by R. D. Brady
“Mama!” cried a little girl with dark eyes and hair, the smallest in the group. She tried to run to her mother, but an older boy grabbed her and held her back. His eyes were too similar to the girl's and his gaze too heartbroken as he looked at the woman on the ground, to be anything but her brother.
Helen grabbed Barnabus’s arm before he could step forward. “No. There are too many, and the children would be the first ones hurt. Minos will order them slaughtered if anyone steps out of line. He is not new to this. He’s done it before.”
“He is the monster.”
“Don’t worry about him. I have no intention of leaving Minos unscathed when we take our leave of this island,” Helen said. She watched the king, who was busy stuffing his face with a pastry as he stepped from the litter with the help of one of his litter bearers. Red jam slid down his chin. “As soon as we have what we need, we will make sure these people are free of him.”
Seeming completely oblivious to the emotions of his people, Minos held up his hands with a giant smile on his face. “My good people, it is the time again when we honor the gods with our sacrifice. We thank the gods for the bravery of these children and the willingness of their families to protect our blessed kingdom.”
Not a single person in the crowd smiled or cheered.
“But tonight,” Minos continued, “we have an even greater gift for the gods. Two members of royal families far from our shores have agreed to sacrifice themselves as well.”
Helen glared at him. Bastard. But she said nothing. Her actions would disprove his words soon enough.
One of the guards unbolted the door. Another guard joined him, and together they pulled open the giant door. A third guard leaned in with a torch and set ablaze a line of oil high on the wall ablaze.
Other guards shoved the children forward roughly. Most moved forward obediently, but one boy was petrified with fear. When the guards pushed him, he merely fell to his knees.
Barnabus rushed forward and reached out his hand to the boy. “It’s all right, child. I won’t let any harm come to you.”
Filled with tears, the boy’s big brown eyes stared up at Barnabus. Barnabus gently pulled him up. “Let us go together then.”
Helen peered into the cave. The oil fire cast shadows along the walls, but she could sense nothing moving beyond that. “Well,” she said to Barnabus, “let’s get started.”
Helen stepped into the cave. It was dry, which was at least one small blessing. And it was more tunnel than cave, about ten feet wide and bending out of sight about fifty feet in. She moved forward, casting about for any sign of danger. She sensed nothing near, but there was a vague presence somewhere in the distance. She could not tell if it was friend or foe.
Barnabus then entered with the children. As soon as they were all inside, the door slammed shut behind them, and some of the children cried out.
Helen turned. Careful to keep her voice calm, she said “Sh, sh. It’s all right. We are about to have an adventure. So before we begin, let’s start with some names. I am Helen, and my tall friend here is Barnabus, the strongest man in all of Pharos and one of the greatest warriors I have ever met.”
All the children’s eyes turned to Barnabus. Barnabus smiled. “Queen Helen speaks true. But she forgot to mention that she is the greatest warrior that I have ever met.”
The children looked between the two of them, and Helen saw one small smile on an equally small face. It was a start.
“Now, why don’t you all tell me your names?” She pointed at the oldest boy, who still held the hand of his younger sister. “You first,” she said.
“Samuel.” He nodded to his sister. “This is Kyrael.”
“It is pleasure to meet you both.”
Helen continued pointing at the children until they had all given their names. Then she broke them up into pairs, one older and one younger. “All right, does everyone have their partner?”
The kids nodded.
“Good. All right, troops, let’s move out.”
Helen peered into the dark cave. We can do this.
An animal screamed somewhere deep in the cave. The sound echoed and was distorted by the acoustics of the cave, making it impossible to identify—but Helen knew misery when she heard it. More than one child let out a cry of fear, and Helen had to hold back the shiver that tried to creep down her spine.
There is no such thing as a minotaur, she thought as she started forward. But a smaller part of her brain whispered, Are you sure?
Chapter 72
The fire trench along the wall gave them enough flickering light to see by, but the dancing shadows made it appear as if the walls and path were alive. The effect was chilling and caused Helen to jump at more than one shadow. The effect on the children was even more pronounced.
More concerning, Helen could feel animals just out of her view. Her animal sense had been honed over the years, and while she had been in Minos’s courtyard, she had briefly spoken with the animals there. She had learned that when an animal got old or sick, it disappeared. She now had a feeling she knew where those animals had disappeared to.
She had a feeling the animals would be more difficult to reach down here. The darkness, the terror—it would have that effect on anyone. And if these were indeed the animals from Minos’s zoo, they’d suffered a lifetime of abuse and pain as well. Animals in pain were always difficult to connect with.
We mean you no harm and we could use your help. She sent the message out over and over again. But she received no response.
After reaching the bend in the path, they entered a large cavern with three other tunnels leading away from it. Helen chose one on the left. Marking the tunnel with a rock, she turned back to make sure all of the children were still with her. Kyrael caught her gaze.
Helen said, “It will be all right.”
The girl’s big dark eyes, full of trust, looked into Helen’s—and Helen prayed she would not let the girl down.
