Theseus seemed much calmer. “I am sorry to hear it. Perhaps I could speak with his successor instead?”
The leader paced forward a few steps. There was something unsettling about its gait. It struck Sebastianos as somehow inhuman. He wondered, then, what lay under those layers of dark fabric, even as another part of him dreaded to know.
“You are tribute. You will come with us.”
“In due time,” Theseus replied. “If I must. But first I will speak with the ruler of this island. Surely that is not too much to ask? A final meal and a word with my captor?”
“Such needs are passing. The dead require nothing. All is still below.”
Sebastianos took a step back uneasily. The only thing that belied Theseus’ continued steadiness was his hands tightening into fists.
“I am not dead yet,” the prince said.
“You are,” the leader rasped. “You simply do not know it yet.” It motioned with a black-wrapped hand, fingers unsettlingly long. “Take them.”
The dark shapes rushed forward. They came on with dreadful celerity and silence. There were no shouts or war cries, just a terrible sense of purpose. There were more than a dozen of them, easily enough to overwhelm the two unarmed men.
“Run!” shouted Theseus.
The pair set off, sprinting up the street back towards the docks.
“Still feeling good about this plan?” gasped Sebastianos.
“Save your breath for running,” Theseus replied.
It was good advice. The seasickness that had plagued Sebastianos the entire way here was catching up to him now. His endurance was badly drained, and he was soon wheezing. He clamped a hand to his side, where each desperate intake felt like a spike. His legs felt increasingly like rubber, a struggle to put one foot in front of the other.
Theseus dared a glance back. Whatever he saw did nothing to cheer his expression.
“They are gaining on us,” he said.
“You must leave me, my prince,” coughed Sebastianos.
“The gods scorn me if I let you pay the price for my choices,” snapped Theseus. “Go. I will slow them.”
“I cannot leave–”
“You will do as you are told!” barked Theseus. His tone softened instantly. “Go, Sebastianos. Get to the ship. Get everyone else out of here. Tell my father what has happened, that some madness has taken Crete.”
Theseus pulled up and turned to face their pursuers. Sebastianos skidded to a halt a short way on.
“Theseus–!”
The prince had never looked more beautiful. Rage knitted his sweat-sheened brow. His fists were clenched, ready for a battle he could not win.
“Go!” roared the prince.
Sebastianos’ last glance back revealed the cloaked figures swarming about his friend, pulling him down like wolves upon a bear. Tears clouded his vision as he fled. He raced on through the streets, panting desperately against the pain. Whatever the weakness of his body, he could no longer allow it to interfere. To do otherwise was to let Theseus’ sacrifice go to waste.
The sound of screams up ahead robbed him of that sense of purpose. Sebastianos darted into a side alley as he approached the docks and peered around the corner. Their dark-swathed foes had already come for the ship in their absence. Dozens of them rushed the Athenian vessel. Those who had tried to fight were being carried off, unconscious or dead. The rest were being led on chains.
Sebastianos eased back, mind racing. The situation had gone from bad to worse. There was no way he could sail out of here alone to get help. Even if he could have, it was hard to imagine retrieving aid in time to do any good.
Alone, unarmed, in a hostile place. There were a considerable number of things that he could not do, and very little he could think of that he could. He scrubbed his hands over his face in frustration.
Something grabbed hold of him and snatched him backwards into the shadows of the alley.
A hand was clamped over his mouth, stifling his instinctive yelp. Sebastianos bit down on that hand, drawing a very human curse from his assailant. He struggled fiercely and was shoved up against the wall for his efforts. The impact drew a pained grunt from him.
“Shhh!” rasped his attacker.
Sebastianos blinked as he got his first good look at them. It was a woman, with dark skin and hair. She had the look of the lands south of the Mediterranean. She was dressed in simple homespun clothing, the kind suited to hard work. Furthermore, she was glaring at him fit to strike him dead.
Not, as he had feared, a monster of any kind.
“Who–”
She pressed an insistent finger to his lips to silence him and shook her head.
“Somewhere else,” she mouthed.
At least, that’s what it looked like. Sebastianos nodded in response and motioned for her to lead the way. Trusting her might have been a fool’s choice, but he did not have many other options open to him.
She hurried off through the alleys with him trailing in her wake. Unlike Sebastianos, she clearly knew her way around the city. The path she chose avoided main thoroughfares. She was cautious the entire journey. Her obvious fear did nothing to soothe his own. Guilt layered onto it, his mind full of bitter self-recrimination for having left Theseus at all. When they did have to cross one of the main roads she pulled up long enough to carefully check in both directions before hastening onwards. At last, they stopped at an abandoned building.
It looked much like any of the others they’d passed along the way, but here she seemed somewhat more relaxed. There was dusty furniture in the room, and she wiped off a chair before settling into it with a sigh. She motioned for him to sit across the table from her.
Once he had, she leaned forward. “You are Athenian, yes?” Her voice was a steady contralto, even now kept quiet.
He nodded and responded as softly, “Yes. My name is Sebastianos. I came accompanying the tribute. You are a Cretan?”
