Lost in the Labyrinth

by Patrice Kindl

  I walked slowly and soberly away. Once out of sight of the guards, I began to run.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ICARUS, RISING

  I HAD REMEMBERED SOMETHING ABOUT THAT TOWER ROOM, YOU see, that the guards most likely did not know. Indeed, I thought it unlikely that anyone save we three, Daedalus, Icarus, and me, knew of it, or the tower would never have been thought a suitable prison for the wily inventor.

  Daedalus had laid much of the stone of the tower himself, and whatever Daedalus put his hand to always had some distinguishing feature that made it unique. Some rooms he built might have a floor intricately patterned with different-colored blocks of stone, or a window seat, or a built-in stone table with a gaming board inlaid into the top. Quite often he constructed safes like the one in his workshop. I knew he had once or twice built a secret door that could not be detected except by the most determined inspection.

  On that day so many years ago, he showed me the secret of the tower room. It was nothing much, only that it was possible, by standing on top of the table that was the sole furnishing of the room, to remove one of the blocks of stone making up the roof. By pushing up on the stone and moving it to the side, a rectangular gap was made in the ceiling, out of which an agile person might crawl onto the very rooftop of the tower.

  He had done it in order to extend visibility just a little bit farther; a better vantage point could be achieved by standing on top of the tower rather than inside it. We three had climbed up there that day and sat a little while watching the sun set. Icarus would have liked to stay longer, I know, and I was always happy to be where Icarus was, but after a few moments Daedalus was urging us back inside so that he could busy himself with some new task.

  The existence of that loose stone did not compromise the security of the tower as a jail cell for any normal prisoner. A normal prisoner would not know of it, and besides, once on top of the tower there was a drop of three stories to a stone roof or a far greater drop of eight stories to a paved courtyard. No one could survive such a leap uninjured, even if there were no guards below ready to recapture him the moment he landed.

  The exit to the roof therefore, did not solve the problem of how to release Daedalus and Icarus. On the contrary, I could not for the moment imagine how it was to be managed. Still, it offered hope. With a clever mind like Daedalus's, who knew what might be done? If only he had been allowed to choose what supplies he wanted!

  I am no artificer. I could not imagine what sort of equipment would be useful in such a predicament; I could not even guess what most of the things in Daedalus's studio were meant to be used for. The ban on sharp or pointed objects made my choice especially difficult—nearly every tool I could identify as such was either sharp or pointed, or could be made so by grinding it against stone. Once again I searched through Daedalus's belongings, trying desperately to think.

  It seemed too great a task. If Icarus and Daedalus could manage to climb down the tower, there were the guards to deal with. And if the guards could be overcome, then I would have to arrange the departure of Icarus and Daedalus from the Isle of Kefti. And if I could do all of this, why then. I had a new cause for sorrow. Because I would lose Icarus as surely as I would if Acalle had him killed. Unless—

  Unless I were willing to do as Ariadne had done. Unless I went to Athens with him.

  My heart flew up at the thought and then plummeted like a stone. Athens! Exile from Kefti! How could I bear it? Yet how could I bear to part with Icarus?

  Sorely troubled, I thrust the subject out of my mind. I would think on it later. What was required now was a way out of the tower.

  I turned my attention back to the contents of the workshop. I wished I was as clever as Daedalus; this conundrum was too hard for my small wits.

  At last I thought of the hiding place in the floor. Perhaps there would be something there.

  I shifted the sacks of feathers and examined the contents of the safe. Some fine jewelry, cunningly crafted out of gold and silver. A wonderful carving from rock crystal of a griffin. Goblets made from horn. A black steatite vase intricately etched with harvest scenes. Several tools apparently placed here because of their value and rarity, all either sharp or pointed in shape.

  I flung myself backward onto the pile of sacks with a groan. There was nothing here that would be of any use in our present dilemma.

