed to stay just out of reach.

  "I?" Alex cried at last. Abruptly he was very conscious of the strangeness of the Labyrinth around him. The passageway in which he crouched seemed to be constricting around him. "I am to put it on?"

  On the night when our god last breathed, he spoke favorably of you.

  Suddenly Alex could remember again the fallen avatar in the great hall, looking directly at him and saying, with something like envy, Once I was like you. It seemed to the young man now that he could hear in the echo of that booming voice all the false heartiness and bravado that had concealed a great fear.

  Aloud he asked, "And this—my discovering the Face—is to happen in some temple of Apollo? Not one of Dionysus?"

  No response.

  His mind was whirling. Sudden dreams of unbelievable glory alternated with sharp pangs of terror. "Anyway, I think there are no longer any temples of Apollo on this island. Shiva has ordered them all destroyed, or converted to base use."

  The only answer was faint music, and fainter laughter. The man could hear nothing of joy, but only a kind of madness in it.

  "All right, so I must reach a certain temple of Apollo. Where does it stand, if not here on Corycus? And how am I to get there?"

  We are weak. Without our god to give us strength, the long trip over the water may be too much for us.

  The voices babbled all together suddenly, sounding confused, not to say mad. But what else to expect from the entourage of Dionysus, God of Frenzy? Alex resisted the urge to repeat his search of the immediate area, to make sure that despite their babble, the Face was not simply lying here unclaimed.

  Struck by a sudden thought, Alex raised his head and whispered into the air, "Does Shiva know that your god is dead?"

  The God of Destruction does not care. He has not taken the trouble to search for Dionysus. Shiva is very much afraid of certain other deities. But not of our lord. Not yet.

  There came an eerie sound, a kind of high-pitched rumbling, rolling down one of the twisting corridors—Alex could not at first be sure which one. Soon the chariot, pulled by the two ghostly panthers, pulled up in front of him and stood there, waiting, its car unoccupied. The whole equipage seemed much bigger now, too wide to have negotiated the narrow pathways of the Maze—yet here it was.

  Get in.

  Drawing a deep breath, Alex put a hand on the low side rail of the vehicle, just in front of one of the two tall wheels. The sensation of solidity beneath his palm and fingers wavered once, then firmed. It had the feel of ivory, or horn.

  Drawing another deep breath, and holding it this time, he vaulted up onto the wheeled platform. Before he could locate the reins, or even confirm that any existed, he heard a warbling of flutes and a clash of ghostly cymbals, the panthers sprang forward, and the chariot shot up, lurching into the air.

  At that moment the rattle of wheels on pavement ceased abruptly. Gripping the railing with all his strength, Alex groaned and involuntarily closed his eyes. The last thing he saw was the moonlit vast complexity of the Labyrinth falling away beneath him, many of its thousand miles of twisted passageways now visible all at once.

  When he opened his eyes again, moments later, most of the island of Corycus was spread out below, with faint points of light outlining the sprawling city, and marking the other settled places. Here and there a lone spark from lamp or hearth marked, he supposed, an isolated dwelling.

  Everything was quiet, except for the rush of air. The soft feet of the leopards, running over a soft carpet of mere air and cloud, made no sound that human ears could hear.

  At last his ears were able to pick out a fainter murmur in the air around him. He understood that the tattered remnants of the minor powers were accompanying him upon this journey. Somehow the little chariot was able to contain them all, or drag them with it through the sky.

  Chapter Twelve

  The last thing that Edith, the girl from Dia, could remember was . . . a monstrous, animal-like figure looming in front of her . . . her own voice, shouting in terror, pleading with Apollo, Alexikakos, averter of evil, to save her from the bloody horror that threatened.

  Standing in line with the others of the Tribute, she had been shocked by an outcry, and had looked up in utter amazement to see Prince Theseus escape. She had watched, as with startling fury he struck down a guard, with what speed and strength he hauled himself over a wall and out of sight.

  Such feats were not possible for her. But suddenly it was no longer possible to simply, meekly, wait for pain and death. In a moment, she too was running as fast as she could . . .

  Now, regaining consciousness with the sense that hours of drugged sleep must have passed, she remembered few details of the peril from which she had been rescued. Her head ached, and thirst was parching her mouth and throat.

  Then, with a shock, something like full memory returned, and she sat up.

  Even on the last morning of their lives, many of the eighteen had not believed that they were doomed to die. The upcoming ceremony meant only that they would be initiated somehow into Shiva's cult.

