The Maze of Minos

by Tammie Painter

  "Lift your arm forward," the lead medic says and Theseus obeys through gritted teeth. I take the hand of his uninjured side and he squeezes so tightly I grimace and almost cry out. I say nothing though. How can I complain about a little ache after seeing his mangled shoulder? The medic then tells him to raise the arm to the side, providing a light touch of support as he does so. I hate seeing the pain twist his face, but the medic is smiling. "Good. No loss of motion, which means no connective tissue damage." Another medic mops away the blood that continues to drain from the wounds. "A few stitches and some rest will do wonders. Now, Priestess," she looks at me, "I think the people would like to know their hero will survive."

  I know a dismissal when I hear one. I want to stay, but on the same side of the drachar, I’m relieved. I honestly don’t think I could handle watching the needle going in and out of the bloody gashes on Theseus’s shoulder. I nod. Before I can go, Theseus reasserts his grip on my hand. "Thank you," he says. I hold his intense gaze. I‘m overwhelmed with the thought that I cannot leave, that I cannot be separated from him. But the tide of this certainty is broken when the assistant holds out a mug of what smells like the most fortified wine in Osteria.

  "You’ll want this," she says. Theseus releases my hand to take it, makes a little toast to me, and downs it in a few gulps. As my hand throbs back to life, I can see the instant effect of the drink as his eyes glaze and his cheeks warm. I leave the room as the lead medic begins threading a needle and her assistant washes the wounds with hot wine.

  Minoans, like many Osterians, love to celebrate. And tonight they pull out all the stops. It’s as if after months of being denied happiness they want to make up for all their lost joy in one night.

  The moon is high in the sky and, when I make my announcement of Theseus’s well-being, the celebrations rage on with new vigor. Holding out a platter of food and a jug of wine, Iolalus invites me to a corner of the main plaza where we can watch the crowd without being swept up in it.

  "I know this wasn’t Minos’s fault," Iolalus says, finishing off the last of the cheese.

  "How?" I can’t help but glance at his hair. We don’t allow oracles in Minoa. Most are charlatans or give such convoluted answers you’re no better off than before you asked your question.

  "No, it’s not the sight. I spend half my days telling people I’m no oracle. But I am observant. I saw Pasiphae’s behavior. It was her, wasn’t it?"

  "Yes, she seduced Minos then came up with some elaborate trick to get him to give over his army to the Council, and who knows what lies she conned them with. Still, you would think they would have looked into what she said before acting."

  "The Council," he says with derision and downs the wine that’s left in his cup. "I think someone wants war. I was about to give it to them if Theseus hadn’t done his job as hero. The Council. Aryana. I’m not sure which, but I promise I’ll tell everyone I meet that Minos wasn’t behind this. Minoa won’t have to worry about retaliation."

  I thank him. His words and his promise are a relief from a worry I hadn’t even realized I’d been carrying. Even though the minotaur is dead and the poli will no longer have to send their children to us, the people Osteria would certainly hold a grudge against Minos. After all, three poli had to suffer before Athenos, before Theseus, ended it. It’s good to know Minos’s name will be cleared. The Council should answer for not looking into the matter more closely, but I don’t want to think of that now. Just then, Yerni dances (dances! I didn’t think he had it in him) over and delivers us two big bowls of noodles. The snack of bread and cheese has wakened my appetite and I realize I haven’t eaten all day.

  The Portacean Solon proves to be good company as the party doesn’t slacken even as the moon slides across the sky and finally goes into hiding. I didn’t meet him when he was here last year since I had travelled to Bendria to help a farmer with a couple sick oxen. The farmer said he didn’t trust "his fellows" to the animal medics in his district, being convinced they had deals worked out with the meat suppliers. It turned out he was right, which meant I had to stay even longer than I’d planned to help sort out the legal mess and to bring in some true animal medics.

  As Iolalus is telling me of his time with his cousin Herc and their battle against the monster Lerna, something nags for my attention. I look up to see Theseus, arm in a sling, slowly walking across the forum toward where Iolalus and I sit on a low brick wall. My heart flutters and I chide myself for having a crush on this man who every woman in Osteria will now be flocking to.

