by Kyla Stone
The people gather on the rocky beach before the entrance to the Labyrinth, bouquets of myrtles, crocuses, and rock roses clutched in their hands. They form two groups, leaving a wide aisle leading to the great door, cheering and tossing flowers at the tributes’ feet.
Still, a few in the crowd frown. A woman wipes at her eyes. Several men turn their faces away to hide their disapproval. The whisper carries on the wind: They’re only children. This is wrong.
But it doesn’t matter what the people think. The tribute offering is the will of my father, and so it’s the will of the goddess. The procession continues. Nothing will stop it.
On either side of the door stand seven priests and seven priestesses, their arms raised in the worship of the goddess and the sacred bull as they chant the sacred songs in the ancient tongue.
I am among them, standing closest to the entrance, dressed in my elaborate priestess robes for the last time. Beneath the robes, I’m wearing the same simple white tunic as the tributes—a sleeveless shift that falls above my knees, belted at the waist with a braided rope. And beneath the tunic, a clean loincloth and a strip of white cloth that binds my chest. I don’t know what dangers I’ll face. I need to be able to move as I do in the arena.
The hilts of the two hidden daggers dig into the insides of my thighs. The ball of thread burns inside my closed fist like a coal. Hidden behind the rocky outcropping at my feet is the leather satchel of food, water, and torches I packed and stowed here last night. I’m as prepared as I can be.
In the center of the beach, the bronze altar stands between two pillars mounted with the sacred labrys. A thin curl of smoke rises from the altar. The air smells of burnt meat, spiced wine, and the sharp tang of blood.
My father stands behind the altar, a sheepskin cape draped around his shoulders over his ceremonial robes, the leather and bronze mask of a bull set upon his head. The king-bull’s body slumps before the altar, his spirit already sacrificed and offered to the gods.
“Tributes of Athens, we thank you for your offering,” my father booms. “May the goddess bless Crete with fertile soil and abundant crops. May Earth-Shaker spare us for another season.”
My mother and sister stand off to the side, surrounded by a retinue of courtesans, advisers, counselors, and the royal guard. My elegant mother is still and graceful as a marble statue, her delicate features smoothed into a cold, blank mask. She reveals no hint of emotion, no weakness.
My hand strays to the vial at my neck, tucked beneath my priestess robes.
My gaze meets Tarina’s. She stands a little apart, her hands fisted in front of her, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. White bandages peek out beneath the center opening in her bodice, but the healing potion worked beyond my greatest hopes. Her wounds are already red scars, her fractured ribs mended. She was furious with me when she awoke last night.
She sat up with a wince and patted her chest and ribs, a look of disbelief and wonderment on her face. “I am—healed.” Her expression darkened. “What did you do?”
I leaned over her, grasping her hands in mine. “What I had to do.”
“You went to your mother.”
I didn’t deny it. “You’ll live. That’s what matters.”
Her face blanched in dismay. “Oh, Ariadne. No. Tell me the cost. Tell me what she demanded of you.”
I told Tarina the bargain I struck, the quest I agreed to, everything.
She wept in my arms. “Your mother would throw one child away for the other,” she said, her eyes blazing.
“Not if I come back. Not if I accomplish this task.”
She shook her head, saying nothing, but I saw the bleakness in her eyes. She thinks this is an impossible task. She thinks my mother is sending me to my death. But she’s wrong. My mother believes I’m strong enough. She has faith in me.
I saved Tarina. Now I’ll save my brother.
Before I left to ready my satchel, I asked Tarina to complete several tasks for me, including gathering the pig bladders and feathers for Daedalus. Grudgingly, she agreed. She hates what I’m about to do, but she’ll help me any way that she can. I gave her my signet ring, and she bargained with the Athenian ship’s captain. We’ll need a way home once we’ve escaped the Labyrinth.
“I will come back,” I swore as I embraced her one last time. “I swear it.”
And I will. Maybe it’s true that the mother goddess has given me this task. What I know is this: my mother has given me another chance, and that’s all that matters.
