by Kyla Stone
But I’m not my mother. She never shared her healing gifts with me. I don’t know what to do.
“Eryx!” Gallus says. “Help her!”
“I am a man of math and philosophy, not of medicine.” Eryx shrugs helplessly. “And I don’t have the tools of a physician. But if the poison is in her blood, we must stop it from reaching the rest of the body.”
“He’s right,” I say, suddenly remembering how my mother would do the same after she allowed a viper to bite her. “Tie something tightly around her calf, quickly.”
Charis is already removing the rope belting her tunic. I squat to help her. We bind the rope as tightly as we can around Selene’s leg just below the knee.
Selene winces. “Ouch!”
“It must cut off the flow,” I say between gritted teeth.
“You’ll be okay now,” Charis says in comfort, patting Selene’s shoulder.
But I don’t know if it will be. The black streaks have reached her lower calf. The skin surrounding the puncture wounds is inflamed, swollen and angry purple-red. I’ve never seen a venom work with such speed and brutal efficiency.
“Theseus,” Eryx says, a warning in his mild voice, “there are more of them.”
Theseus spins around, lifting the torch high. I leap to my feet. Behind us, more worms ooze from the walls. They fall to the ground and slither toward us, hissing. Some are the length of my arm, others as long as Theseus’s leg and nearly as thick, bulging and rippling as they wriggle across the stone floor, leaving glistening streaks behind them.
There are at least five. Two more squeeze from a gash in the rock to my right. Another appears on the ceiling over Nikolaos’s head, wriggling from a fissure no larger than my hand. Dull scraping sounds and menacing hisses echo all around us. There are too many of them.
“Run!” I cry.
“Go!” Theseus gestures for the tributes to flee past him. He thrusts the torch into Gallus’s hand. The two of them defend the rear while the rest of the tributes run, sprinting along the tunnel, the torchlight wavering crazily.
With the torch behind us, we flail, hardly able to see in the heavy shadows. We could crash into a wall and wouldn’t even see it coming. I fumble with trembling fingers for another torch in my satchel.
I stumble on a protruding rock, nearly falling, but someone jerks me up. Charis, panting beside me. Leda and Zephyra stagger along, holding Selene up.
Behind us, one of the worms shrieks. Gallus curses. “Run!” he screams. “There’s too many of them!”
My hands close on flint.
The others fumble ahead in the dark, stumbling, searching.
“No,” Leda says ahead of me. “No!”
“What is it?” I cry.
I feel the tributes beside me, shifting, trembling, only the dimmest shapes in the darkness.
“A dead end,” Zephyra says, stricken. “It’s a dead end.”
Chapter Nineteen
With trembling fingers, I spark the flint, and the torch flames to life. A solid wall of rock faces me. Behind us, Theseus shouts and curses. The awful worms are slithering closer, and we’re unarmed. I feel my dagger still strapped to my thigh. Everything in me screams to pull it out, to be ready to defend myself.
Not yet. Gallus will steal it from me the moment he sees it. The dagger is crucial to my plan, to the element of surprise. I must keep it hidden if I can.
Eryx feels along the wall, searching for a weakness maybe, or hand and footholds to climb—which will do nothing, as the worms slither up and down the walls as easily as the floor.
Leda pounds her fist against the solid stone. “No, no no!”
I spin around, searching the passage we just ran through in the dark. My eyes catch on a rectangle of sooty blackness several strides back, halfway between Theseus, Gallus, the worms and us. A small archway tucked into a corner, half-hidden by a protruding ridge of rock.
I grab Charis by the shoulder and spin her around. “There! Go, go, go!”
The other tributes see it as I sprint for the archway, risking a glance at Theseus as I run.
Theseus stabs a writhing worm in one of its blind eyes and waits tensely, dagger raised as the thing shrieks and whips around, its second head lunging for Theseus’s calves, red jaws gaping. Theseus kicks it in the face with the flat of his heel, stunning the thing.
“Behind you!” Gallus yells as he stomps on the end of another pale, fleshy worm slithering upon Theseus from behind. Theseus spins and beheads the front end just as it raises itself to strike Gallus.
