"I’ll move my stores and put a new lock on. Do you think this could work? Can we run the drunkenness out of him?"
"I just feel like if we could somehow reset him, it might help."
And so the next day, despite his aching head and sensitive stomach, we make Jason run.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Iolalus
I'VE BEEN IN funeral marches that were cheerier then our slow ascent from the maze’s entrance back to the palace. Ariadne’s shoulders slump and I notice her jaw clenching as if she’s biting back tears. Minos walks as if the midday glare over our heads bears down on him like a heavy weight, but Pasiphae’s jaunty step reminds me of the solar-powered bubblers Orpheus builds for his mother’s bird baths; it’s as if the sun has charged her with energy. Theseus is right; she’s no victim. She’s the one who is benefitting from these ordeals, not Minos. If Theseus fails—which right now I cannot feel a sense either way if he will or won’t—I can’t wage war against Minoa. No, this is something to do with the Council or Aryana. I shake my head. Always Aryana. Always Ares’s people who are the aggressors.
Ariadne lingers behind to join Odysseus and me. "Theseus has something that may help," she whispers. Odysseus perks up and looks about to ask her something, but she continues. "It’s from the gods, I swear it must be. A belt that stretches. It won’t help him fight the minotaur, but it will help him find his way out."
She says this with a tone of clinging hope and my heart nearly breaks for her. She has fallen for Theseus and now she must watch him fight for his life.
"He’s lucky," I say.
"Will he make it?" she asks, glancing quickly at my hair.
"I don’t have the sight, but he’s tough. He’s a strong vigile and, from what I’ve heard, he’s never lost a fight."
She gives a relieved smile at that and we continue in silence through the foyer. We enter a large room in which a screen has been set up. It reminds me of the screen Orpheus told me Aeetes had in his bedchamber to watch over his beloved pelt. An unexpected burst of happiness passes over me as I wonder how the new groom is getting on with his bride.
The moment of joy is cut off by a flame of irritation when I see Pasiphae pointing out a seat to Minos like a trainer telling a dog to sit and when, like an obedient mutt, he does what she commands. Ariadne takes the seat to one side of Minos and, before Pasiphae can plunk her bony behind into it, Odysseus assumes the seat behind Minos and places his satchel on the floor under him. I sit next to Odysseus, angling myself to watch Minos’s expression without having to be too close to Pasiphae.
The screen flickers on. Its images are an unnatural, sickly shade of green. The memory of Altair, the timid cameraman who joined Herc and I on our adventures and died for his loyalty, hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. One of the cameras focuses on the minotaur and somehow is able to follow his movements. Pasiphae leans forward, intent on the screen. I think of how Areans hate technology unless they can use it to surveil and subdue their own people, or to watch something horrible.
And what’s on the screen truly is horrible. It’s a creature with a man’s body, but a man’s body like no other. Even my big and brawny cousin, Herc, would seem small next to this monster. On the human body is the head of a bull, a massive bull with horns that taper to deadly points. The beast is made even more monstrous as the camera turns his eyes into glowing empty orbs. He sniffs the air and switches from passive to alert. I assume he’s caught scent of his latest meal, but he doesn't leave his lair. He's probably not hungry enough to hunt, but I doubt he’ll pass up an Athenian-flavored snack if one crosses his path.
Ariadne’s hopefulness now strikes me as idiotic. Knowing what he’s up against, how can she have any hope for Theseus? Despair for him would overwhelm me if not for the righteous sense of determination welling inside. No one should have to face this monster. I will bring war to stop it, not against Minoa, for I can see Minos has nothing to do with this, but against Aryana. And even against the Council whose members are allowing this to happen.
Minos doesn’t react to the beast’s appearance; he’s not even watching the screen. It’s as if he can’t bear to look and instead has chosen to stare at his hands as they fidget in his lap. Pasiphae’s attention is fixated on the screen, while Ariadne gnaws on her lip and twines her hands together as she watches without blinking. Although the monster is a fascinating creature, watching him do nothing but scent the air and roam about his lair is quite dull. Knowing that sitting too long makes my leg ache, I get up to pace the room, checking the screen intermittently to see nothing happening. The sun seems to race across the sky just as my mind races with apprehension of how I will convince the other poli to join me in a fight against Aryana, the fiercest polis in Osteria.