But fear creeps into the corners of my mind now. Terror of the unknown, of what waits for me on the other side of that door, the creatures that crouch in the darkness of the Labyrinth.
You can still turn back. The temptation is so strong, it trembles my bones.
The procession of tributes reaches the stone door. Several weep. A blonde girl with a plaited braid crowning her head shudders and nearly faints. The tall copper-haired girl beside her grips her shoulder and holds her up, their faces slack with terror.
All except for Theseus. Theseus, who strides fearlessly at the end of the line, a full head taller than any of the other tributes, the muscles of his chest and legs rippling, his broad shoulders straight and regal. A shaft of sunlight peeking through the gray clouds lights his golden hair.
No wonder King Aegeus is willing to risk his only son. Athens desperately needs a hero, and here before us is surely that hero, who may be as mighty as his cousin Heracles, whose famous exploits span across the known world. Surely, Theseus has been blessed by the gods.
Theseus glares at me, breaking the spell. Confusion and suspicion flare in his blue eyes. He thinks I’ve betrayed him. I promised him a weapon and the secret of the Labyrinth. So far, I’ve given him neither.
I meet his gaze without flinching. He’ll find out soon enough. I didn’t tell him I planned to enter the Labyrinth for fear he’d refuse or even report me to the guards. I couldn’t be sure that he’d trust me.
And he shouldn’t. I push that thought down deep. I can’t dwell on what I must do, or the doubt and dread will tear me to pieces. I must be strong. I am strong.
My father nods, and several priests move to the stone door. Built into the side of the mountain, the door so thick and heavy, it takes five priests to pull it along its track. It can’t be opened from the inside. The door won’t open again for a full cycle of the seasons, by sacred decree of the high priestess.
The sky darkens like a stain. A great rasping, creaking sound fills the air as the entrance to the Labyrinth opens like a gaping wound. I can see nothing inside beyond an impenetrable blackness. A vile stench wafts out: the stink of rotting, putrid flesh.
The tributes pass me one by one. The curly-haired blond boy who tripped over my foot on the wharf gazes up at me with pale, horror-stricken eyes. He balks, unable to force his legs to move another step.
A royal guard lunges at him, seizes him roughly, and thrusts him through the doorway into the Labyrinth. The darkness swallows him up. The boy screams, the sound distant and echoing.
Theseus is last. He pauses just outside the entrance, glowering at me. “When I get out,” he spits, “I will come for you and repay you for this betrayal—"
“I may not be that hard to find,” I whisper.
A guard shoves Theseus with the butt of his spear. “Move!”
The priests begin shutting the door. The tributes shout in dismay. The people watch in silence as the priestesses sing louder, drowning out the cries of the tributes. The great stone door rasps slowly closed, the opening shrinking, shrinking.
Fear settles over me, a great stone crushing my chest. My veins flush cold as winter rain. The terrible reality of what I’m about to do sinks in. It hasn’t been real until this moment. It’s real now.
My mother meets my eyes. She smiles at me, warm and encouraging and full of approval.
In one swift movement, I bend down, grasp the bag hidden behind the rock at my feet, dart forward, and slip through the crack.
&
nbsp; My father shouts. My sister gives a heart-rending shriek. The crowd bursts into confused gasps and screams.
Through the narrow opening, I turn and glimpse hundreds of shocked faces, the roiling thunderclouds above their heads, the dark glitter of the sea beyond the beach.
The door seals shut with a final, shuddering groan.
Chapter Nine
Everything plunges into blackness.
Not a speck of light makes it through the seams of the door, each limestone block as thick as a man’s arm-span. Heavy and oppressive, it’s a darkness like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
I blink several times, as if I might wake from this terrible dream. Everywhere I turn, there’s only darkness. I lift my hands and flutter my fingers in front of me. Nothing.
The fetid stench is overwhelming. It crawls into my throat, nearly choking me. I gasp, sucking in ragged breaths. This is nothing like the arena. What have I done?