  For days she and her doomed companions, an assortment of young folk who seemed to come from every quarter of the Great Sea, had been aware that this was the morning when they were to meet the god. Shiva, the Compassionate, as his priests described him, who took an interest in their welfare . . . then the first victims were marched up to th
e cages, and shut in. There followed the glowing iron and sharp, cruel knives, the dripping blood. What Edith now remembered most clearly of all was her own body's reaction, the burst of panic breaking through the fog of drugged wine, to send her running madly for her life . . .

  Now everything around her was silence, tranquillity giving at least the appearance of safety. Bright sunlight, coming at an angle not far from that of midday, touched part of one high wall above her. Apollo, lord of light, you have not yet entirely forsaken me.

  She had awakened lying on a kind of curved stone bench, built into one wall of the Maze at a place where several passages came together, forming a clear space roughly circular, about three yards in diameter. The miniature courtyard thus created had five entrances or exits, five doorless apertures, each leading to a different corridor. Three of the connecting ways were roofless, and all of them curved out of sight after only a few yards. She was still dressed in the clothing of the ritual. There was more cloth beneath her body, a kind of blanket that she had never seen before, padding her away from the sun-warmed stone, and a folded robe to serve as pillow under her head.

  There was no need to ask herself: where am I? For the tall, laterally curving stone walls that shut her in told her with certainty where she was—still inside the Labyrinth. Some of those walls seemed waves of stone, frozen in time, about to topple in and crush her. For all she knew, she could still be near the very place where the sacrifice was to have been carried out. But she sat up with a sudden movement, provoking a wave of dizziness. And now she began to wonder what could have happened.

  Her belt had been loosened, and a cup of water and some fruit placed at her side. Indeed, she was very thirsty, and drank the water in a few quick swallows. She had had nothing to eat or drink since that early morning draught of delightful wine and water, administered by Shiva's helpers. They had poured hers carelessly, filling the goblet less than halfway. Something in that cup must have been potent enough to begin to dissolve even the fear of death.

  Now she had drained the last drops from the simple cup of water before it occurred to her to wonder whether it too might be drugged. But the taste of this drink was clean and cold, not like that poisoned wine at all.

  Every part of her body ached as she forced herself to get to her feet. Repeated waves of dizziness made her sway as she stood listening. Somewhere in the distance she could hear what sounded like soldiers' voices, shouting back and forth, though it was impossible to make out what they were saying, and even hard to tell how far away they were.

  Had she been retaken, then? Carried to this spot by soldiers, who might reappear at any moment, to carry her back to the place where Shiva's victims bled and died?

  But no soldiers appeared. Instead, there came a slight sound behind her, and she turned quickly. She of course recognized the shape before her as the Monster of the Maze, dreaded by everyone. It was the last sight she had seen at the place of horror and blood. Whimpering, she shrank back against the wall. She might have run, but was engulfed by another wave of dizziness, motes swimming before her eyes.

  The monstrous figure paused, spreading huge manlike hands as if to show they were empty of any threat. In an unlikely, low-pitched voice it said, "You needn't be afraid. I'll keep my distance, if that will ease your mind."

  Desperately Edith pressed her body back into the curved corner, feeling rough stone against her back. "What do you want?"

  The beast, the monster, answered as calmly as before. "My name is Asterion; at moments of formality, the Lord, or Prince, Asterion, though we needn't be bothered about titles. And you are—?"

  The possibility that the creature might have a name, might be someone, had somehow never occurred to her before. Automatically she told him her own name.

  "Edith. Yes, I like that. I am the one who brought you here, you know, after snatching you away from the killing." Here he paused, as if to give her time for some response. But Edith could only shake her head, and Asterion went on. "Or perhaps you don't remember. But I am not one of those you must fear." There was a longer pause. The creature sat down on the opposite bench, and as it ceased to tower over her it became a touch less threatening. "As for what I want—well, to start with, you might oblige me by answering a question or two."

  "Yes?" She managed to get out the one word clearly.

  "To begin with: Just what is it that you're afraid I'm going to do to you? Eat you? I don't even eat lamb chops."

  It took her almost half a minute of confused effort to come up with a kind of answer. "I remember the blood . . ."

  "None of it was of my spilling. Well, only a little bit, perhaps."

  Still the young woman had very little to say, but I could see that her fear of me grew less as I sat at ease and conversed with her.