They walked in silence. Occasionally a smaller tunnel branched off to one side, but Helen stayed the course. Too soon, they came to another cavern with three choices. Helen stayed left again, figuring it was best to stay consistent. Again she marked her way with a rock.
Doubt began to trickle through her. Even without the danger offered by the animals down here, they could wander around here for days and days without ever coming across the key. The children were not in the best shape to begin with; after a few days without food or water, many of them would be unable to continue. They needed to find the key quickly.
If we have no luck today, maybe I can leave Barnabus with the children while I go on alone.
Just then, she felt an animal presence again—and a feeling of protection. But it slipped from her mind before she could get a firm grasp on it. She couldn’t even tell what direction the thought had come from. But she felt no threat. She thought of telling Barnabus, but there was nothing really to say, so she just continued on.
After what felt like hours, she stepped into a new tunnel off another large cavern. They had made turn after turn, and Helen worried about being able to backtrack. She had used a rock to mark each turn, but still it would be difficult.
Then she stumbled over something, catching herself on the wall before she could fall. She looked down to see what she’d stumbled over—and she went still. The hair on the back of her neck rose.
The tunnel was littered with bones.
Her breath caught as she saw one skull that could only have belonged to an infant. Behind her, several children let out a cry as they, too, saw what filled the path ahead.
Barnabus grabbed the children and started pulling them back. Helen assisted, ushering the children back out of the passage and into the cavern, against a wall, her breathing a little faster than she would like. “All right, stay here for a moment while we go see, okay?”
The children held on to one another, staring to the tunnel. But Samuel nodded back at her. “I’ll look after them.”
“You wi
ll make a fine soldier one day,” Barnabus said, clapping the boy lightly on the shoulder.
A look of pride crossed Samuel’s face, but then he shook his head. “I will never fight for this king.”
Helen had no reply to that, and neither did Barnabus. So in silence the two of them ducked back into the tunnel of bones.
Helen knelt down and picked up a bone—a femur. She walked closer to the flames to get a better look, and what she saw did nothing to slow her racing heart.
“What is it?” Barnabus asked.
Helen handed him the femur. Keeping her voice low, she said, “Teeth marks. Something has gnawed on these bones.”
Barnabus cast a critical gaze around. “What do you think it was?”
“I’m guessing it’s one of the animals that have been trapped down here.”
“So this is what has happened to all the children Minos has sent down here,” Barnabus said softly.
Helen nodded. A vision of her own children trapped in here, eaten by animals, assaulted her mind. She slammed her eyes shut and rolled her hands into fists. No.
A roar sounded from ahead, bouncing off the walls. Helen’s eyes flew open. Behind them, the children let out a cry of fear.
The shadows shifted ahead. Something approached.
“Barnabus, get to the kids.”
Barnabus hustled back down the passage in a blur. Helen heard a grinding of rock, then Barnabus rejoined her.
“What are you doing?” she hissed. “I told you to guard the children.”
“I blocked them in an alcove. They’re fine. You I am not so sure about.”
The shadow grew closer. Helen could now make out its shape.
A beast with three heads.
“Cerberus,” Barnabus whispered.
But Helen shook her head. Her mother had told her there was no such thing. But even as she clung to that belief, the shadow belied her mother’s teachings.
Helen grabbed a long bone, as did Barnabus. They were the only weapons they had.
The creature finally came close enough to be visible in the flickering light. And it was not Cerberus. But that did nothing to relieve Helen.
Because standing in front of them was a huge male lion.
Chapter 73
Helen and Barnabus backed into the cavern where they had left the kids. Helen saw that the children were indeed well protected in an alcove blocked by a massive rock. They’re safe from the lion—but they’ll never be able to get out of there if we don’t survive. Helen pushed the thought away.
The lion stalked toward them slowly, letting out a roar. The beast’s coat was riddled with mange, and his bones poked through his skin.
“We mean you no harm,” Helen said softly, sending feelings of love and peace toward him.
But from the lion all she felt was fear—fear and pain. And the feelings of fear weren’t directed at her, but at Barnabus.
“You need to step back,” she said. “You’re scaring him.”
“I’m scaring him?” Barnabus asked.
“Yes. He is old, Barnabus. And in pain. He does not have much control.” Helen’s own fear was turning to pity. “Please.”
Barnabus backed up three steps. “This is as far as I go.”
Helen called on the power of the ring. “Do not interfere,” she ordered Barnabus.
Barnabus’s eyes grew wide, and he struggled to move. “Damn it, Helen.”
The lion let out a roar, and Helen felt his anger. Before she could try to calm him, he charged.
“Helen!” Barnabus yelled. The children screamed from their hiding spot.
From one of the other tunnels, a giant she-bear burst forth. With one of its massive paws, it took a great swipe at the lion. The lion screamed in pain.
“Stop!” Helen yelled. Both animals froze.
The bear was on its hind legs, standing at least seven feet tall. Helen recognized her thoughts from earlier. She was the animal Helen had felt when they first entered the cave—the animal who had given Helen a sense of protection.
Thank you, Helen thought to the bear, but he is old and in pain. Let him have peace.
