The Maze of Minos

by Tammie Painter

  "Done," I say with a shrug of my shoulders. "As for your war, certain events are already in motion, and certain promises have been made that will not fail to lead to war." I know this is a bold proclamation and I worry I could end up just like Pasiphae if unable to make good on my claim. After all, Helen may find herself happy with the man she chooses from Tyndareus’s list. Or Paris may return to his old ways and forget the beautiful Vancusian altogether. But mortals can be very predictable and this certainly wouldn’t be the first time their love served as a catalyst for war.

  Ares, eyes blazing with excitement, snakes an arm around my waist and grabs me to him. His kiss is more passionate than any I remember. Despite our tongues doing battle with one another, despite my intention to play the cool goddess, I moan with delight. I move my hands down to lift his tunic, but he breaks away.

  "How did I ever turn my back on you?"

  "Never do it again," I whisper. And then I can keep up the pretense of disinterest no longer. I pull him down on top of me into the grass.

  * * *

  It’s dawn before we’re satisfied. Ares sleeps heavily beside me and I, tired in a most wonderful way, start to drift off myself. The smooth rhythm of Ares’s breathing should lull me to sleep, but something nags at me. I open my eyes and see the empty bottle of wine I had conjured up earlier now resting on its side. Just as I think another glass is exactly the thing to settle my restless head, I bolt up from the grass.

  Dionysus.

  I need to get him to see Ariadne before any trouble comes to her. Not even daring to kiss Ares lightly on the cheek to say goodbye, I bring my hands together in the quietest clap possible and vanish to Olympus without waking him.

  The common room shows every sign of a night of celebrating. Bottles that once held sparkling Illamosian wine litter the floor, glasses stand empty on the tables, bowls still gleam iridescently from the ambrosia they once contained. As I step through the confetti-filled mess, Hermes is the first to see me.

  "And where did you disappear to?" he asks teasingly.

  I can’t imagine what I must look like after a few hours of sporting in the grass with Ares. I feel an unexpected pang of guilt. Despite his own love for Ares, Hermes comforted me when Ares humiliated me last winter, but I—too proud to accept his kindness—lashed out at him. Now I wonder if Hermes can smell Ares on me as he scrutinizes me with his big black eyes. It’s clear he still expects me to snap at him and I have to give him credit for standing his ground.

  "Is Dionysus here?" I ask. I could have brought up a map to track him, but I know Hermes will be able to tell me faster than any gazing pool could. Besides, he’ll enjoy being in the intrigue.

  "He’s with Demeter and Artemis on the terrace. Athena’s there as well. She finally decided to show up. All this time, she’s been trying to smooth some matter over with the Amazonians. Can you believe it? While her own polis is belching out the Osterian hero of the century, she’s off consulting with a band of reclusive and aggressive women," he says with irritable wonder. "But you’re looking for Dionysus. Why?" His face, full of exacerbation over Athena’s absence, softens—no, not softens, but rather brightens with a wry smile. He senses gossip is afoot and follows me out of the room and onto the main, and largest, of Olympus’s terraces. I really must be a sight because Athena, Demeter, and Dionysus look up from some sort of schematic with faces as full of surprise as if they've just heard Zeus take an oath of celibacy. Athena, elegant Athena, is the first to recover. Her owl holds its head high as she fills me in on their discussion as if I care.

  "One of my engineers has designed a harvesting machine. I was just showing Demeter and Dionysus how it could speed up bringing in the crops."

  "Grapes must be handled with care," Dionysus says with the frustration of having explained a thing countless times. "This sort of metallic monstrosity is fine for crude things like grain, but not for a fine and delicate crop like my grapes."

  I snap my fingers and a pool of water shimmers on the tile floor beside Dionysus. He looks down at the scene I’ve conjured. His eyes widen with excitement, then quickly harden into a scowl.

