Labyrinth of Shadows

by Kyla Stone

  Theseus skids and veers sharply, taking a passageway that leads in the opposite direction. We follow the torch.

  Ahead of me, Demetrios trips and pitches to the ground. Charis slows, leans down, and yanks him to his feet.

  He hobbles, unable to put weight on his foot. “My ankle!”

  Charis shoves her arm beneath his and tries to keep running. “Come on!” she cries, half-dragging him.

  “Charis, we have to go!” Leda pauses, her eyes wild, her breath ragged.

  Charis tugs Demetrios’s arm. “I’m not leaving him.”

  “Curse the gods!” Leda hisses. She hefts Demetrios, dragging him like a sack of grain. Charis tries to help, but she isn’t strong enough. She’s too small, too weak.

  I’m not weak. I can do it.

  I shouldn’t help. I should run. If I want to live, I need to run. In his monstrous state, my brother would sooner rip me to pieces than stop and have a civilized conversation.

  I need to think of myself and my own survival. My purpose, my quest.

  They’re doomed to die anyway. What does it matter whether it happens now or later? They hate you. They’re nothing but barbarians.

  It’s a dangerous, risky move. But I need allies. This is how I win them. A risk now will pay off later, just like in the arena. Despite everything, the idea of abandoning them to die leaves a bitterness in the back of my throat.

  Something shifts inside me. I feel the hot sand beneath my toes, see the blur of the king-bull’s savage horns as he thunders toward me. And then Tarina, careening out of nowhere, sacrificing herself for me.

  I push Charis out of the way, grip Demetrios’s other arm and swing it over my shoulder, so Leda and I can bear his weight together. “Run!”

  Charis and Leda exchange a glance. Charis hesitates.

  Something clatters behind us.

  “Go!” I cry.

  Charis flees, racing down the corridor. The torchlight bounces off the walls ahead of us, barely visible.

  Leda and I run, half-stumbling, half-falling. Even with the two of us, Demetrios’s weight is too much to carry and keep pace. We fall further and further behind.

  Shifting shapes hover at the edges of my vision. The Minotaur roars behind us—or is it to the side? It’s coming from everywhere at once, the ghastly sound trembling the ground. There are other noises beneath his roars—sinister rustles and sighs and sounds whose source I can’t bear to contemplate.

  Demetrios staggers and falls.

  Leda and I fall with him. Demetrios lays beside me, his side pressed against my leg, Leda huddling on my right. I scramble to my hands and knees. I can barely see. I scan frantically from shadow to shadow, searching for movement, for a vile creature to slink out of the dark.

  The terrible howl comes again—right behind us. The stones shake. My bones tremble.

  Demetrios screams.

  The darkness seethes around us like wraiths. Dark, hunched shapes skulk and skitter, waiting to pounce. The shadows separate like oil in water, and a deeper shadow forms, taking on a thick, monstrous shape. I glimpse pale, twisted horns, the flash of misty red eyes, like twin smoldering coals.

  My plans for what I’d say or do when I found the Minotaur disintegrate into horror. Every thought in my head scatters like mist. He’ll kill us right here, tearing us limb from limb, ripping out our insides and leaving us to rot, or worse…

  Theseus and his torch round a corner far ahead of us. The last of the light winks out. We’re plunged into complete darkness.

  The torches. I fumble in the dark with trembling fingers, jerking open my satchel.

  “What are you doing?” Leda hisses.

  “I have light!” I whisper.

  A foul, putrid stench fills my nostrils. The sound of thick, heavy snorts. Close. Too close.

  Demetrios whimpers.

  My body goes rigid, my hand tightening around the flint still in my bag. My heartbeat thuds in my ears. Where is the monster? Where is he?

  The air shifts, like something massive moving through black water.

  Demetrios’s body jerks away.

  He shrieks. I flail after him, grasping at cloth, skin, hair. His hands drag through my fingers, I hold nothing but empty air.

  “Demetrios!” I flail my arms, searching desperately for either Demetrios or the torch, but I am blind. There’s nothing to feel but stone, nothing to see but darkness.