  The hero can’t escape a few toasts, but he eventually makes his way to us. I can’t stop staring at him and notice his eyes are fixed on me as well. I wonder how he escaped the medics. Surely, they must want him to rest to avoid ruining their hard work. Then the thought hits me: If he’s well enough to walk about, he’s well enough to leave. I don’t want him to leave Minoa, but it’s foolish to think he would stay here. Yes, this is an exciting, wealthy kingdom that many Osterians would love to call home, but he will have to go to Athenos, tell them the news of his triumph, and enjoy the praise from his father, his people, and—I assume jealously—many eligible women. I feel terrible, but I almost wish our medics weren’t so skilled. If he could only be forced to stay here another week, I would ask for nothing more. But to leave now after we’ve barely had a couple days together? I return to my conviction that these gods of his are cruel indeed.

  Theseus holds my gaze and my gut gives a jolt at the warmth I see in his eyes. To think of receiving a look like that every morning for the rest of my life.

  I realize I’ve completely blanked out Iolalus’s words, but he seems more amused than upset. He glances around. "I better go see what Odysseus is doing," he says and smiles knowingly at me as he gets up to leave. I notice for the first time that even though he limps slightly, he’s not using his cane tonight.

  Theseus takes my hand and we slip out of the crowded forum to stroll down a side street that will eventually lead to the temple. Without warning, he stops and steps in front of me. He leans forward slightly and I smell the medics’ wine on his breath, but he seems sober enough. I tilt my head, afraid to move closer for fear of jostling his shoulder. Just as I’m thinking he will back off, that maybe he only stopped to get a pebble from his sandal, he kisses me. My entire body floods with pleasure. I want to reach out to hold him, but I remind myself of his injuries. His good arm slides around my waist, pulling me a little closer, but not as near as I’d like to be.

  It’s some time before our lips part again and I feel as dizzy as if it was me who had been given the medics’ strong wine. I want his lips on mine again. I want his hands on me. I hate the thought of being separated from him.

  "Come with me," he says. My heart jumps. Does he mean to his room? He kisses me again and I marvel at the feel of our tongues playing their game. He stops, but only pulls his mouth far enough away to speak. "I have to go home, but if you—"

  "Anywhere. I’ll go anywhere," I say, and I mean it, even if he’s only implying that we sneak off to an alleyway to share each other tonight.

  "You would come to Athenos with me?" he asks in relieved amazement and I’m glad he does indeed mean for me to spend more than just a night with him. Instead of replying, I take his hand and continue to the temple. In a small alcove where robes and blankets are stored, I kiss him and ease him down onto the makeshift bedding. With his injuries, our bedsport is quiet and careful, but as the revelers cheer in the streets below we both cry out with pleasure.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Aphrodite

  WHILE THE COMMON room erupts in cheers at the defeat of the minotaur, I sneak off to my private rooms to pull up a scene of in the birdbath on my balcony. Thanks to Zeus’s exploits with mortals and his need to hide himself from Hera’s jealous eyes while he was in the midst of those exploits, my father developed many tricks to hide himself when he was with humans—tricks he taught his children, including Ares. Because of these lessons it normally takes a few
tries to pin down the location of Ares when he’s with a mortal. But I’ve been spying on him so often lately it takes me little time to find him in my makeshift gazing pool.

  Raucous laughter booms from the common room. Corks pop and soon glasses are clinking while the gods—even though they did nothing but pester Poseidon, and I was the only one who stepped in to help the humans—congratulate themselves for the victory. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not bitter, but I have too much on my mind right now to celebrate my own cleverness. I can’t be happy until I know Ares is through with Pasiphae. She has failed him after all, thanks to me.

  Pasiphae sits alone sulking on a train carriage. An odd place to be, but who can ever understand the minds of mortals? In a flash that brings warmth to Pasiphae’s cold visage, Ares appears in her train carriage. I wish I had a team of painters with me because I would have paid them all the drachars in Osteria to capture the look on Pasiphae’s face when she sees him. But even the best artists wouldn’t have had time to paint the priceless expression because her look of fearful shock instantly morphs into one of confident resignation.

  "We’ll just have to try again," she says, scooting her bony hips over to make more room for Ares to join her. When she pats the bench seat, Ares doesn’t take the invitation. I give a laugh of triumph when he takes the bench opposite her instead, then silence myself so I can be sure to hear Ares’s response.