  Ariadne, looking utterly confused and lost, stands alone on the Osterian Road. Her eyes dart back and forth as she clutches a blanket to her chest. A band of men on horses circle around her. Her horse is gone; it must have bolted when the men charged in. The blood drains from my face. I shouldn’t have let this happen. I sneak a glance at Dionysus. The scene has had the opposite effect on him and his cheeks burn red as if flushed from wine.

  Hermes watches me. "What have you done, Aphrodite?" he whispers. I shoot him a scornful look, but then drop my eyes, ashamed. I have put her in danger by losing track of time with Ares.

  Dionysus jumps from his seat. "They left her? Those morons just left her in the middle of nowhere?" He yells so loudly the terrace shakes.

  "She’ll be okay, won’t she?" Demeter asks.

  "Who is this?" Athena questions, but no one answers her.

  The men close in around Ariadne. Likely, these are bandits who have been pushed out of Portaceae now that the polis finally has the resources to build up their vigile force and roust out the troublemakers. They start shouting at Ariadne, I hope they will just harass her, give her a little scare, and be on their way. But Ariadne is no wilting flower. Despite her obvious fear, she yells back. I whisper to her to shut up. Ignore them and they may just go away. When she finds courage enough to stamp and shout at the horses to try to frighten them into a retreating gallop, the men react instantly.

  One draws a club, swings it high then whips it against her shoulder. The second, staying mounted by holding tight with his legs, gallops his horse at Ariadne. He nears the priestess with one fist raised. Leaning daringly over, he punches as he passes. His fist connects with her face so powerfully I see spit and blood fly from her mouth. She drops down, not falling, but crouching into a huddle to make a smaller target. But, as if they were sharks, the sight of her blood seems to make them ravenous for more. It all happens quite fast, especially to a mortal’s time frame, but a god’s reaction time should be fast enough to halt this. I wonder if all the wine he consumes has slowed Dionysus’s reflexes.

  They dismount. One, the one who hasn’t had the chance to attack the woman, has drawn a sword, the one with the club smacks it against his hand, and the other is tucking the front of his tunic into his belt, exposing his aroused state. My gaze darts to Dionysus. His hands are clenched into fists, his breathing is furious, but he isn’t jumping in to help her like I had expected. I can’t let this happen. She was only meant to be cold and lonely for a while. I was supposed to get Dionysus to her soon after I moved Theseus, Odysseus, and Iolalus. I only meant to be with Ares for an hour.

  The aroused man is on top of Ariadne. She’s bleeding and hurt but this doesn’t stop her from putting up a fight as she slams her legs closed. The men laugh at her efforts. The other two, who seem willing to wait their turn, grab Ariadne by her arms and flip her over. The half-naked man tugs on her, trying to force her hips up to give him access.

  I’m about to snap my fingers to go to Ariadne’s side and protect her myself, when Dionysus growls, "I’ll kill them." He claps his hands and vanishes in a wine-colored haze.

  "Does he think she's hiding a jug of wine?" Artemis asks. "He doesn't move that fast for anything but a good vintage."

  Dionysus appears by Ariadne’s side. With one thrust of his arm the attackers are thrown back as if blasted by a hurricane-force wind. Dionysus uses his powers so little it’s amazing to see just how strong he can be. The horses charge off, instinctively fleeing the wrath of the god. The sword man trips on his rear foot, stumbling then falling over a stone and crashing to the ground. Dionysus snaps his fingers and a tangle of grape vines bind the man from knee to ankle.

  The club-carrying man holds tight to his weapon. With a single flick of Dionysus’s wrist, the club sprouts sinewy greenery and the man’s arms are bound with vines. Ariadne’s would-be rapist lunges to
ward Dionysus. The god snaps his fingers to call up his staff—a long pole made of an ancient piece of grapewood and tipped with a golden pinecone. Dionysus stands still, holding the staff steadily at waist level. The man, unable to halt his momentum in such a short space, impales his groin on the staff’s golden tip. It’s not a wound that will kill him, which will save Dionysus from facing any tribunal. The man screams in pain, clutching his hands to his groin, to the body parts that have now been ripped beyond recognition.