  The heavy scraping sound comes again, this time from further away. The Minotaur is dragging Demetrios to his lair, to do vile, unspeakable things. The monster retreats deeper into the Labyrinth, his hooves clattering against the stone. The smell of him—rotten meat and damp, fetid fur—slowly fades.

  Silence—thick, heavy, oppressive—envelopes us.

  The Minotaur is gone. And whatever vile spirits he brought with him have vanished back into the darkness. For now. The terror drains from my limbs, leaving me numb and shivering.

  “Demetrios?” Leda calls tremulously. “Where are you?”

  But I already know.

  There is no answer but silence.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Leda and I lean against the wall, panting and shivering. The cold of the stone seeps through the fabric of my tunic. The dank, sour air chills me to the bone, raising bumps on my arms.

  I force myself to stand. My knees and ribs are bruised from my fall. The gash on my forearm stings, droplets of blood running down my arm and dripping off my elbow. I rub my arm against my tunic.

  “He’s gone,” Leda says, her voice raw.

  “I’m sorry.” From what little I saw of him, Demetrios was a weak, whining child. But that doesn’t mean I wished him to die.

  “I never really liked him anyway,” she says lightly.

  My first thought is my father’s—Athenian barbarians are no better than animals; they’re savage and uncouth—they don’t think and feel the way we do. But I hear the tremble in her voice, the hitch in her breath she can’t hide. She’s putting on a brave face, acting tough to protect herself. I know that act well. She’s shaken, more so than I am.

  “No one deserves such a death.”

  She grunts. “I can’t argue with that.”

  Beyond us, there’s a soft scrabbling, like a whisper of wind or a leaf whisking along a stone pathway. Like the skittering of some clawed creature.

  Whatever things were stalking us with the Minotaur—they’re coming back.

  “We have to get out of here.” I fumble for the flint and torch in my satchel, strike the flint, and light the torch. Leda’s eyes are wide, her face smudged, her copper curls a tangle of disarray around her shoulders.

  “How will we find the others?” Leda asks. “Yelling for them doesn’t sound like a great idea.”

  I scan the passageway with the torch. I see no sign of the Minotaur, Demetrios, or the creatures of the dark. But I can hear them—a soft slither, a swish, a whisper. I shudder. “We don’t wish to attract whatever else is out there,” I say quietly.

  “So, we go to them. If we can find them.”

  “We’ll find them. They’re only a few moments ahead of us. Theseus is smart. He’ll stop as soon as he realizes they aren’t being chased anymore.”

  “Theseus won’t risk anything for us,” Leda says tightly. “He doesn’t care about anyone as much as the glory of his quest.”

  “He cares about getting out alive. And I have the thread.”

  Leda gives a sharp laugh. “I never thought I would be glad to have you with me.”

  “Strangely enough, I feel the same.” I take the lead, heading in the direction Theseus and the tributes ran. I aim the torch at the ground, so we can see our steps but also the glint of Theseus’s torchlight on the walls ahead of us.

  I hasten ahead, Leda loping beside me. I am strong and fit, but she is taller. Surprisingly, she keeps up. Even as I run, Demetrios’s death weighs heavily on my spirit. The grotesque shadow of the Minotaur looms over me. I smell his rancid breath, see his red-crazed eyes. The bl
ood-red of my dreams—drenching the matted grass, splattered across my arms, my face—flashes behind my eyes.

  How am I supposed to save the Minotaur? The vial at my neck is too small, too insignificant to transform this monster into a man. What if it’s an impossible task? What if my mother made a mistake?

  What if she sent you in here, not to emerge a hero, but to die? The thought is almost blasphemous. I push it swiftly away. My mother trusts me with this task. I cannot let her down.

  “There’s something behind us,” Leda says between ragged breaths.

  “I know.”

  “The Minotaur?”

  “Something else.”

  “Run faster.”

  I don’t waste the energy to nod.

  A few passageways branch off the main one, but I stay on the widest path, not knowing what else to do. I pray to the goddess I’ve made the right choice.

  A hissing sound comes from behind us. I whip around, holding out the torch. There is only stone and shadow. Something is there, skulking in the darkness. I can feel it. Leda feels it, too.