The tributes stumble in the blackness. Several people bang their fists on the stone door, screaming and
begging for help that won’t come. A few tributes sob. Others sniffle and whimper.
“Where is she?” Theseus growls, undeterred from his promise to hurt me.
Instinctively, I shrink back. This is a mistake. How am I going to do this? I’m going to die in here. The tributes will kill me. And if they don’t, the monster will tear me apart before I even—
No. I bite my tongue until I taste coppery blood. I can’t let those doubting, traitorous thoughts in, can’t reveal the terror clawing up my throat. I can control my fear. I must. I force myself to stand up tall, to square my shoulders. I take a single, shuddering breath. “I’m here.”
Something shuffles closer. The darkness shifts like moving air currents. Fingers scrabble across my skin, feeling for my scar. I know it’s him. Theseus. He still smells of salt and sea, even in here.
“Princess.” He grasps my upper arm and jerks hard. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I told you, I want the Minotaur just as much as you do. I’m here to help you find him and escape.”
“You said you would get me a weapon and a map, not that you would sweep in here like it was an afternoon frolicking in the palace.” Theseus’s voice is harsh, barely containing his rage.
“No one frolics in the palace.” I lift my chin even though he can’t see it. “And I have your weapon, just as I promised.”
A distant roar filters through the walls. Several tributes scream. The Minotaur bellows again, a dull rumble penetrating to my bones. My scar throbs. I’ve spent half a lifetime enduring those roars. But in here, they’re both a threat and a promise.
“It’s not close,” Theseus says through clenched teeth. “Keep your voices down, or you’ll lead it straight to us.”
A boy whimpers. Someone else weeps softly. But they stop screaming.
Theseus’s warm breath rustles against my cheek. His fingers dig into my skin. “Where’s the weapon?”
I twist my arm out of his grip. I can’t let him feel my fear. “I’m wearing it. If I gave it to you earlier, how would you have smuggled it past the priestesses? They dressed you themselves.”
I sense his hesitation as he considers my words.
“I’m the only one who could have brought anything in. It had to be this way.”
“You should’ve told me,” he says in a voice like the edge of an axe blade. “I don’t like surprises.”
“Neither do I,” says another, deeper voice. “What is this, Theseus? Are you colluding with our enemies now, too?”
“That’s none of your concern, Cadmus,” Theseus says darkly, tensing.
There’s enmity between Theseus and whoever this other boy is. It doesn’t matter. I’m the one who needs to take control of this conversation. “Would you like light or would you rather cower in the darkness?”
“You have light?” the deeper voice—Cadmus—demands.
“I do.” I loosen the strap of the leather satchel and take out one of the torches and the small leather pouch containing two flint stones. “Hold out your hands.”
I fumble until I feel Theseus’s outstretched hands. His fingers are thick and strong, his palms well-calloused. Strange for a prince. These aren’t the smooth, oiled hands of a pampered nobleman.
My skin buzzes where we touch. I yank my hands back.
Sparks fly as he strikes the stones against each other. I hold out one of the torches until it lights. The darkness recedes from the flickering flame, crouching at the edges of the firelight shimmering off the stone walls, the stone floors, the stone ceiling over our heads. A single passageway looms directly ahead of us.
The tributes and I stare at each other in the red glow bathing our faces. They eye me suspiciously, their expressions fearful and resentful.
I’m not one of them. I’m the enemy. Daughter of the king who trapped them in here to die, sister to the ravenous monster seeking to devour them. How could they not distrust me?
My stomach twists. It only means I must work harder to make them my allies. If I’m going to survive this place, I’ll need help. I must get Theseus and the other tributes to trust me, or my entire plan unravels to nothing.
“Weapon first,” Theseus says.
With the torch in one hand, I reach beneath my priestess robes and unstrap the dagger and sheath from my right thigh. I make sure to keep the second dagger on my left thigh hidden. I’ll need it later. Quickly, I cut off the robes. They are long and heavy and will only hinder me. The tributes watch in stony silence.