  With a single command, the staff and the men disappear—where they’ve gone, I don’t know, but I imagine they might soon be facing the ferocity of the Middish. Ariadne, again in her huddled crouch, her eyes wide with disbelief, has seen everything. She watches Dionysus. I wonder if she, being a kingdom dweller, even knows who he is.

  "Dionysus seems to need no love spell," Hermes whispers to me in a tone that implies he knows I made Ariadne and Theseus love one another for my own gain.

  "No god or goddess should." I try to sound confident as if I don’t understand his insinuation, but I merely sound defensive.

  "Medea’s violence was the consequence of your last spell. What will be the damage this time?"

  "It’s nothing. I made it on both sides. Now that they have parted ways, it will fade. The consequences will be minimal." I turn my attention back to the gazing pool to end this inquiry.

  Dionysus is now helping the priestess to her feet. He sweeps his hands over her shoulder and face, healing the gashes and bruises as he does so. She’s trembling worse than someone standing naked in an ice storm. He enfolds her in his arms and soothes her with his voice. The gentleness of his tone and the sweet expression on his face speak volumes of his affection for this human. And she, thanks to me, has forgotten her affection for Theseus. She appears intrigued by this unexpected attention from a god and doesn’t pull away when he takes her by the hand. He waves his free hand to create an arbor for shade with a couch underneath—a small couch so they are forced to sit quite close. Once seated, a table appears with a breakfast of tea, toast, and fruit for them to enjoy as they get to know one another.

  "Looks like he’s finally found something he enjoys besides a good vintage," Artemis says with a shrug.

  They are so busy watching Dionysus woo this mortal woman, I think to make my escape before questions can be asked. I raise my hands to clap and get back to Ares, but Hermes puts his own hand in between mine to stop me.

  "Are you sure you want to go back?" The way he asks makes me question myself for a moment. For Ares, I nearly ruined this woman’s life. For Ares, I am about to start a war—if, of course, the mortals act as predictably as they always do. Is that what’s best when Osteria is so close to a long-term peace? Then I think of my lover, of being with him, of being by his side. Warmth surges through me at the memory of his touch. The possibility of being the head goddess alongside him, teases me. I mentally shrug. Osteria has had wars before. At least this time I will profit from it.

  "Stop being so jealous. You know he doesn’t want you," I say cruelly.

  "I’ve seen him for what he is and I don’t want him. Not anymore. I hope you’ll see his true nature one day." He lowers his hand from between mine, but the little pest has put me in such a bad mood, I storm off to my room instead of returning to Ares.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Medea

  "A WEDDING GIFT has arrived for you," Aegeus says, peeking into my sitting room. "From Colchis," he adds like a mischievous boy who is excited to share a secret.

  I jump up. Or at any rate, I want to jump up, but I’m so heavy with child my limbs seem to have lost their spring. This is the problem with accelerating a pregnancy, the body doesn’t have time to adjust to the sudden increase in bulk, unlike a normal pregnancy in which weight is slowly added on over nine months allowing the body to strengthen along with the additional burden. So, instead of jumping, I hoist myself ungracefully from the chair, but in my heart I’m jumping. A gift from Colchis can only be from my father. This is good news. This means he acknowledges my marriage and knows of his forthcoming grandchild.

  "What is it?" I ask, going to the window that looks out over the villa’s courtyard where deliveries are normally made, but there is nothing to see. Whatever it is has already been delivered and stashed away.

  "A bull. Seems an odd gift. Maybe he thinks you’ve married Minos," he adds. I think he intends it as a joke, but it falls gravely flat. After all, even if he pretends certainty in Theseus’s ability, my husband has to know his son might already be dead due to Minos’s cruelty. "A bull," he mutters again.

