The Progeny of Daedalus

by Jeffrey MacLeod

  “Well, if it gives me the chance to come to the rescue of you weaklings,” she concluded with a more convincing air of superiority, “then let’s go with Ilia’s stupid plan!”

  The matter resolved, they all turned back to Jorge. He was waiting patiently, fanning his sweating face with his hat.

  “We would welcome your help,” Dad said politely. “We’ve been hunting through these ruins for two days and found nothing as yet.”

  In response Jorge bowed slightly.

  “At your service,” he said again. Dad knew the correct response to this polite disposal, but it did not come as quickly as he wanted.

  “At yours and your family’s,” he blurted in a slightly rushed manner.

  “What is this?” drawled Danae under her breath, “a chapter of The Hobbit?” Dad smiled and turned to her.

  “Well if it is then you’re Bilbo!”

  “And actually,” interjected Ilia, typically adding some seriousness to what was an otherwise jovial exchange, “it isn’t that different. We are on a quest after all!”

  “There and back again,” Jorge said, seamlessly joining the chat. But then in a slightly more serious tone added: “well, at least let’s hope so.” Dad looked at him sharply, but he just smiled in response, as if he had been expanding the joke. “Well, shall we?” His gesture swept forward inviting them to lead. But Danae was not yet satisfied.

  “Hang on,” she said, “you said you’ve been waiting for us. Who sent you? Or who told you?” Danae was not one to back down, even when it was appropriate to do so.

  Jorge turned to her with an expression of humorous gravity.

  “You haven’t changed.”

  “What?” The tone of her response was so direct as to be bordering on rude. “What do you mean?”

  “Yes,” added Dad, stepping forward protectively. “What do you mean?”

  Jorge’s hands were already before him in a placating manner.

  “Nothing! At least nothing bad. It’s just that,” and here Jorge turned back to Danae, “we have known each other, you and I, in a life before.”

  “When?” Danae remained aggressively suspicious.

  “Well,” he said quietly, a sad melancholy in his eyes, “that is not for now I am afraid. It was a long, long time ago. But so special that I did not slate my thirst in the River, and so the memories remain as if the events belonged to the life I now live. Maybe after today we can speak. But,” and his manner became more business-like, “I was tasked by Apollo and we have no time to waste. He trusts my discretion and expertise in this thing, He said, so we must get about it.”

  Dad and the girls remained unmoved, but curiosity was overcoming their suspicion. There was something about this old man that was very disarming. Jorge knew this even better than they.

  “You will have to trust me,” he said with a smile. “There is nothing at my disposal with which I am allowed to convince you, so we will have to fall back on old fashioned trust.”

  They regarded him a moment longer then, after exchanging glances and shrugs, Dad spoke for them all.

  “Ok then. Thank you. Lead the way.”

  Leda’s eyes gleamed. Naturally less distrustful than the rest, she had liked Jorge from the outset.

  “Let’s go get the Wings of Daedalus!” she piped, characteristically chipper as she skipped into a brisk walk. She sounded as serious as if she were proposing a trip to the sweet shop. Dad smiled at his youngest princess.

  “Good,” Jorge said, and he looked genuinely pleased. “Then it is to the Queen’s chamber that we must go. Follow me.”

  …In the darkness…

  As they followed Jorge up the Royal Road towards the ruins he spoke continuously. He either did not notice or ignored the behaviour of the girls, as they dodged left and right for no apparent reason. All this lateral movement meant they were struggling to keep up with the surprising bustle of Jorge and they became quickly breathless. They wanted to probe him more as to how he knew about them and the Labyrinth and their Quest, and why and how long he had been waiting for them, and when he had known Danae and what the nature of the relationship had been. But quite apart from the fact that he had dismissed Danae’s initial questioning, he was talking so animatedly and incessantly that they would never have got a word in, and they were panting so much that they did not have the breath to ask. Besides, what he was telling them was very interesting.

  However, as the ruins came into sight, he fell silent. The girls looked ahead then, as if in a chorus, they emitted exclamations of wonder. Dad turned to them:

  “What is it.”

  The girls were wide-eyed, staring at the ruins ahead, so distracted that they did not at first answer.

  “Girls!” Dad repeated, slightly worried. It was Ilia who picked up his concern and responded:

  “Sorry Dad, nothing bad, don’t worry. It’s just the ruins,” and here she looked from Dad back to the structure before them, “they are no longer ruins! Well,” she hesitated, clearly feeling the need to clarify what she had just said; “they are. I mean, I can see the ruins still, but I can also see the palace rising above them. It’s amazing!”

  “Me too!” echoed Danae and Leda simultaneously. Ilia continued:

  “It’s not as solid as the ruined bits, but it’s still clear and… beautiful! It’s massive too! It rises one… two… three…” and here she pointed sequentially as she counted, “yes, at least three stories above the ground floor. And then there are towers as well. And there are painted columns and arcades and stairs and …terraces and gardens and…” she looked back to her father, her inability to describe it producing an expression that was both pleading and bewildered. “It’s just amazing,” she finished simply, her descriptive abilities clearly defeated. The girls’ astonishment was so intense that it was reflected in their father’s face as well, even though he could not see what they were trying to describe. Jorge simply looked on with a knowing smile.