“Remember, I keep my promises.” I hand Theseus the dagger. The bronze hilt is inlaid with the image of a bull’s head in ivory and adorned with jewels. It flashes in the firelight, sharp as any sword. He deftly ties the sheath to the rope belt of his tunic.
“Who says you get to keep the dagger?” the boy who challenged Theseus earlier says sharply. He must be Cadmus. He’s tall, though not as tall as Theseus, slim and dark-haired, with a proud, narrow face, haughty eyes, and a noble bearing.
“I’ll slay the Minotaur,” Theseus says, “so I get the weapon.”
“That hardly seems fair—”
“If you want it,” Theseus says in a strained voice, shoulders thrown back, head high, “you’ll have to take it from me by force.”
Cadmus grits his teeth, his expression fierce. For a moment, he looks like he might take Theseus up on his offer. He’s likely from a powerful house, maybe even a cousin or nephew of the king. He’s used to getting his way—but with servants, girls, and those of lesser houses.
Finally, he relents and takes a step back, his arms falling to his sides. Here, politics don’t matter; he knows Theseus is physically stronger. He knows he can’t win.
“We’re wasting time attacking each other when we need to focus,” says a soft-voiced boy with dark brown skin. His hair is shorn close to his skull, his eyes shining like flecks of obsidian. He must come from the Afrikan kingdoms; Carthage, perhaps. He turns to me with a grim smile. There’s kindness in his gaze, or at least, not hatred. “I’m Eryx.”
His politeness is so unexpected in this hostile place that I only gape at him for a moment. “Thank you,” I stammer.
Eryx turns back to Theseus. “What is the plan?”
“The same as before,” Theseus says. “I’ll hunt the Minotaur to his lair and slay him, freeing our people once and for all. Then we’ll use Ariadne’s map to escape.”
“Why must we all go?” whines a boy of about fifteen summers with straight, straw-yellow hair to the tops of his narrow shoulders. His face is soft, round, and boyish. “We’ll take a torch and sit and wait for you to come back and open the door. We’re not warriors or soldiers. Why should we all go after the Minotaur when you’re the one who’s going to kill him?”
Several of the others nod in agreement. “Demetrios has a point,” a girl says.
“This door won’t open for a full turning of the seasons,” I say. “It’s a sacred decree. They won’t ope
n it until next spring, not even for me. No one will risk displeasing the Earth-Shaker. You may wait if you wish, but your body will crumble into bones and dust long before that stone door moves again.”
“Then we all go,” a burly boy says. “But we leave her here.”
“Good idea,” Demetrios says. “Let her father find her bones in a pile, not ours.”
Several tributes close in around me, their faces masks of despair, hatred, and barely restrained violence. They are doomed, but still breathing. Their helpless fury and terror at their fate suddenly has a source—Me.
“You don’t have to like me,” I say firmly, “but you need me.”
“We don’t need you,” says a tall girl with acorn-brown hair bound into braids hanging down her back. She’s beautiful, her face long and pointed, her green eyes arched slightly at the corners like a feline. She stands close to Theseus, her hands fisted on her hips, her elbow brushing his side. “We have your torches and your knife. We’ll take that map, too. Thank you for your offering.”
“She offered to help us,” Eryx says. “Perhaps we should listen to her.”
“We should listen to Kalliope,” another girl says to the tributes. “There’s no way we can trust a Cretan.”
“I say we just kill her.” The burly boy scowls. He’s large, almost as broad as Theseus, but not nearly as tall, with bulky arms, a thick torso and neck, and a square head. He’s handsome in a coarse, cruel way. I remember him from the feast. He takes a menacing step toward me, his hands curling into fists. His eyes are cold, his expression hard and pitiless.
“Enough, Gallus. Don’t let your anger best you. We need her.” Theseus moves in front of me. He holds out the torch, blocking Gallus’s way until he reluctantly steps back. Theseus turns to me. “Give me the map.”