  As I lay upon the feathers, gazing about me in the languor of despair, my eye fell upon the wooden framework of a wing. Immediately images began forming in my brain.

  I saw Icarus and Daedalus standing on the top of the tower, with great white wings strapped to their arms and backs. Daedalus's face was serious and drawn, Icarus's glowed with an internal flame. Daedalus spread wide his feathered arms and launched himself off the tower; Icarus followed. Away they flew, father and son, sailing through the skies like great white eagles, across the sea toward Athens, away from Kefti, away from me.

  I sat silent for a long moment. Then I stood up and began to gather together what was needed to build two sets of wings.

  The guards eyed my pile of materials. "That Daedalus is a deep one," they murmured to each other. "He's more a magician than anything else, or so they say."

  Still, even putting their heads together and thinking hard, they couldn't imagine what mischief Daedalus could devise with several sacks of feathers, a pot of glue, a small quantity of fabric, some leather strips, and a pile of miscellaneous wood pieces—for I had dismantled the frameworks already constructed, in order to disguise their purpose.

  "What's this for?" demanded one of the guards.

  I had an answer to that question ready.

  "I thought that Daedalus, and Icarus too, if he so desires, could make feathered masks for the ceremony of the Blessing of the Boats."

  "Hmmm..." The Blessing of the Boats was a midsummer ritual marked by much festivity and gaiety—most of the palace-dwellers as well as the residents of Knossos Town would go masked that night to the celebration after the blessing. The heaps of feathers and wood were far greater than needed for such a task, but I hoped the guards would not realize that.

  "Since you are being so kind," I added, "Daedalus might like to give you the results of his labor for the occasion."

  "I would indeed," Daedalus called down from the window. I could tell by the emphasis that he had understood the real purpose of my choice of supplies.

  "Can't see much harm in that," observed the first guard tentatively.

  "Nor can I," said the second, scratching his head.

  "Oh, let him have it," said the first. One guard therefore remained at the foot of the tower keeping an eye on me, while the other unlocked the door and toiled up the stairs with the collection.

  "I thank you, my lady," Daedalus said, bowing to me through the window. "You are more than kind. This ought to be a sufficiency of materials to complete the task. We are grateful to you."

  Icarus poked his head out of another window. "No, father," he said mildly, "You are mistaken. There are feathers enough, but I do not believe that we have an adequate supply of wood. There is a little grove of trees that yields this particular sort of wood—strong, but light and pliable—just beyond the clearing where we took his Highness, Lord Asterius, to amuse himself not long ago."

  He looked at me intently, infusing his next words with meaning.

  "I wish to make not two masks, Princess, but three. I would make a mask for you as well, that you might remember my father and me when we are gone. When you wore it, it might seem as though you were still in our company."

  I understood him. He was proposing that not two but three sets of wings be crafted, so that I might accompany them in their flight.

  "Will you do it, my lady?" he asked.

  "I will think on it," I said slowly. "I can promise no more than that."

  "And with that I must be satisfied," he replied courteously. "But do not forget that your mother's life hangs by a thread, which may be severed at any moment. If you think too long, the o
pportunity to give you this material evidence of our love and gratitude may be lost."

  I nodded and left them to their labor. I had much to consider.

  The most likely outcome of such a mad scheme was destruction. Human beings are not meant to fly through the air. I tried to imagine what such a death would be like. I shuddered to think of the moment of impact. Yet this was a noble doom. I am not beautiful, as I think I have said, but that particular death would make me so—in the tales told afterward, at least.

  And if we did not die, if we succeeded? Why, then, I would be a stranger without family or possessions in an alien place where they did not even speak my language, wholly dependent upon Icarus and Daedalus.

  Oh, Ariadne! I thought. What has befallen you, my sister? If I knew your fate I might learn from it to shape my own.

  Yet even as I thought this, I knew that Ariadne's fate, whether good or bad, could be no guide for mine. Icarus and Theseus were two different men, as Ariadne and I were two different women.