  I shove the torch closer. Whatever it is remains well-hidden. There are only the thickening shadows, pressing in around us, threatening to swallow us whole.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I run until my side burns, my breath seared in my throat, Leda gasping beside me. Finally, we round a corner, and I glimpse a glimmer of torchlight on the stone wall ahead of us. Leda sighs in relief and breaks into a sprint.

  We careen around another corner, and suddenly the others appear. They’re huddled together against the wall, faces pale and anxious. Theseus holds his torch aloft with a grim smile. “I should admonish you for falling behind.”

  “How about you congratulate us on staying alive?” Leda says dryly.

  Theseus places his hand on Leda’s shoulder. He beams at her, and it’s like the sun’s rays sparkling through the clouds after a storm.

  He turns to me with a scowl. “I thought I’d lost you, Princess.”

  He thought he’d lost the ball of thread, not me.

  Heat floods my face. I’m using Theseus. Why should I care if he uses me in return? “We must keep moving.”

  “Where’s Demetrios?” Charis asks softly, as if her voice might break if she speaks too loudly.

  I swallow. “The Minotaur took him.”

  Selene lets out a gasp.

  Charis turns to Theseus, her gaze pleading. “We have to go after him.”

  “He’s gone to the underworld,” I say.

  Charis flinches. Her face goes bone-white, guilt pooling in her eyes. She thinks it’s her fault because she listened to us, because she left him. “You don’t know that.”

  “I do.” I hate the words even as I say them. “Trying to find him will only get yourselves killed.”

  Theseus rubs his brow and sighs. “Ariadne’s right.”

  Selene turns on me, her eyes flashing. “Ariadne isn’t right. She’s not one of us. Why would she care whether Demetrios lives or dies?”

  “I stopped to help Demetrios,” I snap. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Demetrios is ours,” Charis says. “He grew up with us. He used to pull your braids until you cried, Kalliope. You too, Selene. Gallus, he’d follow you around like a little baby goat. Do you remember?”

  Gallus’s mouth tightens, but he says nothing.

  Charis’s lower lip trembles. The flickering shadows deepen the hollows beneath her eyes. “We can’t just leave him.”

  “Maybe he’ll find his way back to us,” Nikolaos says softly, desperately. “Maybe he escaped.”

  They don’t get it. Even here, they don’t understand the nature of the danger we’re all in. “We didn’t leave him. The Minotaur took him. He’s gone now.”

  “Ariadne is right,” Leda says darkly. “He’s already dead.”

  I shoot her a grateful look, but she’s not looking at me. She’s watching Charis, frowning.

  “I will not risk us all for one,” Theseus says with grim finality. “If I don’t destroy the monster now, we all die. And fourteen more of us will come next spring, and fourteen more the spring after that. Charis, your little sister Helene, how old is she? Thirteen? Eryx, your brother will be twelve summers at the next lottery. His name could be called.”

  Charis pales. Selene chews her lower lip.

  “It is simple logic,” Eryx says hoarsely, his face ashen. “A question of mathematics. Ten of us at least— most likely many, many more—versus one. The rational choice is to continue on.”

  “He’s right.” Kalliope places her hand possessively on Theseus’s forearm and gazes up at him, her expression fierce. “A hero must make the difficult choices.”

  Theseus doesn’t soften against her; he doesn’t pull away, either. I still cannot determine what lies between them—a history; that much I know. Theseus gives a sharp nod. His fingers whiten on the hilt of his dagger. “Demetrios has passed on from us. Mourn while you move, if you wish, but move we must. Ariadne, show us where to go.”

  Gallus’s lip curls, his voice harsh. “If you can.”

  No one laughs. Charis weeps softly. Leda watches me, her face impassive.

  I stifle a sharp retort and grit my teeth instead. I put out my torch to conserve it, since Theseus has his, and fall into step beside him. We move on.

  The path twists, the walls curving. A few moments later, a smaller passageway breaks off on the left. We stop. Theseus holds the torch up while I test the ball of thread.

  It doesn’t move. We keep walking.

  After a while, we grow hungry and pull bits of flatbread and olives from our satchels. I take a few sips from my jar of wine, careful to conserve every drop.

