Ariande's Web

by Fred Saberhagen

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Alex lay sprawled on the ground, shrinking in expectation of the death blow that must fall on him at any moment. But heartbeat after heartbeat passed, and he was spared. In the background, he thought he could hear one of the princesses screaming.

  Granted another moment of life, he tried to move his body, to go to her aid. But all of Alex's half-formed plans for survival in combat had been shattered instantly by Shiva. There was no use deceiving himself; Dionysus was helpless before the Destroyer's deadly power.

  And in the back of his mind, as he waited for the searing bolt of death to strike, Alex realized that the entourage of Dionysus had suddenly and finally deserted him. Only an hour ago, he would have sworn that when this moment came, his sprites and satyrs would stand by their master to the death. But now they had all fled in panic . . . not that either Alex or Dionysus could blame them, with Shiva already triumphant and Hades no doubt looming near. Only once before, in recent memory, had his creatures ever forsaken him. That had happened when . . .

  . . . when they found themselves suddenly in the presence of . . . but no, that hadn't been Shiva. Someone else.

  Groggily Alex, his flesh still cringing in anticipation of a fatal stroke, turned over and tried to focus on the sky. His vision cleared.

  Nandi was prancing strangely in the air; Shiva had reined his great mount around, as if preparing to make a charge. Or maybe in an attempt to flee. It was hard to determine which, and suddenly it did not matter. The bull's body had just been transfixed front to back by a Silver Arrow, a shaft so long that a portion protruded on each side. Nandi let out a long bellow, a sound seemingly pure animal and almost deafeningly loud, and at the same time lost the power of flight, fell like a stone, all four limbs frozen in position.

  Before Nandi's lifeless shape could hit the ground, Shiva had vaulted nimbly from the dead beast's back, coming down catlike on his feet in the space cleared days ago for the Tribute, not far from the silken chair where he had once reclined at ease, intending to enjoy a sacrifice of blood. Now the God of Destruction, brought to bay, crouched facing his new foe.

  Apollo, embodied in the straight-lined, youthful body of Jeremy Redthorn, Silver Bow in hand, was standing atop one of the high walls of the surrounding Labyrinth. The Far-Worker had drawn a second Arrow from the quiver on his back, and was nocking it to his Bow.

  Alex/Dionysus, looking over his shoulder as he tried to crawl to safety across the broken pavement of the Labyrinth, had the scene in clear view before him.

  First Alex could only crawl, and then he found that he could get one foot under him, though he could not yet stand. But still his thoughts were chiefly for the princess. If I am dying, he thought, let it be for Ariadne. All good gods, protect her!

  In the next instant, Alex winced in sympathy, squinting his eyes shut, as the silver lance of Shiva struck home on its mighty target. His eyes were open again in time to see how Apollo almost lost his footing atop the wall, as he staggered in the act of fitting his next Arrow to his Bow.

  When the beam from the Third Eye struck the body of the Far-Worker, obviously it inflicted pain, as Dionysus supposed it must have done even on Zeus himself. But even the Third Eye could not kill a god of Apollo's stature. He whom the legends credited with mastery of the Sun itself, seemed immune to mortal damage by any lesser fire. Few opponents indeed could ever claim victory over the being who held authority over Terror, Death, and Distance.

  Apollo's weapons had remained firmly in his hands, and now the Bow was drawn again. In the split second before it was released, Alex had the impression that the whole world was tilting sideways around that arc-segment of metallic silver. Echoes of a deep sound, so low-pitched as to be almost beyond the range of human ears, like movement in the world's foundation, went chasing themselves around the sky.

  This time Alex attempted to follow the Arrow in flight, but there was no hope of that, not even for an eye of godly power. Missile and target seemed to have come together even before the Bow had thrummed.

