…He is becoming impatient. He forgets how long it can take the initiates to navigate His House. Usually He would run to them, but He has been told to be patient. So, He stands in the shadows as if He were only the statue of some great beast, and He waits…
They are grateful to move on. Although it is permanent night down here, it has been a long day above. They should be tired, but their fear injects tension into every fibre of their bodies, so their exhaustion is more due to stress-fatigue than lagging muscles or sleep deprivation. Everything is on edge, like a bowstring drawn so far that either the string or the bow itself must give way in an explosion of potential force. Although it is cool and they are not warmly dressed, they perspire.
Left.
Left.
Left.
Ever left, then back the way they came.
“Maybe 200 metres?” Dad estimates, looking at the remaining line on the reel, still with a degree of disbelief. “Another hundred to go then we need to start with a fresh one.” He looks back down the line retreating behind them and shines the torch where it disappears around a right-hand corner; they can see the nylon thread glinting in the light. “We must have walked four or five kilometres, though. Maybe less…” His voice trails off.
They turn and move on without speaking further.
For Leda, fear is overcoming her excitement. The further they penetrate into the black, silent maze of the Labyrinth, the stronger her fear grows. The fascination of this ancient structure, its mythical qualities, the prospect of finding the Wings of Daedalus – these are all fading before the growing dread of darkness, uncertainty and the evidence of death. She huddles close to Dad at all times; he is the anchor to her tolerance. She retains the childish conviction that as long as she is with her father, she is safe. But the growing terror is challenging this conviction, and she is close to asking him to turn back.
Danae is beyond this. Dad provides some reassurance, but more important to her is the sense of invincibility that is the gift – or curse – of youth. She has sprung up in the last couple of years and is now both tall and strong for her age. She is successful at competitive sports and accustomed to feeling superior and, added to this, she has the gift of Strength from Apollo that she has been learning to employ at will. Even more than most young people, she feels special; in a lesser environment this would be enough. But here, the various threats of the Labyrinth are almost overwhelming and she feels dwarfed, her self-belief being steadily undermined. As it wavers so does she. It is a lonely place as, unlike Leda, who externalises her safety upon her father’s presence, Danae has only herself to rely upon. Externally she tries to retain her characteristic bravado, but that pride makes it impossible for her to admit what she is feeling, or to turn to her sisters or father for comfort. So the growing terror for her is more visceral, and the prospect of her resolve breaking more petrifying; she feels panic starting to take control of her body, her legs unreliable, her hands shaky, and a tremor creeping down her jaw.
Ilia is fortunate; her gift of Wisdom is intense and allows her to rationalise the situation in a manner that the others cannot. The facts are simple; they are in an ancient stone maze that has been deserted for thousands of years; they have a systematic method to reach its centre and to escape; they have enough supplies of all sorts to provide what they need; they can leave at any time. She feels the fear of the darkness and the imagination and ancient horrors, but her divine gift allows her to suppress this; she is in the best position of all of them.
For Dad it is different. He has some of Ilia’s ability to rationalise, but he is not immune to the growing horror that this place engenders. The invincibility of youth has long since left him and he is very aware of his own mortality and, unlike his girls, he has no one from which to seek comfort. Indeed it is his role to reassure them, which in itself brings an even greater terror, stronger than all others – the fear of failing them. Aware of his own mortality, his own weaknesses, his own limitations, he realises there are things from which he cannot protect his girls, even while they think he can. Fear of helplessness to protect those you love is the most incapacitating terror one can face. He has brought them into this place and any number of things could occur to them, and he would be responsible. How would they fare if something happened to him right now? Would they be able to escape safely? But he cannot discuss this with them; it must remain a secret fear, as he must reassure them and be their guardian in all senses – physical, emotional and psychological.
Part of him wants to turn back, desperately, to take them to safety. However, the rational part of him dismisses that as childish and irresponsible. They have a task to complete, a real task, and they are so close. The risks have been weighed; this is the right thing to do.
…He-that-waits has never known fear, but He knows how it smells in all its incarnations; none better. His wide nostrils snort as He breathes it in, savouring His favourite scent. For Him the various perfumes of terror are like the assorted aromas of a bouquet of mixed flowers; like an expert florist He identifies each one individually, and knows it.
Not long. They are near…
They enter another chamber and pause; Dad pans the torch beam from wall to wall. In the centre is what they have before agreed must be a square sunken pool, but dry and dusty and filled with sand. There are a number of bundles on the floor here, and they must investigate all of them, for any one could conceal the Wings. But examining the skeletal remains has become a routine and they do so without much hope. Each one of them feels that the Wings will not be found lying casually in a chamber or corridor – they will be at the heart of the Labyrinth. Still, they must go through the motions just in case. Dad pans the torch around a second time, but no one moves. The most obvious fact is elucidated by Danae as she brazenly disturbs the eternal peace:
“That’s a lot of dead people,” she says, slightly incredulous.