"There he is," Ariadne says in a voice that’s both excited and fretful. I slip back into my seat. Theseus is sniffing the air and pulling a disgusted face. His eyes glow eerily like the minotaur’s. For no reason I can fathom—the maze has to be pitch dark—he closes his eyes then angles his head as if listening for something. Like Pasiphae, I find myself leaning forward, my heart pounding. Theseus is no farther from the beast than the length of this room. Does he know how close he is? He takes another step deeper into the creature’s lair. He has a femur in one hand and I have to admire his improvisational skills in the face of danger.
"Are you sure you want to watch this?" I ask Ariadne, but she doesn't respond. Her eyes are fixed on the screen. The minotaur charges and Ariadne lets out a yelp, then slaps her hand over her mouth. Pasiphae gives her a smug look and her lips turn up in a grin of cruel amusement. Theseus swings the femur but makes no impact. Minos, even though he still hasn’t glanced at the screen, starts weeping; Odysseus mutters commands such as "swing left, step right," as if he can control Theseus with his words. When the creature attacks again, Theseus strikes once more with the femur. The bone breaks, but from the way he shakes his head, it’s clear the minotaur has at least felt the attack this time.
Theseus breaks off a fractured portion of the femur and clutches the remaining piece of bone. The movement of his hands in doing this reveal a rope—no, not a rope, it’s too thin, a string is more like it—stretching from Theseus’s other hand. Pasiphae jumps up.
"Get him out," Pasiphae screeches like an angry jay. Minos’s shoulders flinch at the sound of her raised voice. "He is disqualified. They are all disqualified. They all must die."
"I don't think so," Odysseus says, cutting off her tirade.
"He has broken the rules," she shouts.
"Which one? The rules state that a victim can’t bring in a weapon." Odysseus walks over to the screen and points to the string, or whatever it is. "That little thing would snap before it could ever be used as a weapon. And your guards checked him over. They cleared him. According to your rules, that means he's qualified to be in there. How did it go? Ah yes, ‘You'll be inspected by these guards before you go in. If they find no weapons you are qualified to enter the maze,’" he says, mimicking Pasiphae’s reedy voice. "I have a very good memory, Councilwoman."
"No matter," Pasiphae says, slipping back into her seat. Her face arrogant and cold as Theseus ducks and dodges the minotaur. "He won’t survive."
She may be right. On the screen the minotaur is just behind Theseus. This time it’s me shouting commands. "Run, you idiot. Duck!" Theseus stiffens, I think maybe somehow he has heard me, but perhaps he only senses the beast’s proximity. His body tenses. He’s ready to react. "Move!" Odysseus and I yell at the same time.
He ignores our orders. Theseus is on the verge of action, but the minotaur already has the momentum for his attack. With his mouth of vicious teeth gaping wide, the beast swings his head downward. Theseus’s legs bend ever so slightly as if he’s starting to crouch away from the attack, but it’s too little too late. The minotaur’s mouth surrounds, then clamps down on Theseus’s shoulder. Ariadne’s scream fills the room. Minos keeps his gaze fixed on his hands, but his shoulders heave as he sobs si
lently. Pasiphae ignores them and gives Odysseus a look of triumph.
She then turns her attention to me, her face as casual and amused as someone watching a play.
"I believe your polis is next on the list, Solon."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Theseus
MY ENTIRE BODY feels like it will burst from the pain searing through it. I know I’m lucky to feel any sensation at all. Had the bite been a hand’s breadth further up, the minotaur would have bitten my neck and either hit my jugular or snapped my spine. Despite all instincts telling me to do so, I can't jerk away. His teeth are in me like a dog and if I twist too much I'll shred the muscle beyond repair. Moving the rest of my body as little as possible, I swing the femur whacking him on the head as best I can. I don't know what I hit. An ear? A cheek? Whatever it is it's sensitive enough to make him howl in pain and release my shoulder. My makeshift weapon is broken to pieces now, but at least he’s backing away.