  Embarrassment creeps over me. I’ve married into the most technologically advanced polis in Osteria and now my father has made me feel no better than an agrarian peasant by giving me a piece of livestock for a wedding gift. Still, I know this is no ordinary animal. This must be one of the pair of the fire-breathing bulls my father owns. It’s a valuable creature, but I wonder if my father is sending me a message, reminding me of the man who fought these animals—the man who is still legally my husband. It would be just like my father to give a gift that both celebrates and chastises me.

  "My father probably sees it as valuable. If I’m correct, it’s a very large animal. It would make an excellent meal to celebrate Theseus’s return." I say this encouragingly even though I know Theseus is probably dead by now. His time with the minotaur would have been yesterday. I stroke my belly, dismayed by my father’s tactlessness, but content that my child is now Aegeus’s only heir and, as he has promised me, will be named so on his birthday. Perhaps I’ll have the butchers make some jerky from the bull and send a pack to my father with word of my success and to let him know he too has an heir.

  "Yes, let’s hope we have some news to celebrate soon," Aegeus says and for a moment I think he means my child inheriting both the kingdom of Colchis and the polis of Athenos, but then I realize with a stab of annoyance he means Theseus’s return. I touch his arm to give comfort.

  "I’m sure we will. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll rest a bit."

  Aegeus makes offers to fetch me food, wine, pillows, but I assure him several times I have all I need before he finally goes. I’m barely two pages into the book I’m reading when a knock sounds at my door. I roll my eyes. Can Aegeus not find something to do other than cater to me?

  "Come in," I call, not wanting to make the effort to get up again.

  The door creaks open and a boy with a smudge of dirt across his cheek peers in. It’s one of the servants I’ve seen bustling about the palace—villa, I remind myself—but I’m not sure what he does exactly. Once in, he stands with his hands behind his back and looking shyly at the floor.

  "You don’t have to act so scared. Even if I wanted to bite you, I’m sure you could outrun me," I say lightly. He blushes and finally steps forward. He holds out a crumpled letter.

  "This came along with your, your wedding gift."

  When I reach for the letter, I see his hand is burnt.

  "Do you work in the kitchens?"

  "No, ma'am. The stables. I tried to pet your, your gift."

  "Better stick to petting the ponies. This fellow doesn’t like to be touched." I push myself up, my back aches with tension and I tell myself I need to stretch before I become a stiff old hag. I go to my shelves and sort through a stack of jars until I find the salve I’m looking for. I scoop a little out and rub it on his hands. The look of relief on his face is plain. An unexpected pang of nostalgia hits me as I recall the last person I gave the salve to: Jason. But I shake off the feeling. He betrayed me. I shouldn't waste my thoughts on him. I hand the jar to the boy.

  "This will not only soothe the burn, but also protect your skin from further scalding."

  "Thank you ma'am," the boy says, his face blushing bright red as he scurries out of the room.

  I turn the letter over and recognize my father’s scrawl. Thankfully he's only put "To the bride" on the front and not my real name to be seen by the villa’s servants who might re
cognize it. I again wonder if he’s being cynical by calling me a bride when I am already another man’s wife. I crack the seal. Every sentence adds another log to the fire of my anger until I’m a raging inferno by the time I’m through.

  Daughter,

  You've wed again. And rumor has it you’ve bred again as well. Maybe this time you can keep the bairn alive for more than a day.

  I sit here in my castle, the home you abandoned, wrapped in the cloak you sent.

  I stare at the letter in confusion. I sent my father no cloak, no gift at all. He never deserved one. I continue reading, hoping the doddering old fool will start making sense.

  It was found amongst the piles of threats I received from the people of Illamos Valley who were angry with you for what you did to your twins, and angry with me for having sired you. After the first fifty messages I gave up and let all the letters from outside Colchis pile up in the receiving room. But eventually it got to be too much and I set a girl the task of sorting them. She found the cloak that now keeps me warm. She was a good little worker and probably more loyal than you. Too bad she died soon after giving me this bit of comfort.

  Now I’m sick. It's been building in me and I don't doubt I’ll die soon.

  I will die a disappointed man.

  You killed my heir, Abby.

  You killed my heirs, your twins from Jason.