It is. There are around a dozen piles of rags and bones spread across the floor. Where uncovered, polished teeth gleam at them in perpetual grins; black eye sockets stare at them unblinking; ribs cage space like the frames of unroofed houses; bony fingers seem either to beckon or warn them. Ilia states an only slightly less apparent truth:
“This will take a while.”
They all stand and stare for a few moments longer, reluctant to begin their gruesome task.
“Let’s speed this up,” comes Dad’s suggestion. “Even tied together, we can still spread out enough to search more than one … of these… at a time. Get your torches out and let’s do a sweep around the room. Leda-bee,” he adds, looking down to where she is huddled into his side, “you can help me.” She nods appreciatively.
All three girls remove their daypacks and rummage through them, while Dad assists by shining his torch where requested. Once they are all armed with light they spread out, side by side and as far apart as their cord will allow – all except Leda, who keeps close to Dad. They work their way around the chamber, quickly examining the skeletons each in turn, but find nothing of interest apart from tunics, belts and sandals. It seems odd that they have not found a single weapon since the sword that Dad now carries, not even a knife; Danae comments on this.
“Well,” answers Dad, slightly distracted as he and Leda search another skeleton, “I was surprised we even found that one. Because all these people were sent in here as sacrifices, and it is not customary to arm a sacrificial victim. There is only one person that I ever heard of that entered the Labyrinth armed.” Here Dad pauses and looks over to Danae and Ilia, who are each squatting beside their own bony subjects; “and that was Theseus,” he concludes.
All three girls pause and look at him. It is Leda that is the first to react:
“But Theseus killed the Minotaur. Didn’t he?”
Dad nods.
“So the legends say.”
“So that couldn’t have been Theseus?”
“No, I guess not.” Dad sounds slightly unconvinced, and the girls are uncertain if he means what h
e says. Danae grins at a sudden thought:
“It would be so cool if you have the sword of Theseus!”
“Yes, that would be quite a souvenir!” Dad agrees. Leda, however, looks slightly concerned:
“But if that was Theseus, dead, then it would mean that he didn’t kill the Minotaur?” The rising inflection makes her statement a question. No one says anything, so she continues: “and that would mean that the Minotaur might still be alive?”
“What, after three and a half thousand years with nothing to eat?” Danae can be offensively dismissive. Ilia is less condescending, and tempers Danae’s certainty:
“Well, he was a demi-god.”
…Is, Asterion corrects her in His head. He hears them now, and is glad that after all these ages His name is not yet forgotten. They are just a few chambers away from their Fate…
“Ok let’s not be silly,” says Dad dismissively. “Danae’s right – there is no way anything or anyone is still kicking around here three thousand years later. And,” he adds, trying to convince himself as much as his daughters, “we have not found anything that even remotely suggests there might be something living down here. This is about the deadest place I have ever heard of.”
They find nothing of further interest in this hall and move on. Dad feels it unnecessary to make known his own observation; many of the bones in this chamber – especially the long bones – were broken, either smashed transversely, as if crushed under the weight of something immensely heavy, or shattered into long sharp shards, as if ruptured by torsion. The latter in particular reminds him of a practice he had learned about in a documentary on the cannibalistic rituals of the Mayans, in which they broke the longs bones to access the marrow. It does not bear dwelling upon.
They enter two more chambers before reaching their final dead-end. Each of these also contains a mass of skeletons which take some time to search. There are so many and they are so shattered that, rather than the appearance of a number of discrete remains scattered around the floors, the rooms appear awash with bones. Many of these are also broken and the girls comment on it.
“It must have been an absolute slaughter here,” Dad concludes solemnly.
“How many people were sent in here again?” Leda asks.
“Fourteen every seven or nine years,” answers Ilia. “Seven young men and seven young women.”
“I wonder how long that went on for,” muses Danae.
No one knows, so no one answers.
When they have searched the second chamber and seen that there is no onward exit, they turn back and follow the left wall all the way back to the corridor in which they had tried to rest, perhaps 20 or 30 paces beyond the exact spot. It is incredible how far they walk, yet how little they progress. They turn left and follow the passageway to the next intersection.
This next left leads directly into another “pool” chamber, however it is utterly choked with dismantled skeletons. They must be cautious as they walk so as to avoid tripping over or stepping on loose bones. There is now no hiding the ghastly state of the remains – hardly a bone is intact. Rags and scraps of leather lie mixed among the general refuse of long-dead humans. They work their way around the room as quickly as they can, over-turning the jumbled shafts and skulls and rib-cages with their feet, but no one is surprised that they find nothing of interest.