She gave a wry smile, teeth flashing in the gloom. “Not by birth, though I have lived here for many years. I came here to serve the lady Ariadne. My name is Chrysanthe.”
“Well met.” Sebastianos took a deep breath. “Forgive me, but what in the depths of Tartarus has happened to this city?”
She looked down. “You are closer than you think.”
“What does that mean?”
She rubbed the bridge of her nose and collected her thoughts. “It all started with the war with Athens, or so I am told.”
“That was twenty-seven years ago,” Sebastianos said.
Chrysanthe nodded. “The war was not going as King Minos wished. In the depths of his despair, he was contacted by… a group. A cult. Dedicated not to the gods of Olympus, but to some ancient chthonic power that we had never even heard of. They told him that by propitiating this power, he could turn the tides of battle.”
“And what exactly did they want?”
“At first, just the dead. They took them into deep catacombs, paths into the earth that even those who had lived here their whole lives had never heard of. It seemed little enough, especially when the power they promised proved to be a real thing.”
“Proved how?” asked Sebastianos. His mouth was dry as sawdust. “Do you have any water?”
Chrysanthe nodded and pulled a waterskin from her belt and tossed it to him. He took a deep drink. It was warm and tasted of the leather of the skin. It was divine. It also bought him a chance to think. The tale was a wild one, but something had shattered the peace of this island. She did not seem the lying sort, her eyes too full of real sorrow.
“I don’t know all the details. The thing could shake earth and rack the sea. Miracles I would have thought the domain of Poseidon alone. It was enough to turn things around. Then that horrible hunger began to grow.”
Sebastianos thought back to the masked leader telling them they were dead
and didn’t know it. “They turned on the living as well.”
Chrysanthe nodded. They sat in silence for a few moments before she mustered the will to continue. “Small numbers, at first. That was the reason the tribute was applied to Athens in the first place.”
Sebastianos had suspected, but the confirmation made him feel nauseous. “My countrymen were taken and fed to some…” He shook his head.
She gestured abortively, as if in some helpless attempt at apology. “Even here the idea was met with disquiet. Still, it seemed little enough. Harsher indemnity had been applied to those defeated in other wars.”
He swept his arm out to encompass the whole of the desolate city. “It seems like at some point they lost all restraint.”
“Yes, and Crete has paid the price for turning from the gods. Knossos is all but emptied. When Minos at last protested, he too was taken. Since, his daughter has ruled in name but not in fact.”
“How can she stand to see this happen to her home?”
Chrysanthe’s head snapped towards him, eyes blazing. “She did not choose this!”
The exclamation was like thunder in the quiet. They both froze in terror and listened. The city remained still, and they breathed simultaneous sighs of relief.
“My apologies,” she whispered. “Ariadne did not approve of all that has happened. Here, at the end, she even set about trying to make things right. She crafted a plan to destroy the Labyrinth once and for all.”
“The Labyrinth?”
“That is the name given to the tunnels where all tribute and sacrifices are taken. They lead down into the dark of the earth, turning in on themselves in intricate ways. It is said that only the cultists can find their way in and out.”
“Ariadne…” Sebastianos realized. “You were speaking of her in the past tense.”
Chrysanthe lowered her head. “I do not know if they caught wind of her plot or have simply abandoned all idea of restraint. A few days ago they came for her as well.”
“What was her plan?”
The maidservant gave a bitter laugh. “She was counting on all of you, actually. When the tribute arrived she planned to solicit your help in destroying the wooden pillars that hold the Labyrinth up.”
“Doubly ironic,” Sebastianos said. There was no real humor to the thought. Their situation was many things, but it was not funny.
Chrysanthe raised an eyebrow.
“Theseus, prince of Athens, came this time. He hoped to treat with the royal family and convince them to bring an end to the tribute.”
“Ah,” she said. “And he is…?”
Sebastianos nodded wearily. “They took him.” The image of his friend being overwhelmed welled up once more. He swallowed hard, fighting the knot in his throat.
“Then we are all that’s left.”
“It seems that way,” he said. He could not keep the bitterness from his voice. To think they could simply have never come to Crete. There was no one left to be angered by it.
Chrysanthe picked the waterskin up and took a swig herself. She put it down with force, as if deciding. “Then we must do it.”
Sebastianos studied her with some consternation. “Do what?”
“We cannot abandon them all to suffering beyond death. If you and I are the only ones who can try to end all of this, then that is what we must do.”
Sebastianos’ mind raced. He sat forward. “Do you think we could still save them?”
Chrysanthe bit her lip thoughtfully. “There is a chance. The way the cultists speak of it, they collect souls for sacrifice over time. Gather them down there in the dark, until the numbers are sufficient to please their master. If they were waiting for the tribute to arrive, we might still be able to get there in time.”
“They say all is predetermined, that the Fates have already measured the span of our lives. If that is so, we cannot change what is to come. But it also means there is nothing to be gained by not trying.” Sebastianos stood. “There is no time to waste. Is there somewhere I can get a sword? We were allowed no weapons.”