  “It was one of the greatest wonders the world has seen,” he stated quietly, his voice tainted by both appreciation as well as a sad nostalgia. He paused for a while, looking around in the same direction as the girls, as if he too were taking in things that only Dad could not see. The girls babbled excitedly, pointing and prompting each other. Look there! Isn’t that beautiful! The colours are incredible! That’s amazing! Dad simply looked towards the bland, baking ruins, unable to hide his disappointment. He waited patiently and did not interrupt. Eventually it was Jorge who broke the experience:

  “Come on,” he said, “let’s go inside.”

  He led the way into the West Wing of the ruins and, as they passed between two waist-high walls of crumbled stone, the girls were describing to Dad a grand entrance flanked by towering columns. To their father these ruins, which at first had filled him with so much wonder, were now a disappointment. He asked the girls to keep relaying to him what they saw, so as they walked they were pointing excitedly in all directions and generating three constant, intermingling streams of astounded narratives that described the architectural marvels of the palace of King Minos. They were so busy taking in the structure around them that the phantom occupants were often unnoticed until the last moment when, as an uncomfortable collision was about to occur, one of the girls would suddenly see them and hurriedly swerve, dodge or jump out of the way. To Dad, who could not see the source, it was even more comical than it had been on the Royal Road.

  When they reached the edge of the central court the girls all baulked for a moment for here, as they looked out across a grand and open space, they saw that it was crowded with the shades of ancient people, standing, walking or sitting. It was both disconcerting and fascinating. There were so many, they told Dad, that they could not avoid them all. They were very apprehensive about entering the court and moving in among them, because the idea of one of these shades passing through them was unsettling. At the same time, it was such a captivating spectacle, that they wanted to pause and simply observe for a while. When it was tim
e to move on, Jorge seemed to understand what they were experiencing and he reassured them:

  “Don’t be afraid, my lovelies,” he said, “they cannot harm you. They are just shadows of the past, like an image in a mirror. Nothing more.” The girls knew this already, but it did not prevent them feeling a little fearful, no matter how irrational it was.

  As they moved through the open ruins Jorge talked quickly about the origins of the palace and how it had been transformed by King Minos. It was a strange history they were hearing, and recounted in far more detail than Dad had been able to provide. He told them both the legends and myths associated with the palace and its creator and juxtaposed this with the sparse historical facts that had been established from the archaeological record. He said that, as an historical figure, King Minos was not usually acknowledged as having existed at all; but Jorge insisted that he had existed, that he had been king of one of the greatest civilisations of his time, and that he had indeed commissioned the building of this palace. Jorge also told them that Daedalus was a true historical figure and he related to them how Minos had employed Daedalus and that together they had brought the King’s vision of this great palace from fantasy to reality. He described the many floors and high ceilings and brightly painted columns and panoramic, sun-drenched terraces and cool, sparkling fountains and artwork and golden ceilings reflecting the setting sun onto water features, and hanging gardens of vibrant colours. To Dad it sounded splendid; to the girls he was describing what they could see.

  The girls listened intently, smiling to themselves as they took in this ghostly overlay that was encroaching upon their waking world. Jorge’s descriptions were so accurate that it seemed clear that he must be able to see the palace as well. It was Leda who asked him what all three were thinking:

  “Mr Jorge…”

  The old man paused in his narrative.

  “Yes my lovely?” His eyes were attentive and kind.

  “Have you got The Sight? I mean, you must be able to see all this yourself.”

  He studied her for a few seconds.

  “I have indeed seen it myself,” he responded slowly, nodding gently, “but not as you see it. I saw it with the waking eyes of another body, long ago. An age ago. But it is something that I will never forget, every detail.” His eyes had the watery glisten of an old man, so it was hard to tell if he was tearful or not, but he certainly seemed momentarily sad.

  “You lived here?”

  He nodded again, slightly more vigorously.

  “But how…how do you remember? I mean, we have been told we had all sorts of lives, and sometimes flashes of them come to us in our dreams. But we don’t remember them.”

  He tilted his head to the side in a strange gesture and, after a little hesitation, seemed to come to a decision as to how to respond.

  “I remember because I have a trained soul,” he explained, placing a hand on Leda’s shoulder, as if to impress the understanding with physical pressure. “Have you heard of Plato?” he asked, the question directed at all three girls. They nodded.

  “I should hope they have!” Dad interjected with obvious relief, “because I have banged on about him often enough.” Jorge glanced at Dad and then back to the girls.

  “Your father has done well,” he said with an approving smile. “Well, I was fortunate enough to become one of Plato’s followers. A philosopher. He taught us to instil discipline into our very souls for a single purpose. Do you know what that was?” He paused for the girls to answer, but when they did not, turned to their Dad. “Well?” he asked. It was now Dad’s turn to be put on the spot.

  “Well,” Dad echoed, making space to think. “I suspect you were trained to resist the River Lethe’, the River of Forgetfulness, so that when after death your journeying soul crossed the great desert, you would not throw yourself down to drink before being reborn, avoiding the oblivion of your previous life from which the rest of us suffer.”