At the far side of the room Dad pushes the stone door and it swings silently open; what is revealed causes them to pause. They can see a long corridor leading to another open doorway and a chamber beyond. At the far side of that chamber is an identical stone door. However, it is visibly outlined, even without the illumination of their torches; it appears that light is seeping in around the closed door, a cold white light.
“That must be natural light,” says Dad. “I wonder if we are coming up to the big central hall that we started in? Or if moonlight is filtering down through some other aperture?”
There is no way of determining this except to move on. Dad inspects the reel of fishing line and decides to start a new one, which he removes from his daypack, ties the end to the existing line, and replaces the empty reel on the spool.
“About 280 metres so far girls – you could run that in less than a minute.”
“Except we’d probably trip on bones!” says Ilia.
“We need to be careful when we come back in case the line is tangled in some of them.”
They pass through the doorway and continue down the corridor and into the next chamber. The bones are more than ankle deep, except for a path down the middle that is cleared as if by regular passage. Here they undertake a cursory search, but they are distracted, their eyes drawn constantly to far door. Dad is quite quick to decide there is nothing in this room and that they should move on. They gather on this side of what might be the last doorway.
“Ready girlies?” Dad asks, his hand hovering in front of the stone door, ready to push. They nod nervously in the torchlight.
He pushes.
The door swings silently.
Cold light floods in…
Chapter VIII
The Centre
…But as it is, the Fates of Death stand over us in a thousand forms
And no man can run from them, or escape them…
– Sarpedon to Glaukos, The Iliad, Book XII
It is the hall, vast and circular, with a broad stone-paved floor and grey stone walls. In those walls, at regular intervals, are doors – fourteen, just as Leda had counted, including the one they are looking through. Most of them are closed, but not all. From the level of the lintels springs the massive dome, a great arching sky, and punching through its very centre is the round oculus, created by the stairwell. It must be a full moon outside as down the lightwell and through the oculus is a descending shaft of white moonlight that strikes the floor, illuminating a great circle. In the very centre of that circle of light is the slab of stone that they had seen from above.
This hall is truly awe-inspiring, both in magnitude and structure, and they simply stand and stare. It is Dad that breaks the silence:
“Wow…again!”
Echo!
The echo has returned. It is much less irritating than when they had been on the walkway, however, as Dad’s voice seems to rise up and around in the dome, faint and high.
“It is just like the Pantheon, but underground,” says Ilia, and her voice drifts off to join Dad’s far above.
They stand for a few long moments, taking it all in. They feel reluctant to step into the hall, as if it is sacred space in which they are not welcome. But there is nowhere else to go, so eventually Dad steps through the door with Leda close, and the other sisters follow suit. They pause again, side by side, still observing. Ilia drops the spindle to the floor; none of them doubts that they should not need to trace their steps any further.
The ceiling of the dome captivates their attention most. Because the lightwell and accompanying stair penetrates into the dome like a descending pipe, coming to an end halfway to the floor, it leaves the higher ceiling in deeper shadow. It is not dark enough as to be utterly black, however, and a sense of the shape and scale of the dome is ever present. But the shapes that they had seen from the walkway, cut into the ceiling, are much clearer from the floor than they were two hundred feet above. From the walkway they had seen the sharp, black shapes, but had been at too shallow an angle to see into them. From the floor they can view all these shapes from the intended perspective and they are amazed to see that from here they gleam a pale, lunar white in the blackness. Dad suggests that they must be lined with some sort of luminescent stone or gems. The girls think this seems unlikely, until Dad reminds them that compared to creating wings that enable human flight, a phosphorant decorative substance does not seem particularly difficult – certainly nothing was beyond the skill of Daedalus. But even more striking is that the carved designs now make sense – the luminous shapes are constellations, and so the domed ceiling has been transformed into the vaulted heavens.
&n
bsp; It is breath-taking and unexpected. The great pale swathe of the Milky Way sweeps across the ceiling, and the other constellations of the night sky are clustered around in a manner that would be absolutely familiar to the astronomer. Neither Dad nor the girls have ever studied astronomy, but they still recognise some of the most common star-groups. There are the small and large pan – the large pan being part of the Big Dipper – and a few other patterns that they recognise but do not know their names. Predictably it is the sky of the Northern Hemisphere – as the Southern Cross under which Dad grew up is noticeably absent. Stretched across the middle sweep the signs of the Zodiac, although none of them can identify the individual groups. Like the night sky, many of the stars are almost imperceptible, noticeable on the edge of vision but disappear when you look directly at them. The bolder stars are permanent of course. And through the centre of it all the great lightwell descends, creating a circle of cold white light, like a wintery full Moon.
The Progeny of Daedalus Page 18