  The only sounds are our sandals slapping the stone floor and our ragged breathing. The Minotaur bellows distantly. The tributes freeze, their faces masks of terror.

  Theseus pauses. “Is it getting closer?”

  They all look at me.

  I’ve heard his roars all my life, but down here, trapped in the dark and surrounded by the unknown, they’re far more sinister. “A little.”

  “Of course, it is,” Leda whispers loudly. “We’re heading straight for its lair.”

  “This is a terrible idea,” Selene whines. “We should be running as far away as we can, as fast as we can.”

  But we keep walking. I shoot occasional glances at Theseus. His face looks carved in stone, his lips pressed into a bloodless line. He keeps one hand on the hilt of his dagger.

  Three passageways spiral off the main path. I test the ball at each one. We take the center path. The passageways branch, diverging and converging, splitting and reforming. It twists in circles and winds back on itself, like a snake. The path switches directions so frequently I lose all sense of where we are compared to where we began, or whether we are pointing north or south, east or west.

  After a time, Theseus clears his throat. “How long will each torch last?” he asks, low enough that only I can hear.

  “A full day, if we’re lucky. But I have two more in my pack. I lied to Cadmus.”

  Theseus grunts in surprised approval. “With two more torches, we only have two days, maybe three, to reach the Minotaur’s lair. And if the lair doesn’t have usable torches—”

  “It will,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “Torches are one of the items the guards lower through the grate. The Minotaur can see a bit better than us in the dark, but he’s half-bull, not half-bat.” I don’t remember how I know this about his eyesight, but I know it’s true.

  Beside me, I feel Theseus nod. “And when exactly are you going to tell me how we escape this Labyrinth?”

  Anxiety roils in my gut. Will I be smart enough to figure out Daedalus’s riddles and find the way out? I try not to think about that part or dwell on the not-knowing. First, I must survive this moment. And then the next. And the next. I must save my brother and then…that part, I shove out of my mind. “If I tell you, you’ll have no use for me. I intend to hold
you to your word.”

  He snorts. “What is a hero without his honor? You don’t need to concern yourself with that.”

  “I think I do. Your companions would be pleased to see me banished. Or worse.”

  “Do you blame them?”

  “I know who I am to them. I know they hate me. But I wasn’t the one who put you in here.”

  “No.” His voice darkens. “Your beloved father did. And you and your people not only stand by and watch it happen; you celebrate it. You throw us flowers!”

  “An offering to the gods—”

  “We are not animals,” he interrupts gruffly. “We are not here because of some sacred holy rite or because King Minos needs another offering for his crops. We’re here because of vengeance. There is no higher reason.”

  “Athens spilled the blood of a future king.” I fight back a wave of bitterness. Androgeus was murdered the same summer my other brother nearly killed me and was exiled to the Labyrinth.

  No wonder my mother never recovered. Her heart was carved out not once, but twice.

  Androgeus was handsome, with noble features—his regal nose, thick brows, and soft, smiling mouth, his coiffed and coiled black curls a glorious mane flowing down his back. He was tall and strong, but also slim, narrow-hipped, and agile, blessed with athletic prowess and a fierce intelligence. Where my father was petty, suspicious, and quick to anger, Androgeus was even-tempered and wise. He was always laughing.

  The people loved him. I loved him. He used to tap my nose and call me his favorite dancer, promising me my own dancing arena in the palace when he became king. My heart aches at the memory. He would have made a magnificent king, carrying on the greatness of Crete. Instead, he went to Athens to test his abilities against the best athletes in the known world in the Panathenaic Games. He never returned. “When he beat Athens at your own games, you killed him for it.”

  “Not Athens,” Theseus says. “A few ruffians. They were caught and hanged for their crime.”

  In my father’s rage and grief after Androgeus’s murder, he sent the mighty Cretan navy to exact revenge. They sank three of Athens’ warships and slaughtered hundreds of their people until King Aegeus, Theseus’s father, begged surrender. The terms for not devastating the city of Athens? In addition to the tribute of goods and grain Athens already paid for Crete’s protection, King Minos demanded an annual tribute of fourteen youths and maidens, chosen from the children of the noble houses.