From where he’s torn into me, I swear I can feel the blood throbbing out with each beat of my thudding heart. I want to staunch the wound to keep from losing too much blood, but what can I do about it down here? I ignore the irritating feel of liquid trickling over my skin. It’s nothing to the agony I’m about to face. I understand what I have to do to kill this beast. I slip Odysseus’s dagger from the scabbard at my calf.
Using the sound of his breath as a guide, I track the minotaur. After the first couple steps I remind myself to keep a tight grip on the dagger with one hand and the belt in the other. I clench my left hand. I can’t detect the chill of the chain. I lessen my grip. Perhaps I’ve warmed the metal too much to feel it. I slip my hand forward and backward. Nothing. My hand is empty. My lifeline is gone.
Panic starts to flow from the pit of my gut as profusely as the blood from my shoulder. With great resolve, I force the fear down. Now is not the time. I will kill this beast. I must kill him. Even if I can’t find my way out, I’ll show the Council or Pasiphae or whoever is behind this torment that Osteria and its people are not their toys.
Once he’s dead, then I can look for the belt. It can’t be far. It has to be here somewhere in this lair. I tell myself not to dwell on the loss of the guide, not to cave into the fear that wants to rise up and take over my instinct to fight. I might not be able to escape, but I need to destroy this monster so it never tastes Osterian flesh again.
I step forward, tracking the minotaur by the sound of his breath. In only a few steps, I’m once more close enough to feel and smell his foul, humid breath.
"Go on. Take a bite," I say tauntingly, shaking my injured shoulder so the scent of my blood wafts up to his nostrils to lure him in.
As the rotten stink of his breath bears down on me, I can already feel the coming pain. I know I should back away, every nerve in my body tells me to run, but any panicked move will take me farther from the belt. Besides, I need him close. My grip tightens on the dagger as sweat bursts from every pore of my body. I angle my wounded shoulder toward his heat and stench. This time, even though I’m prepared for it, the pain of his attack on my already injured flesh is dizzying. Had I been able to eat this morning I would be hurling it up. I swing my empty fist toward my shoulder and punch him in his snout, but it's not enough to deter him from such an easily won meal.
This is it. I’ve seen enough cats with birds, and terriers with rats to know how predators behave. If I don't take him now, he will bear down harder to get a firm grip. He will then shake me until my neck breaks. I raise the dagger. I need more power behind this strike than with the femur. Something rips in my shoulder as I make the extra movement to build momentum. I shriek in agony as I thrust the dagger, driving the blade into what I hope is his neck.
I'm rewarded with a gush of blood but at the same time I’m punished by his clamping down even tighter. I scream and jerk the dagger out. I stab again as blood throbs out of him. Or is it my blood? Has he bitten an artery? Have I stabbed myself and only think the pain is him biting me? I can’t tell and I no longer care. My head spins from pain and from his stench. My gut threatens to heave. My legs wobble under me. I want to stab him again, but all strength has gone from me. My pain-fogged mind pictures leaving a hunk of my shoulder dangling from his mouth if I collapse.
Suddenly he lets go. But he doesn’t back away. Instead, a huff of hot breath caresses my neck. This is it. He will crush my spine between his teeth. This will be the fatal blow. He may be mortally wounded but he will take me with him.
I won't allow it. I don’t know how I’m doing so, but I’m still standing. Despite what feels like a lifetime of blood wetting my shoulder, I still have some fight left in me.
The smell and heat of him nears. I wait until a drip of his thick saliva falls on my neck.
I duck and spin, whipping the dagger up with a thrust into what I hope is the soft spot under his lower jaw. After the slightest resistance, it plunges in up to the hilt. I’ve found my mark. His heat and his smell fade as he staggers back with the blade stuck in him. His hoofbeats against the stone are irregular, clumsy. Everything in me prepares for the next bout of pain. I’m certain beyond doubt that he will make one last attack.
But it never comes. The hoofbeats clatter a few more times. There is a thump and the ground rumbles under my feet as the beast falls to the floor in a heap. I wait. I have no sense of time or of how long I have been in this cavern. I know I must be out by sunset, but I can’t think about getting out of here until I’m certain he is dead. I listen. His breath gurgles and wheezes then fades into a pitiful panting. It is almost done. The lair spins.