“Theseus!” I shout as I reach the archway. I step inside and quickly sweep the new tunnel—smooth, narrow limestone walls cut into blocks, no crevices or fissures, and no worms. “Come on!”
I stand against the arch, half in and half out of the darkened tunnel, holding up the torch so the others can see the way. Eryx and Nikolaos race past me into the narrow passage. Kalliope and Charis run toward me, with Leda behind them, pushing Charis ahead of her.
Selene hobbles several paces further away, her arm slung around Zephyra’s shoulder. Gallus spins and runs toward us, Theseus backing away from the worms, jabbing the torch with one hand, whipping the blade with the other.
A dozen more worms ooze along the walls and ceiling, leaving sickly green trails of mucus in their wake. One falls from the ceiling, arcing toward Gallus, who seizes the creature in the middle with his bare hands and tears it in two as green, sticky mucus oozes over his hands. He flings the writhing pieces at the wall.
A worm slides through a crevice only an arm’s length from me, viscous, jellied flesh pale as a corpse. I thrust the end of the torch into the blubbery side of the creature’s head. It gives a hissing squeal and shrinks back, retreating into the recesses of the mountain.
Kalliope sprints in beside me, Charis right behind her.
A harsh, grinding rumble trembles both the stone beneath my feet and the stone wall at my back. Then the wall begins to move.
My heart seizes. For a moment, my panicked mind cannot comprehend what’s happening.
One side of the thick protruding lip of the wall—thicker than the span of a man’s hand—is grinding out into the space of the archway.
It’s a door. And it’s closing.
“Hurry!” I scream.
Leda reaches the archway, Kalliope reaching out to grasp her arm and drag her in, Gallus shoving behind her.
Another grotesque worm writhes up through a gap between the floor and the wall at Leda’s feet, a pale swollen thing as large as my thigh. I plunge the torch at it, the fire wavering as the creature squeals, burning and smoking, but does not recoil. It whips around, its undamaged side rearing up, red maw split wide, needle-teeth glinting as it strikes at Leda.
I do not think. My hand flies to my dagger tucked beneath my tunic, and I whip it out even as I crouch and lunge at the thing, knocking Leda out of the way and plunging the blade deep into the side of its head less than a hand-width from Leda’s right calf.
The thing writhes and flops, arcing its rear head and jaws toward me, attempting to latch onto my arm, twisting upon itself like one of my mother’s serpents. I flinch but refuse to release it, driving my blade to the ground and pinning the creature’s front head while I thrust the torch into the gaping mouth of its rear head. It gives an unearthly scream, slimy purple blood pouring from its fleshy body, but it is dying.
Beside me, Leda staggers to her feet and lunges for the archway, Gallus pushing her through and following after. I jerk my dagger from the dead worm, swiftly sheathe it, still wet with purple blood, and head for the safety of the tunnel. I push inside to make more room for the others, twisting to peer frantically through the slowly shrinking gap.
Theseus crashes in, forced to twist his broad shoulders to squeeze through next to Gallus. Zephyra and Selene are just behind them, tears streaking their pale round faces.
“Brace it with something!” Eryx cries.
But we have nothing. Ceramic jars. Rope belts. A few torches tha
t will snap like twigs between the massive stones. The space is merely the width of my shoulders now.
“Help!” Selene yelps.
“I’ve got you!” Theseus makes to move for the shrinking archway, but Gallus is already there, straining between the sliding, grinding stone and the wall, stretching his hand to the girls.
“Hurry!” Eryx screams. He’s crouched at Gallus’s feet, his hands pushing at the moving wall, striving with all his might to slow the great stone’s relentless, inexorable path.
Sobbing, Zephyra reaches for Gallus. He clasps her hand and jerks her and Selene both toward safety. Behind them, the worms hiss and shriek, drawing ever closer. One of them is only a pace or two away, slithering for Zephyra’s bare legs.
Zephyra squeezes in, twisting sideways, crying and breathless.
Without Zephyra to hold her up, Selene stumbles.
With a grunt, Gallus reaches out again and grasps Selene by the shoulder.