  Icarus would protect me to the best of his ability in that strange world across the sea. I had no fear of that. But, although he spoke of his love in wishing me to join him, he also spoke of his gratitude.

  Ariadne is proud, but in this matter I am prouder still. She did not seem to care why Theseus married her, so long as he did it.

  The thought that Icarus might marry me for gratitude alone stuck in my throat like a stone. The suspicion that his every kiss and caress proceeded not from love of me but from a love of his own honor—in time that would kill my happiness. I could be satisfied only by seeing an ardor equal to my own reflected in my husband's eyes.

  He loved me, I knew, at least a little. But did he love me enough to quiet my pride?

  I would be a burden to him; I could not be otherwise. Life in Athens would be difficult at first; he had never set foot there and knew the language imperfectly. And he was little more than a boy.

  If I stayed at home I would be left to face my sister Acalle's anger alone. She would not have me put to death—I was her heir until she married and bore a daughter. But if she learned of my involvement, she would have to take some sort of action against me.

  How should I choose? An alien, cold world with Icarus, or a world made alien and cold by his absence?

  I did not climb the mountain that day, or the next, or the next. I could allow myself a little time at least, while they completed their own wings. In the torment of my mind I could do nothing but rove the Labyrinth, tracing and retracing its halls.

  My mothers condition did not change.

  Sometimes I sat in the Bull Pen, looking about and remembering my beloved brother. If I left this place I would be leaving even the memory of him; there would be nothing in Athens to remind me of him. Except Theseus, of course. Theseus, who was to be my powerful brother-in-law in this new life. Could I bear to be a subject in a land whose ruler had killed my poor Asterius?

  The wild hatred and despair I had felt on his death had already subsided. Now I sometimes wondered if this were not the best ending for my brother. He had been twelve years old. Soon he would have been a full-grown male, with all the desires and passions of his condition. What would we have done then?

  There was little ahead for Asterius but sorrow, I think. So I kissed the ribbons I had been wont to plait into his hair and shed a few brief tears. With all my heart I hoped that he was happy in the Underworld.

  On the morning of the third day after I spoke with Icarus and Daedalus, I awoke with a clear mind and a powerful sense of urgency. It was as though a bell had rung in my head. I rose, washed, and dressed. Taking some bread and honey to break my fast, I began to walk toward the mountains as quickly as I could.

  I had become possessed of the idea that time had grown dangerously short. Why had I not gone to the mountains yesterday or the day before? Would there be time?

  I brought a small saw along with which to cut the saplings. Soon the trail became steeper and the saw banged against the calf of my leg. Sometimes I had to drop to my knees and crawl over steep boulders; I had chosen the shorter but steeper route.

  Hurry! Hurry! I knew how foolish I was being. Once I found the grove of trees and cut a sufficiency of branches, those branches would have to be debarked and sawed into appropriate lengths. Then after they were delivered to Daedalus and they were bound into a frame would come the tedious job of attaching the thousands of feathers, one by one. It would take another day, at least.

  Yet I knew that I must hurry.

  At last, at long last, I reached the clearing on the side of the cliff where we had sat in the sun and laughed at Asterius's antics. How cheerful and content I had been! Now all was in ruins around me.

  The trees were those in which the Athenians had waited. I recognized them easily by their slender, whiplike limbs. I began cutting a tree by the very edge of the precipice, dropping branches into a pile by my side.

  What made me look over my right shoulder, down into the chasm below?

  I don't know. Perhaps it was the memory of the hawk soaring in the updraft on that earlier, happier day.

  I saw a man, flying.

  He was below me still, but rising rapidly. It was Daedalus, I decided after a little consideration. His body was curled stiffly inward, like a dragonfly in flight. The big white wings did not beat against the air but were held out to the sides, catching the wind like sails.