The bear paused for a moment, then dropped down onto her front paws and backed away.
Helen looked at the lion. The charge had apparently taken all his energy, and his side now bled from the bear’s swipe. He offered no threat now. Suddenly, Helen felt all the lion’s pain and suffering, now and throughout his life. It assaulted her mind, and she choked back a sob. The lion was just looking for peace.
Helen sat down against the wall of the cavern and patted the ground next to her. “Come, my friend.”
After a moment’s hesitation, the lion moved forward a limp in his step. With a weary sigh he sat tentatively next to Helen.
“It’s all right,” she said.
The lion rolled onto his side and placed his head in Helen’s lap. Helen ran her hand through the cat’s mane. It’s all right, old boy. It’s all right.
A cavalcade of images drifted through Helen’s mind as the lion showed her his life. He had been taken from his parents as a cub. His mother had been killed in front of him. He had been kept in a crate for over a year before he arrived at Minos’s castle. And then the real torture began. Helen felt all of it, all the pain, as strongly as she felt the pain the lion was in right now—the result of a lifetime of injuries.
Tears dripped down Helen’s cheeks and onto the lion’s fur. “I am so sorry,” she said. She gently ran one finger from the top of his skull to the base of his nose. “Sleep, my friend.”
She felt the lion let go. She felt the peace that came with being freed from this life.
“Helen?” Barnabus asked softly.
She took a stuttering breath. “I’m all right.” She ran her hand again through the lion’s fur before gently disentangling herself from the beast and wiping her eyes. “He was in so much pain. He had a hard life. He was stolen from his family when he was young. Then he was abused by Minos, and when he grew too old, he was sent down here to be a snack for the beast.”
“There is a beast?”
“The minotaur is real.” She glanced down the lion. “But it showed him kindness. The first time in his life he’d ever been shown it.”
“The lion did not extend that kindness to us,” Barnabus said.
“No. He fears humans. After what he’s been through, I do not blame him.”
Helen turned to the bear. “Thank you, my friend.”
The bear huffed at her, and Helen sat back in surprise.
“What is it?” Barnabus asked.
“She has a cub. It’s why she helped. She needs food for the cub. She was pregnant when she was sent here. They mistook it for illness.” It’s all right.
“Helen? Barnabus?” Samuel’s voice called out.
“We’re all right. I’ll be right there,” Barnabus called. He slid the large rock out of the way, releasing the children from the alcove.
Helen met the bear’s gaze. We are taking care of children too. We need to find something. Helen flashed on an image of a box sitting on a tall column of rock.
The bear huffed again, and Helen smiled. “She’s seen the box. She’ll lead us there.”
The children peered out from behind Barnabus. He nodded to the bear. “Will she be a problem?”
Helen shook her head. She felt a kinship with the bear. “No. In fact, she’s agreed to help us. And she’s just trying to do right by her child.” Just like me.
Chapter 74
Troy, Turkey
Clytemnestra was surprised by how much she enjoyed her time in Troy. Back in Mycenae, Agamemnon had always switched her servants so she could never grow too close to any of them—except Morcant—and he had encouraged her sons to defy her. Iphigenia had been her one bright spot. But here, she was made to feel a part of the family. In fact, if she was being honest, she felt more at home here than she did in Mycenae. Paris stayed away from her, no doubt because Helen had scared the life out of him, but the rest of the
family, even Hector, treated her as a guest rather than a captive. After all, they believed she and Paris had fallen in love at first sight.
It was not, however, a carefree existence. The deaths were mounting on both sides, with neither side seeming to gain any true ground. She had heard nothing from her brothers or Helen, and each day she worried for them all.
Clytemnestra walked around the courtyard, her arm wrapped around Hecuba’s. She found comfort in the older woman’s presence. Hecuba reminded her of her own mother.
“My dear, your sewing is beautiful,” Hecuba said. The two of them had been working on a tapestry this morning. “I did not realize Spartan women were so skilled in the domestic arts.”
Clytemnestra hid her smile. She tried to imagine Helen sitting down with a needlepoint. Helen would have been less likely to put her needle through the fabric and more likely to put her needle through the eye of whichever person suggested she try it. But Clytemnestra found peace in the quiet work; it allowed her to take her mind off other troubling aspects of her life.
“You will find Spartans are very diverse in our skills sets,” she said.
“Perhaps one day I will be able to visit.”
Not sure how that is going to happen, Clytemnestra thought, but out loud she said, “That would be lovely.”
“Ah, this garden always has the most beautiful flowers,” King Priam said as he stepped from an alcove into the garden. He walked over and kissed Hecuba on the cheek. Despite their years together, she still blushed.
Clytemnestra watched the exchange with more than a little envy. The king and queen’s marriage had been an arranged one, like all other royal matches—yet it was obvious that this one had resulted in a true loving union.
Priam nodded toward Clytemnestra with a smile. “And how are you today, my dear? You have some color in your cheeks. That is good.”
“I am well, my lord. The fresh air is wonderful.”
“Yes. This garden—”