  "You had your chance," he says. His eyes are cold. Even when he was shouting insults at me last winter, his eyes were hot with anger, showing he still had an inkling passion for me. His eyes now prove that what little heat he had for Pasiphae has cooled.

  "Someone helped him," Pasiphae says. Her drawn face turns pale, a color that looks even more sickly when it reflects the green of her dress.

  "What makes you think he had help?" Ares asks switching places to sit beside her. His proximity after his distance brings a wary look to her face. When he runs his fingers along her knee, she jolts and appears as if she would like to huddle into the corner of the carriage. I smile. I know Ares’s move isn’t lust. It’s more like predation. Like a cat playing with a bird it’s just captured before making the final kill.

  "Because it’s impossible for him to have survived on his own," her voice trembles. "My son can’t be defeated."

  "Clearly it’s not impossible because they are building the pyre for your son’s lifeless body as we speak," he whispers in her ear. Despite the cruel intention of the words, his close intimacy and the lack of anger in his voice seems to embolden her and she eases toward him.

  "It was one of the gods, wasn’t it? That chain. That was no manmade thing. Who was it? Hephaestus?"

  Ares pauses. A knowing look crosses his face. "No, not Hephaestus," he says absently.

  "Regardless of who it was, they meddled just like they always do." She says this as if Ares isn’t a god who loves to meddle in mortal affairs himself. She leans forward as if to kiss him. "How could you let them betray me?"

  He pushes her away, giving my heart a little surge of delight when Pasiphae’s pucker goes unnoticed. I can’t help but laugh. Ares’s cocks his head, listening to the air as if he’s heard me. The smallest grin shows on his lips.

  "The gods are busy with other matters," he says. "As am I. You were useful for a time, but no longer. You’re no partner for me. You couldn’t even keep a simple priestess from spoiling my plans."

  "No, it couldn’t have been her."

  "Don’t be stupid. Of course it was. She gave him that belt. He would never have made it out without it. Your guards let him in wearing that chain and a dagger. Was it such a difficult task for you to bring guards who aren’t blind?" Ares shouts with derisive accusation. Drops of nervous sweat break out on Pasiphae’s face. "Minos was about to cave into our demands, Portaceae was on the verge of declaring war, and now that priestess and Theseus have ruined everything."

  "But that’s not my fault," Pasiphae pleads. "Surely we can—"

  "No, you’ve had your chance and I have found you very disappointing. Goodbye, Pasiphae."

  Ares vanishes in a blast that is so full of heat, Pasiphae’s gown catches on fire. She jumps up, screaming. Her movements fuel the flames and soon her hair is burning as well. With the noise of the revelry going on behind the kingdom’s walls, no one hears her calls for help. If she dies, Ares will be blamed for killing a mortal. It’s this more than compassion—although I am proud to admit that I do feel a little sympathy for her physical pain—that makes me flick at the birdbath with my forefinger. The motion sends a surge of water into the carriage, dousing the flames. I then nudge a porter who notices the smoke and raises the alarm. I don’t bother sticking around this scene to see if she’ll be alright. Minoa has good medics, after all.

  Instead, I call up Ares again. My heart leaps at the sight of him. He’s in the plain just below Olympus near a small lake where he’s watching Theseus, Iolalus, Odysseus, and Ariadne who have made camp somewhere in eastern Osteria. As always, time is a strange thing for us immortals. It stretches and contracts. So, while a day has passed for the mortals in Osteria, the gods are still reveling in the common room and it feels as if only moments have flickered by since Pasiphae was carted off to the hospital and bandaged by medics who were not hopeful about her future.

  I know Ares will still be fuming. To him it was only minutes ago that he argued with Pasiphae. I think of letting him cool down, but I want to be beside him while his passion is burning. I pause at my mirror to check my hair, then brush my hands along my gown to make it just a little more sheer. My fingers linger at my waist, at the delicate chain that has returned to its proper shape and length. I may not love my husband Hephaestus, but it is a fine belt he has made for me and I wasn’t about to leave it in that pit below Minoa. Once everyone had gotten out, I conjured it back to me just as easily as I had sent it to the priestess. Satisfied that I look irresistible, I snap my fingers and deliver myself to the field below.