When his final grunt of life puffs out, I crawl—
When did I fall? I don’t remember falling
—toward him. To put as little weight on my shoulder as possible, I scoot along until my fingers touch him. A tremor of nerves takes over as I pat my hands along his body, but I’m overwhelmed with a compulsion to find the dagger. It’s a lucky object and I won’t leave it behind. A foolish thought I know and one that could keep me from finding the belt, but my mind is whirling and all I know is that my knees hurt
—from falling?
—and that everything will be better if I can get to the dagger. My hand reaches the curve of a horn. It's not smooth like a bull’s horn but ridged like that of a goat or ram and for some reason this fascinates me. I trace my hand down the head to the snout that’s wet with what must be my blood. I find the jaw, then continue under it and pull out the dagger.
The creature jerks.
I scramble back screaming. I land on my butt, scraping my hands on the hard stone floor. I hold steady, waiting to hear him get up, to lunge at me in a final assault. After a time, I sense no more motion. I hear no breath coming from him. I chide my imagination.
With shaking and aching hands I slip the dagger back into my calf scabbard. My hands are empty. There was something that should be in them, wasn’t there? I sway. My shoulder no longer hurts. I open and close my hand. A stupid move. Pain surges from my fingers up through my neck and suddenly I’m alert.
The belt. I need to find the belt. I haven’t gone far. I have to be close to where I was when I dropped it. Gritting against the throbbing torment in my bruised knees and ragged shoulder, I grope in the dark for the chain. I begin the process calmly, logically trying to move in an outward spiral, but the longer it takes the more desperate I get, the higher my level of panic mounts, and the angrier my wound screams as it feels like I’m being bitten over and over again with each movement. I lose all sense of direction and all sense of time.
A sensation of madness creeps across my skin like a spider. I know it’s panic and pain and shock all pulling on my mind. My chest is soaked with the blood that still pulses from my shoulder. Flashes of green and red fill my vision. I have no concept of time down here. Nor of space. Did I ever have a belt as a guide? Someone is spinning the lair. Ariadne? My arms give out. I collapse. My cheek burns hot against the cold stone as the flashes burn themselves out and the darkness of the maz
e returns.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Odysseus
AS WE WATCH the screen. I find myself jerking back with each of the minotaur's attacks and twitching my hands as if they themselves hope to land a blow on the beast. Theseus has amazing instinct not to jerk away from that first bite, and to not give into the pain that must be driving through his very core. Instead, he uses the broken leg bone he’s found to crack the minotaur on the head. I give an uncontrolled whoop of excitement before I notice the blow has shattered the remnant of the femur. Theseus, now bleeding and hunched from the bite, has lost his weapon but has barely fazed the monster. Pasiphae turns to us with the broad smile of someone who is certain of victory before the last round of the game has been played out. I smile back warmly because, just as she takes her eyes off the screen to pass that gloating look over us, Theseus unsheathes my dagger.
I see what he’s about to do and my smile drops like a drunken satyr. Theseus is teasing the minotaur by waggling his bloody shoulder under the monster’s nose. Not one to turn down an easy meal, the creature attacks without hesitation.
When the teeth sink in the second time, a shock rips from my shoulder to my groin. It’s only by luck that the minotaur is partially blocked by one of the maze’s support columns. This obstacle keeps the dagger out of the camera’s view. Theseus punches first, then swings his uninjured arm up in a move that should drive the blade into the sweet spot at the beast’s throat. I sneak a careful glance at Pasiphae. Her lips are white with fury, her cheeks flare with angry heat, but she isn’t flying into an outrage at the sight of the dagger like she did with that chain. I pray to Hermes that she does not see the weapon. I might have been able to talk my way around the rules regarding the belt, but using her own words against her may not be so easy if she spots my dagger in Theseus’s hand. Would she order the guards into the maze to stop Theseus and protect this horrible animal? I sincerely hope not. More than anything, even more than wanting to see Penelope, I want this creature to never breathe again.
The Maze of Minos Page 20