She studied him and frowned. “A sword might be difficult, but a knife?” She patted the blade sheathed at her own hip. “That can be arranged.”
Chrysanthe hurried off into the house. She returned with the promised item and held it out to him. Sebastianos pulled the blade and contemplated the razor edge. It caught the fading light of the gray day with a dull gleam. It would do. It would have to.
“Thank you.” He motioned around. “You know this home well. Was it yours?”
“No. I lived with my lady at the palace and fled the night she was taken. This belonged to my cousin.” Chrysanthe looked around slowly. “I used to visit him and his family on festival days.”
Sebastianos mustered a smile. “We will save those we can, and avenge those we cannot.”
She took a deep breath and nodded. They crept out of the house back into the streets of Knossos. The day was coming to an end, and the already gray sky was edging towards black. It would be night by the time they reached the entrance to the Labyrinth. Sebastianos tried not to dwell on that thought.
A light flamed to life down the road from them. Chrysanthe pulled him into a side alley. Both pressed up against the wall and tried to stay as still as possible. Sebastianos kept a hand on the hilt of the knife. He could hear his heart pounding. If it was half as loud to anyone around, they’d be found out in a moment.
Footsteps announced an approach. To his ears they sounded more like the click of hooves on the cobblestones. Again, he was forced to wonder as to the true nature of their foe. Were they human? Had they been once? He did not know, and he was afraid to ask.
Four black-swathed figures walked past the alley. They did not speak among themselves as normal people would have. One carried a torch, but even that was strange: it burned too bright and pure, with an actinic white light. Still, Sebastianos gave thanks to Olympus for it. They might have come upon the cultists unawares had it not been for the light.
The rearmost one of the four paused. It turned its hooded head this way and that. Sebastianos could hear it snuffling, a wet noise that recalled a hound. He held his breath and counted the seconds, trying not to tremble as the thing searched around. The urge to retreat deeper into the alley was powerful, but he resisted. It made a sound, somewhere between a snort and a cough, and continued on its way.
They waited several more seconds before both sighed with relief. Chrysanthe slipped over to the wall on the other side of the alley and glanced after the cultists. She nodded and motioned him on; they had indeed left the pair behind. The two of them hurried on their way, eager to be out of the city.
The palace grew before them, a daunting construction of stone. The many windows were dark. It created an unsettling effect with the onset of night, as though they were great empty eye sockets watching them approach. Sebastianos shuddered.
“Is there anyone left in Knossos at all?” he whispered.
“Other than us?” she asked. She shrugged expressively. “If they are out there, they know better than to draw attention to themselves.”
“A city emptied,” he mused. “What is a traveler even to make of such a thing, should they find it? Just another mystery, never to be answered.”
“Just another reason to not let it happen,” Chrysanthe said.
Sebastianos nodded. They crept into the echoing hall of the palace. Tapestries showed many aspects of Cretan life, often accompanied by the great bulls the locals held sacred. It made him wonder about the mask. Was it mere camouflage? A mockery of what they had once held holy?
Only lush rugs kept their footsteps from announcing their presence to the whole building. Even so, he was surprised at how few signs there were of the cultists here.
“They did not take the palace for themselves,” Sebastianos said.
Chrysanthe shook her head. “
They dislike the great open spaces. They find the wind and the sun on their face abhorrent. They keep to themselves, down there in the dark of the tunnels, when they are not searching for tribute to feed their hungry god.”
He could no longer resist. “Are they human?”
She glanced back at him and paused in her steps. “I… don’t know. Some of them are, I think. Some of them seem like they’re something else. Especially their leader.”
“The bull,” he said.
“Yes,” Chrysanthe said and shuddered. “If that one is human, it gives us all a bad name.”
She led the way down into the palace cellars. It became necessary to light a torch as they moved below ground. She plucked one from a wall sconce and lit it with flint and steel from her belt pouch. Rats scattered at the sudden light, squeaking in alarm. Part of Sebastianos longed to recoil the same way. If their foes saw the light… It did not bear thinking of. They would never find their way in the dark. Some risks had to be taken.
They passed among great amphorae of wine, covered with dust. Barrels of other supplies were stacked elsewhere. Some had sat unused so long the wood had rotted through. Spilled contents were what had drawn all the vermin. They glared at the passing humans with red eyes shining in the dark, returning to their feast once the intruders were gone.
At last the pair came to the entrance of a yet deeper passage. Gusts of chill air poured from it like icy breath. The darkness of the tunnel mouth seemed tactile. It resisted the light of the torch, retreating only reluctantly as Chrysanthe stepped forward. It slid back like oil, waiting just beyond the reach of the flame. All it needed was for them to step inside, and it could swallow them whole.
“It’s not real. It’s all in your head,” whispered Sebastianos to himself. He shivered and tried to tell himself it was the cold and not the fear.
“What?” asked Chrysanthe.
“Nothing,” he replied. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “We have come this far. There’s no turning back now.”
The Devourer Below Page 11