  "Troubled?" I ask as I appear next to Ares, startling him away from watching the group. Odysseus and Iolalus have gone to sleep, but the movement under Theseus and Ariadne’s blanket indicates they are enjoying one another. The thought of what they are doing makes me long for Ares even more, but when I meet his eyes, he glares at me. Despite the anger creasing his brow, he is gorgeous. I don’t back down, mainly because I can’t stop looking at him and because I want to pull him to the ground and mimic what the mortals are doing. My desire must show, because as he stares at me his gaze slowly changes from anger to lust. Eventually, a faint smile turns up the corners of his lips.

  "It's difficult to be so close to getting something and watching it slip through your fingers," he says, waving his fingers before me. I know he means his war, but I also wonder if he means us. He moves closer, coming only a hand’s breadth from touching me. I’m embarrassed by how good it feels to be near him, at how much I want him to move his hands to my hips and pull me to him. But showing him this is not how I want to play this game. I step away from him and, as if he means nothing to me, I step over to peer into his gazing pool. His powers are so limited now he’s barely able to do this common trick and the images flicker in and out. I wave my hand, replacing what he’s brought up with my own gazing pool.

  Theseus and his lover now sleep. The hero has his hand on Ariadne’s hip, but she shifts and it drops away.

  "All because of her," I say distractedly.

  "Yes. All because of her." He touches the belt at my waist and looks at me knowingly. "She ought to suffer for it."

  "Is that fair? After all, it was Theseus who killed your lover’s creature."

  "She's no longer my lover." My heart thrills to hear this directly from his mouth, but I say nothing, waiting for him to continue. "And yes, he’s at fault too. They’re both at fault. He may have killed the minotaur, but he would've died in the maze if not for her help. They’ve stolen what I want."

  "What is it you want it?" I ask innocently, still looking into the pool.

 
; He takes my face in his hands and gently turns it so I’m looking into his eyes.

  "Did you involve yourself in this?" he asks, his voice stern but not angry as his fingers caress my cheeks.

  "I may have."

  "Why? Why should I not blame you? Why should I not cast you aside or tell Zeus to chain you to your husband in his volcano?" Ares’s arms wrap around my waist and I can feel his hardness. A throb pulses through my groin in response.

  "You ask me questions, but don’t answer mine," I say calmly even though I feel like I’m panting out the words.

  "I want revenge. And I want war."

  His lips are close enough to touch mine, but I don’t react. I don’t want him to know how much I want him.

  "Do you?" I respond as if he’s only asked for a new tunic. "Then why this whole thing." I indicate the pool, but he understands I mean everything that led to this group camping together. "Pasiphae was going about it in a clumsy manner, wouldn’t you say?"

  "With no results," he says bitterly.

  "What if I could give you what you want?"

  "I would love you. No. I would worship you."

  A sigh tries to sneak from my throat but I tame it into a noncommittal noise. I push his hands away gently then turn back to the pool, pondering what to do. I won’t cause them harm, it wouldn’t be fair after they’ve helped me do away with my rival.

  "As for revenge," I begin, thinking of the least cruel way to satisfy that request. Ariadne doesn’t deserve to be tortured for my interference. "I could make him forget her. Move them so she is left alone." I make the motion with my hand as if demonstrating what I mean. I glance to Ares. His eyes are eager, encouraging. He gives a single nod of approval.

  It’s heartless, I know. They’re still in bandit country and Ariadne could come to harm if left on her own, but I’ll make certain to tell Dionysus that Ariadne needs him as soon as I return to Olympus. He won’t let anyone hurt her. I put my fingertips between Theseus and Ariadne and pull them apart. Without any effort on my part, my touch instantly heals the wounds in his shoulder. I scoop him, Iolalus, Odysseus, and their horses into my hand and shift them to the border of Athenos. After a moment’s thought I decide I might as well simply send Iolalus home, so I move him to his house in Portaceae City and his horse to its stable. Odysseus I know still has matters to settle with Medea in Athenos so I leave him with Theseus. With a stroke of my finger across his head, I wipe the memory of Ariadne from Theseus’s mind. He’ll know who she is, but not what she did for him or how he felt for her. It’s been a while since I’ve done this to someone, but I’m sure it will have no lasting effects.