  Shiva was down on the ground now, gut-pierced and spouting blood though not yet dead. Some immense reserve of vitality kept the God of Destruction moving. Howling like a demon, laboring and scrambling in a crawling progress on all fours, he was trying to reach one of the newly created chasms in the earth. But just as he gained the brink of one of them, another of Apollo's shafts struck like a lightning bolt before him, blasting up chunks of stone and soil, hurling fragments of wall foundation, sending the Destroyer reeling and rolling backward, still mortally exposed.

  At the last moment Shiva, with the Arrow still protruding on each side of his body, got his feet under him and stood erect again, bravely turning his face and his own terrible weapon back toward Apollo.

  Only an eyeblink later, Alex saw the head of the Destroyer's avatar explode in a great blur of blood and fragments. He had a clear, momentary look at the glassy Face of Shiva leaping free undamaged, with Apollo's final Arrow perfectly centered in the eye that marked the center of its forehead.

  The Face, still transfixed by the Arrow, was only briefly visible before it slid into the new hole in the ground.

  One of the soldiers who had been crouched down nearby, seeking shelter, went scrambling in an effort to catch the Face before it disappeared. But the young man was too late, and had to scramble back to keep from falling into the hole himself.

  The only visible remnant of the God of Destruction was a headless human corpse, scrawny and nearly naked. The pitiful remnant of the avatar's human body seemed suddenly only a symbol of itself, no more than one of the tawdry emblems of death with which it was still adorned.

  * * *

  In another moment, Apollo was kneeling beside Alex, helping him to regain his feet. Dionysus must have exerted some protective power over the body that they shared, for Alex felt jarred and bruised by his fall, but no part of him had been burned or broken.

  Ignoring Alex's outpouring of thanks, Apollo was already talking about the evidence of the locked door, which he had just seen for the first time, and speculating on what might lie beneath it.

  When Alex mentioned the Face of Zeus, even Apollo seemed taken momentarily aback. He looked at Daedalus, and the delicate investigation the Artisan had now resumed, and declined to interfere.

  Alex asked, "Do you think the story is true?"

  "When Zeus is involved—" began Jeremy Redthorn, then stopped, shaking his head. Then he added, "There was an hour, not too long ago, when I was standing atop a mountain that might once have been Olympus—then I thought I might be about to encounter Zeus. But he turned out to be a tree stump."

  "What?" Alex and Dionysus were about equally astonished.

  "It's a long story, and not very helpful for our present purposes. I'll tell it to you someday."

  While the fight had been taking place almost over his head, Daedalus, like all the other humans in sight, had crouched down trembling. Now he was already back at work. It seemed he was in a dangerous position now, for the solid rock surrounding the puzzle-door had been rayed with fine cracks by the impact of Apollo's Arrow on the earth.

  Jeremy Redthorn was saying to him, "Find the answer for us, Artisan. No one will attack you while you work." Daedalus looked up, nodding abstractedly, perhaps hardly aware of who had just saved his life and was speaking to him now.

  Apollo discussed with Alex the next move that he was contemplating: a raid on what he thought was probably enemy headquarters—the huge temple newly dedicated to Shiva, adjoining the royal palace, a couple of miles straight from the center of the Labyrinth.

  Apollo told Dionysus that he preferred to do most of his aerial travel with a pair of winged Sandals; the story of how they had come into his possession would have to wait until another day.

  Dionysus offered his colleague the use of his chariot. "The leopards seem to tolerate your presence if my other servitors do not."

  But the Lord of Light declined. On his Sandals, he thought he could probably
move as fast as any other being in the universe.

  Another round of combat seemed inevitable. Everyone knew that a little more than a year ago, Hades and the Sun-God had fought a bitter and inconclusive duel, from which both had retreated with serious injuries.

  "It's very fortunate that you were able to kill Shiva as quickly as you did."

  Testing the string of his great Bow, Apollo confided to Dionysus that he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to kill Hades. "Assuming that it's even possible."

  "But why shouldn't you, if you can?"

  "If he dies, it is inevitable that another human will find that Face and put it on. Thus a new Hades will be created, who will be perhaps even more of a curse to the world than this one."

  "Possible, but unlikely. We would at least have something of a breathing space, while the new avatar began to feel at home with the Underworld and its powers."