The next few moments are a blur. Gallus jerks. Selene screams.
Gallus falls back, staggering into Theseus and me, knocking us both to the ground. My tailbone smacks hard against the uneven stone floor, pain spiking up my spine. Theseus leaps gracefully to his feet; I’m up just as fast.
The stone door grinds closed—Selene still outside it.
Chapter Twenty
“No!” Theseus shouts. He shoves past Gallus and Kalliope and flings himself against the wall, clawing at the stone, desperate to find purchase, to open it.
On the other side of the wall, Selene’s faint, muffled cries filter through. Her fists pound the stones in dull thuds.
Leda, Zephyra, and Nikolaos stand frozen, mouths hanging open in startled red circles. Zephyra crumples to the ground, weeping. Charis kneels next to her, rubbing her back, tears streaking her own cheeks.
Theseus whirls on Eryx. “Open it! I demand you find a way to open it right now!”
“If we open it, the worms will get in,” Gallus says, standing now, his burly arms limp at his sides. His expression is tense, his eyes stony.
I stare at him, stunned, my stomach roiling. I saw him. I saw what he did. I glance around at the rest of the tributes, but they’re still shocked and terrified.
“We’ll fight them off!” Theseus cries. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Open it!”
Eryx feels along the cracks outlining the door. A sheen of sweat beads his dark brown skin. “I can’t!”
I push Gallus out of my mind. First, we must get Selene back if we can. The worms’ hisses and squeals filter through the stone. From the other side, Selene screams.
I raise the torch, shining it along the sides and top of the stone slab. I take a step closer and squint. Small carvings cut into the stone. I run my fingers over the ridged patterns of shapes and swirls.
“They’re pictures!” I breathe. “Like a code, a cipher. Maybe they’re the key.”
“Open it!” Theseus demands. He paces in front of the archway, face clenched like a fist. “Do it!”
“I don’t know—”
In a single stride, he lunges at me and pushes the point of his dagger at my throat, just beneath my chin. The blade is still slick with the worms’ blood and mucus. I try not to swallow. He leans in close, his eyes fierce. “Princess with the map of the Labyrinth, reveal your secrets now.”
I gaze wildly at the ciphers. I recognize the harsh slants and planes of Icarus’s signature work. He made these. He spent time down here in the dark and the damp with his father, creating his little works of art, tiny sparks of creation in a prison of death. But in my fear, I can’t make sense of any of them.
“I can’t do anything with a blade at my—throat,” I gasp.
Theseus jerks the knife away. “Save Selene!”
“I’m trying!”
“They’re biting me!” Selene gives a howl of agony that lifts the hairs on the back of my neck. Her screams echo all around us, thrumming inside my skull. It feels like they’ll peel the skin off my bones. “Help me!”
“We’re coming!” Charis cries desperately. “Just hold on, we’re coming.”
Theseus groans and pounds his fist against the door in futile desperation.
Frantically, I search the pictures, tracing my finger up the archway, straining to discern the shapes in the dim, wildly flickering light—a figure of a man, half-bent, a dagger clutched in his hand; the dagger aimed at himself, plunging into his own face; several figures on a ship cresting great waves, one man holding a strange, shapeless thing in his hands, too small and indistinct to make out clearly; a figure charging a many-headed beast; a tiny figure—a child—clutching what looks like snakes in each fist; an enormous bird with the head of a man clutches a star in its talons. Above it, two more birds with human heads soar over an expanse of sea, the sun burning above them; another of a winged woman with wild hair facing a man armed with a helmet, sword, and shield. I bend closer, examining a picture of a man, sword raised, looming over a cowering woman and five smaller figures, likely children.
Deeper grooves rim some of the ciphers. I push against the tiny figure of the man plunging a dagger into his own face. The circle of the man’s head indents, pushing into the stone. But nothing happens. The door does not open.
“It must be a code. It has to be.” I trace another figure—the wild-haired woman—find the grooves, and depress the circular notch. Still nothing. Whatever the secret code, I don’t know it.