  Once Icarus had pointed out to me how the biggest birds, the eagles and hawks, would use these air currents that rise up the sides of cliffs to elevate their heavy bodies, and that was what Daedalus was doing now. He was close enough that I could just make out the features of his face, though not with any distinctness. I did not think he noticed me. His face was contorted with concentration; he was expending every ounce of energy he possessed to keep himself flying, to keep himself from being dashed onto the rocks below.

  I looked down again into the abyss. There was Icarus, flying toward me.

  Why did you not wait for me? I longed to berate him for faithlessness, but the blame was mine and I held my tongue. He would not have heard me in any case.

  Never had I seen a face so full of joy. This! cried his eyes, his limbs, his whole body. This is what I was born and bred for. This moment and nothing else!

  I knew it was true. His proper fate was not that of an exile, a dutiful husband to a girl without fortune, position, or beauty. No, here was his destiny, this leap into the sky, this gliding through the air.

  I rejoiced for him, I swear to you.

  He crested the cliff's edge and went on rising. I believe he saw me, for his radiant smile widened.

  Dazzled, I dropped my eyes from his glory.

  What had happened to Daedalus? A moment later I found him. He had left the rising air currents and was now flying out to sea. He turned and beckoned Icarus to follow him. but Icarus was not attending.

  Icarus went on and on, up and up.

  At last he was nothing but a speck of darkness in a brilliant blue sky, headed straight into the sun.

  I could look no longer; tears blinded my eyes. I nearly missed seeing the last of him. As he rose higher and higher, I suppose that the heat of the sun began to melt the waxen glue that bound the feathers to the frame. The frame itself disintegrated.

  He spun around in a wide spiral and fell—not back to earth but into the sea. I was glad of that at least; it seemed a cleaner death.

  Daedalus came back and flew laboriously in a circle, once, twice over the sea where Icarus fell, looking for signs of life. Then he flew away.

  Sometime later a messenger arrived, out of breath from the climb.

  "My lady! I am sorry, my lady," he panted, "but the queen orders your attendance upon her immediately."

  "The queen?" I asked. I looked up at the man, startled out of my lethargy.

  "Queen Acalle," he explained, embarrassed. "Your lady mother is dead and your sister Acalle is now queen."

  "I see," I said. "I will come."

  * *
*

  ARIADNE, DESCENDING

  LAST NIGHT I SAW MY SISTER, WHO IS DEAD. SHE STOOD AT THE end of a long corridor, weeping.

  I did not know her until I drew near. There are some here in the Labyrinth who are strangers to me. I thought her a new servant beaten for disobedience, and I looked at her closely only when she did not move as I approached.

  Her body was just beginning to be big with child, a child who never saw the light of day. Her neck was encircled by the rope with which she had hanged herself, yet her face was not distorted and discolored, as the faces of the hanged are, and I could see her features clearly.

  "Can it really be you, Ariadne, come back after all this time?" I whispered.

  She did not answer, but began slowly to sink through the floor.

  I am a dignified and important person now, but I ran like the girl I once was to the nearest stairway. I wished to see if my sister's feet would appear on the ceiling of the story below. I descended a few steps and looked to see.

  They did. My sister was drifting downward through solid stone.

  I glanced around to see if anyone else saw what I saw. But no, I was alone. At this hour few walked these hallways in the nether regions of the queen's quarters. I ran down the rest of the stairs.

  "Tell me, sister," I adjured her, after waiting until her head had fully emerged from the ceiling. "What is your will?" She did not speak but wept silently.

  As I watched, fascinated, she revolved twice in the air, as a leaf will when it falls. Still she sank, until she began to descend through the next floor.

  "Ariadne," I protested, "I—" Her head slipped beneath the stone. I hurried down the next flight of stairs. There were two more floors below us. When she dropped through the last floor it would be into the earth and I would see her no more.

  "It is I, Xenodice," I called out. "You fall faster than I run. Stop!"

  Her face changed a little then. She made a slight gesture, as of one who says, "I cannot."