  "That may be the best outcome that we can hope for."

  "No, the best would be to have a decent human assume the rule of the Underworld. And if we are gentle with Hades, what about Shiva? Was it a mistake to slay him too?"

  Apollo had come to understand that no god is truly good, or bad, except by the will of the person who wears the divine Face at the moment.

  "Not even Shiva?"

  "Not Shiva, or even Hades. Destruction and death have their place in the universe."

  Apollo confessed that he knew nothing of what might be under the secret door. "It's true that, as far as I know, years have passed since the Thunderer was last seen by either gods or mortals. I have certainly not laid eyes on him for many years; and it may be that his last contact with anyone was shortly before the death of Pasiphae, and the birth of Asterion."

  "What did he look like?"

  For a moment Apollo only stared at his questioner. Then he gave a short burst of laughter that seemed to have nothing to do with Jeremy Redthorn. "What does the lightning look like? Or the thunder?" Then the Far-Worker condescended to explain. "At one time or another, my eyes have seen Zeus as an eagle, as a bull, as a shower of gold, among other manifestations. The possibilities are unlimited."

  "But underneath it all, behind it all, there must always be a man. A man like you or me."

  Jeremy's personality seemed in full control again. "I suppose. Or, for all I know, a woman."

  Apollo shrugged. "I see no reason why not."

  "But could a woman have fathered two children on Queen Pasiphae? That's what some Jovian avatar did, almost twenty years ago."

  "A woman who wore the Face of Zeus, or Jupiter—in some lands they call him by that name—might be capable of that, or almost anything. The powers inherent in Zeus are as far above those of an ordinary god, as your abilities and mine are above the merely human."

  "Would we, gods and humans in general, somehow be aware, would anyone necessarily know, if Zeus was dead? Would the universe be any different than it is? We see the lightning flash as it always has, we hear the thunder sound, as it must have sounded a thousand years ago."

  "The world seems to be able to keep itself going without the immediate supervision of gods and goddesses."

  "How many avatars have worn the Face of Zeus, since the beginning of the world?"

  It would be a wise deity indeed who knew the answer to that one.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Alex/Dionysus, seizing the opportunity to make sure that Ariadne was still safe, paused to take a close look at the woman he loved. Some of the things he had learned about her during the last few days were surprising. He thought her beauty had not been damaged by rough treatment, and exposure to the sun and wind, but only made more real. Her wit, and energy, and the fierce devotion she had now begun to show to him, seemed greater marvels even than the mysterious and special powers she had inherited from her father. Even though he himself had attained godhood, he still stood somewhat in awe of the Princess Ariadne.

  When Ariadne stood in front of the locked door in the floor of rock, she reported seeing in her vision a thread of her imaginary web-stuff weaving its way through the intricacies of the lock, as if the thread were attached to some invisible, impalpable needle. And as soon as the thread had completed its progress, the trapdoor in her vision swung up and open.

  But the vision refused to show her what might lie beyond the seal.

  Visions were all very well, and poetic ideas of a thread of sand, but a real strand of some tough fiber seemed to be needed to solve the puzzle and open the lock.

  Alex, now watching the Artisan closely, got the impression that Daedalus, incredible as it seemed, was far from being ready to give up. Instead, his look of quiet satisfaction suggested that he might be on the point of succeeding in his seemingly impossible task. Alex thought that the Artisan possessed formidable qualities that in a soldier would have swept the enemy from the battlefield.

  Some of the watchers kept silent, but others could not. Phaedra at last cried, "Hurry, hurry!"

  The Artisan, with magisterial calm, ignored all efforts to hurry him. When people had specific advice to give, he listened, but so far had quickly dismissed every suggestion as to what he should do next.

  At the moment he was lying sprawled on his belly, head lower than his feet, contemplating the mystery that lay a little below his nose. His position looked painfully awkward, but somehow he was managing to ignore the resulting discomfort, as he did the sweat dripping from the tip of his nose. He appeared to be ignoring, also, the ominous rumblings and tremblings of the earth.