  Jorge smiled at Dad and then winked at the girls.

  “A budding philosopher himself!” he said, his eyebrows bobbing at the joke.

  “But that doesn’t make any sense,” Dad retorted, but with confusion rather than challenge. “Plato was what…6th or 5th Century BC. King Minos was closer to 2000 BC. So how could you remember this place?”

  “Good question,” he greeted this approvingly. “Your daughters have mentioned the fleeting flashbacks in dreams that they still experience, thousands of years later.” The girls nodded in agreement. “Well that is from only one life, and a very short one at that. Since I learned the gift, I have collated the images from the nightly dreams of two and a half thousand years; many of them tell me a little of my life in this palace. Each image is the like the tiniest piece of a puzzle, but add them up over that much time, and the puzzle is near complete. So I have, from my dreams, almost a compete memory of my life here.” He waited to see if his explanation was adequate.

  Dad did not answer right away. He stood looking at the ground in silence, before he finally broke it with a most profound response.

  “Wow.” The words did not convey much, but his expression said all that was needed.

  “Wow indeed,” echoed Jorge. “If we have time together, then maybe I can give you all some pointers on achieving this state? Learning it would take a lifetime, but I could at least set you on the path.” He was asking them if they would like that. They all responded that it would be awesome, thank you. “But not now,” he continued, “for you have a pressing matter to pursue. Shall we go?”

  “Of course!” they responded with enthusiasm; trust was now fanning the flames of their excitement. It seemed as if the Wings of Daedalus were almost in reach.

  But even yet they had no glimmer of insight into the price they were about to pay.

  Jorge now led the way in silence, winding his way through the ruins towards the southeast corner, where the great staircase led to the lower levels and the Queen’s Chamber. The girls were skittish, behaving like startled sheep, dancing around every shade that came near. As they exited the Great Court however, the occupants became fewer and they were able to proceed in a more orderly manner. At the top of the great staircase Jorge paused and turned to the girls.

  “What you seek is not here, below. But it is here that you will learn how to discover it. The Queen shall reveal it.”

  Ilia responded immediately.

  “Pasiphae, you mean?”

  Jorge answered with a nod, then turned to descend the broad, shallow stairs, following the light well into the depths of the palace of King Minos.

  …He waits…

  The Queen’s Chamber

  The Palace of Knossos

  Chapter V

  A Temporal Sortie

  “And perhaps in this is the whole difference; perhaps all the wisdom, and all truth, and all sincerity, are just compressed into that inappreciable moment of time in which we step over the threshold of the invisible.”

  ― Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

  Jorge led them to the chamber they had visited before, the one with the remarkable dolphin fresco about which Leda had been so excited. The girls found this part of the palace busier; ancient Minoans were everywhere, going about their business. Here they were mostly women, dressed in gorgeous gowns and dresses made of fabrics richer than any of them had ever imagined. When they had remarked on this to Dad and Jorge, their guide had explained that real gems and precious metals achieve a vibrancy that no dyes can match.

  The chamber itself was incredibly rich. The overlay had become denser, so that it almost seemed real, nearly obliterating the sight of the relatively bland room that was visible to Dad and, presumably, Jorge. For the girls, the distance between the world in which they lived, and the one that was revealed by The Sight, was almost closed. Their existence seemed to straddle the two almost equally. Besides the freshness of the colours and the furnishings, the rich billowing drapes and the huge pots in which thrived lush greenery, there were a number of other significant difference
s. Much of the wall painting was different and, most noticeably, the dolphin fresco – as it is called – was not actually located on the wall above the doorway as it was in Evans’ reconstruction; it was underfoot. It turned out that the “fresco” was a beautiful flooring, so that they were standing amidst the dolphins that were in – not a white – but a turquoise sea; this must have been the original colour. It was strange to see Dad standing in all this splendour, dressed in his familiar blue and white striped cargo shorts, the side pockets bulging with phone and wallet and other paraphernalia, sunglasses hanging from the buttoned V of his light summer shirt. He was far too mundane for this setting.

  He also seemed a little disturbed.

  “What is it Dad?” Ilia asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he responded, still glancing around. “But I think that I’m starting to see some of the shadows you’ve been talking about.”

  “Really?” the girls asked, excited at the thought that their Dad might finally join them in this now-familiar experience. They also knew how much he envied their gift, having had to make do with second-hand descriptions for the past year. But Dad did not seem to think that it was the same at all.

  “I don’t think it’s part of what you have girls. It’s not very nice. I think it might be no more than another sign as to how close the world of your Sight and our world are becoming. Does that make sense? They seem so close now that even I am starting to see things.” He turned to Jorge. “Are you seeing some of this as well?”

  Jorge nodded.

  “Yes. We must hurry. The two worlds are indeed blurring together.” They did not understand why the sense of urgency, or what the repercussions would be if they were too slow, but they accepted his concerns as justified nonetheless. They gathered around him.

  “What do we need to do?” Ilia asked.

  “You need to find Minos’ Queen, Pasiphae, in the labyrinth of the past. There is a moment in time when the secret of the entrance to her son’s prison is revealed to her. You must listen and learn the secret.”