Selene screams again. It sounds like she’s slumped against the door. She’s no longer speaking words, only making a terrible keening wail.
“It is too late,” Leda whispers hoarsely.
“No, it isn’t!” Theseus slams his fist against the stone. “Open it!”
I jab at the impressions in the stone as swiftly as my fingers will allow, but there is nothing. Some indent, others don’t, but none do a thing. I stagger back, breathing hard. I want to clap my hands over my ears to drown out Selene’s tortured groans.
My mind flashes back to that day at the stables—the low, terrible moan of the boy as he died in the blood-soaked grass. Horror slashes through me at my own helplessness.
“I cannot,” I choke out.
Theseus curses.
Selene’s moans fade to silence.
There is only the softest hiss of the worms. A slide, a scratching, scuffling sound.
Then nothing.
Chapter Twenty-One
Gallus stands stiffly, silent, as do Nikolaos and Eryx. Zephyra weeps, Charis with her. Leda crouches protectively over them both, jaw clenched, white-lipped.
Kalliope makes a stricken sound in the back of her throat. She goes to Theseus, who paces the narrow tunnel like a caged griffin, and places her hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault,” she says gently.
Theseus jerks his arm from her. “What do you know?” he spits out.
She flinches, hurt. Her hands drop to her sides. “You tried your best.”
The cords stand out in his neck. His eyes bulge, dark and full of storms. He’s the angriest I’ve ever seen him. Angry at me, at the worms, at Selene’s horrible death, but most of all, angry at himself. “Clearly, my best is not enough.”
Gallus’s eyes flash to Theseus. “Come now. That’s no way for our king to talk. You saved everyone here. You, Theseus, son of King Aegeus of Athens, son of Poseidon, god of the sea and earth. You, Theseus, prince of god and man, singlehandedly slew a score of killer worms, venomous death eaters. This is only the first of your many great feats, all of which will be told for generations to come, sung by the poets and musicians from every kingdom under Helios.”
Theseus’s face is taut. He stares at Gallus for several beats of silence, his fist clenching around the torch. For a moment, I think he might hit Gallus, but instead, he expels a long breath and gives the tributes a tight, unsteady smile. “My brother-in-arms is correct, as he so often is. We mourn Selene’s death, as we mourn Demetrios, but we must take courage. We are still here, our hearts still beating. We survived this, an
d we will survive the Minotaur and escape this place of ruin and death.”
The tributes nod dully, their eyes gleaming as they look up at him, desperate for leadership, desperate for someone to promise them hope. Theseus is their answer. Even I feel the tug in my soul, a desire to believe him, to believe in him.
Gallus’s smile is wide, his teeth white in the shadows. His gaze meets mine. I stare back at him, my heart thumping against my ribs.
I know what he did. And he knows I know.
It happened in a blink, in the space between shadows. Gallus seized Zephyra and pulled her to safety. As the stone rumbled closed, he reached out again for Selene, but instead of pulling her in, he shoved her.
Gallus pushed Selene to her death.
He lifts his chin in challenge, as if daring me to speak. I open my mouth, shut it again. His smile widens. Theseus won’t believe you, his expression says. Go ahead and try.
With a sickening wrench of my gut, I realize he’s right. I am the only one who saw it. It will be my word—an untrusted, scorned Cretan against the prince’s brother-in-arms, his most trusted friend. It will only weaken my position with Theseus further. Kalliope will accuse me of sowing dissent. The tributes’ suspicion and distrust will worsen when I most need to make them allies.
If I had any doubts as to Gallus’s true nature, I have none now. He would sacrifice one of his own, but for what reason? He was already safe. He could have saved Selene, but chose not to. Why?
Even the wicked have a purpose for their actions. Maybe he does, or maybe he’s purely evil. Either way, he’s my enemy. I cannot turn my back on him, not even for an instant.
Leda pulls Charis and then Zephyra to their feet. They wipe at their reddened, tear-streaked faces.
Leda turns to me. Her back is straight, her head high, eyes steady, only her shaking hands revealing the horror of what just happened, how close we all came to death. “You killed that worm before it bit me. You risked your life to save mine.”