  Alex, returning to the scene after a short absence, heard a little murmur, as of wonder and appreciation, go up from the small group surrounding the Artisan.

  Approaching more closely, Alex noted with surprise that Daedalus was now sitting back, hands clasped, watching the lock with an expression of satisfaction. Alex in astonishment beheld a moving thread of gossamer fineness being gradually pulled into the windings of the shell. This filament was so like one of the gossamer threads of Ariadne's web, as she described them, that for a moment Alex wondered whether her powers might have objectified it into solid reality. But that was not the case.

  He could not at first imagine what agency was doing the pulling. With a shock he saw that the thread was moving, progressing into the miniature maze in little fits and starts, a quarter of an inch now, half an inch more a moment later. About two feet of the thread remained outside the lock, and its visible end had been tied, or glued, to a slightly larger and stronger filament.

  "But—what magic is this?"

  "No magic," said Daedalus. "Watch." And pointed with one gnarled finger to the tiny hole that formed the exit of the passage through the lock.

  A tiny creature emerged from the hole, and the mystery was solved. The Artisan had somehow glued his slender filament to the back of an ant, which he had then somehow induced to go crawling through the many-chambered nautilus, dragging the thread through after it.

  With a gesture Daedalus indicated the other side of the concavity, where dozens of similar insects, large, red, and active, were darting about over the rock. Dirt had spilled through a crack in the rock there, and doubtless their nest had been disrupted, when the earth moved in its most recent tremor.

  "In the past," said the Artisan, "I have found them to be excellent helpers, for certain very special jobs."

  And now he leaned forward, taking in his strong fingers the end of the fine thread that had already been pulled through the windings of the lock. Delicately pulling, Daedalus gently tugged the heavier strand, to which it was connected, into place after it.

  There came a sharp click, to Alex unmistakable as the sound of a fine mechanism peacefully yielding. A moment later the Artisan reached for the handle of the door, and started to lift it open. The door began to open, for whatever bolts had been holding it in place had smoothly and suddenly been withdrawn.

  But the motion of the opening door was interrupted. As swiftly as a sprung trap, the fine cracks in the surrounding rock split open and yawned wide. A crash,
like a great explosion, sounded from underground. In the next instant the round door and the whole of the broad depression surrounding it disappeared as if by magic, vanishing down into the earth.

  Thunderous noise accompanied the disappearance, a roar that went trailing away below, muffling itself at last in distance and interior gloom. Belatedly a light cloud of dust rode up out of the hole on a faint air current. When someone looked over the brink, his line of sight went down and down, disappearing at last into a vertiginous darkness, relieved near the bottom only by a sullen red glow as of heated rock.

  The collapse was so sudden that the Artisan and several soldiers came very near to falling in. Daedalus was only saved by the prompt action of Dionysus, who sprang forward to grasp him by the collar. In the next moment Alex had hurled the Artisan backward, away from the new hole, saving him from being badly burned by the hot gases that came belching up from below, a sulphurous exhalation of the Underworld.

  As he recovered from being thrown yards away, Daedalus was a little dazed, though basically uninjured. He muttered, "The door—the door was just starting to swing open. I almost had it in my grasp."

  "But what was under the door?"

  The Artisan gasped and coughed, exhaling dust. "All I can say is that there was certainly—something there. I mean a structure, a vault, a room. Stone walls and a floor. But whatever was inside it fell clean away, in a cloud of dust, before I could get a decent look."

  "But what was in the vault?"

  He shook his head disconsolately. "I tell you I couldn't see."

  "Then if the Face of Zeus was in there, it's now tumbled into the Underworld."

  "Or simply into a crevice in the earth." Dionysus, though he had never entered the domain of Hades, understood that it did not extend everywhere beneath the surface of the ground. He tried to explain this to his comrades.

  "Hades may be setting a trap for Apollo, trying to lure him underground."

  The huge cavity shocked the eye.