  It was all very well to congratulate myself for having rescued one of the eighteen, and I had no second thoughts about having done so. But now, I was growing more perturbed as she grew calmer. Minute by minute, a certain question was becoming more urgent: what was I going to do with her?

  I had no means of inducing the girl to fall asleep again; all I could do was listen to her hopeless weeping until it ceased. Later on, when she slept again, I ought to be able to prolong her slumber by a little bit, and also to see to it that her dreams were pleasant, and reassuring. Maybe, if we were very lucky, I could do more than that.

  But such plans failed to come to grips with the basic question: what was I going to do with her? Certainly by now it was too late for me, let alone my new companion, to join my sister and her desperate band of escapees. Daedalus and the others would not still be waiting for me, and I could only hope that they had all gotten away. In dreams lay my best hope of getting an accurate report on what had happened to them; but that would have to wait. Dreaming required sleep, and it was pretty plain that I was not going to sleep again for many hours.

  Within an hour or so I began to realize that Edith might have to live with me in the Labyrinth indefinitely. While she was still unconscious, I had carried her to a remote area, where it seemed practically impossible that the inevitable searchers would ever find their way. Here, a human presence of any kind was exceedingly rare; the grass grew thick in many places between the paving stones. Probably none of Shiva's priests, or the Butcher's soldiers, had yet come closer than a mile—which meant that they were effectively hundreds of miles distant, by any route that they were at all likely to discover.

  And now, as the young girl lost her immediate fears, the larger difficulties of her situation became plainer in her eyes. "I want to go home!" she moaned, again and again.

  I did my best to remain calm and soothing. "No doubt you do. But I don't know when that will be possible." I thought, but did not add: probably never. I could understand, being so attached to my own terrific home that I was ready to die rather than leave it.

  "Where is home, Edith?" I asked, after a little silence. I was thinking that gentle talk was probably the best thing for her just now.

  "The island of Dia."

  "Is that so? I've heard of it, of course, but never been there. Tell me about it."

  And soon she was able to take food, and enjoy an almost-peaceful sleep. But soon I felt I had to awaken her from that. Time was passing, and there were things I had to do. I explained to my guest and new companion that I had to leave her for a little while. "There has been much excitement, as you can imagine—as we have both heard." Indeed, certain phases of the great search had been quite noisy, some of the military trumpet calls audible a mile away. "I expect there may be messages waiting for me, and I had better see them."

  The shade of alarm that crossed her face was flattering. "Asterion, you won't—?"

  "Abandon you? Certainly not." But I emphasized, and repeated, that she should stay where she was. "I can almost guarantee that no one will find you here." That guarantee would be void if Shiva ever nerved himself to take an active part in the proceedings; but I saw no reason to mention that. "And where would you go? Believe me
, you won't be able to find your way out of the Maze. On top of that, you wouldn't want to find your way out, because everywhere outside are the soldiers of King Perses, and the priests of Shiva, and I have no doubt that they are all still looking for you.

  "Besides, if you go wandering about inside the Labyrinth, you may lose yourself so thoroughly that even I won't be able to locate you when I return. There is fruit growing here in this courtyard"—I pointed to a patch of exposed soil, where two trees grew, as well as the mutant vine—"and running water. And I promise you, I will return, as soon as I can. With some more food for you, and with good news, I hope. Though naturally I do not promise that."

  By the morning after the escape, Uncle Perses had become exceedingly eager to interrogate me. During the previous afternoon, the usurper king had taken time out from his other efforts to send messengers into the Maze, who claimed to know where I could usually be found. One of these messengers, actually an old woman who had once been my nurse, had succeeded in leaving a written message for the Minotaur.

  Dutifully I checked in certain odd locations, nooks and crannies of the Labyrinth which my sister and I had used, in our early years, as places to exchange communications. Today there was no such good luck as a note from Ariadne. But I did find a brief note, as sort of memorandum, from the usurper.

  To judge by the contents of the note, Perses had already questioned Princess Phaedra extensively, and I silently congratulated myself on our wisdom in keeping all knowledge of the plot from her. Nor had Phaedra any idea of where I might usually be found inside the Labyrinth; Ariadne had almost never discussed such things with her. My elder sister had met me only a few times, generally in dreams. I could not remember whether we had ever laid eyes on each other in waking life; if that had happened, it must have been when I was very small. I knew that Phaedra wished me well, but couldn't help being profoundly upset by the mere sight of her half-brother.