“First things first,” she said.
She handed him the torch to hold, then reached once more into her belt pouches. She came out this time with a skein of thread. She tied one end to a great heavy container of wine that sat nearby. Sebastianos raised an eyebrow when she looked around to him once more.
“An idea of my own. So we can find our way back out.”
“If one of the cultists finds it, won’t it lead them straight to us?”
Chrysanthe shrugged helplessly. “They rarely use this path. It was made to collect tribute from King Minos. Ariadne had me follow some of them when she was forming her plan. They have their own secret ways to come and go. There is at least a chance they won’t find the thread.” She looked back to the darkness. “I do not give us such good odds should we try to brave the dark unaided.”
“As you say,” Sebastianos allowed. “It is in the hands of the gods, as are we.”
The maidservant lingered there in the arch. Perhaps she knew her own fears and hesitations. If so, she mastered them swiftly before plunging into the tunnel mouth. Sebastianos followed just behind. The torch guttered as he stepped across the threshold, pulled at by the cold wind from the depths.
The route was simple at first. It led them in great loops down into the earth. The construction here was of the same style as the city above, stone blocks decorated by intricate frescoes. These commemorated victories over the Athenian fleet in the war. The height of their dark alliance, mused Sebastianos.
Soon the passage forked, and the architecture changed. It became simpler and rougher. Old writing, divots and marks, was etched into the walls. Whatever meaning it contained was lost on Sebastianos. He could not help but imagine. Warnings, perhaps? “Go no deeper, you fools”? They could not afford to listen if that was the case.
They encountered their first dead end and were forced to retrace their steps. Soon there was a second, and a third, each one lost time. Both were shivering. It was increasingly cold the deeper they went, unnaturally so. Sebastianos could see the fog of their breath in front of each of them. He was ever more tired. The exertions of the day were catching up to him. He had slept poorly on the journey here, sick and tormented by nightmares. Chrysanthe glanced at him, her face drawn with fear and worry, and he mustered a smile for her.
Down and down they went. Sometimes there were short flights of stairs, but it was usually just a gradual slope. It was easy to lose track of how far they had come, though the ache of Sebastianos’ legs suggested it had been a good distance.
“At this rate we shall stumble into Tartarus first and be forced to apologize to the Titans for our discourtesy,” he said.
“Whatever it is the cultists worship, I fear it is even older than they. Something of the primordial Kaos, perhaps,” she replied. The joke had clearly fallen flat. She was shaking, whether from cold or fear.
“You are brave to come so far for Ariadne,” Sebastianos said. “She is lucky to inspire such loyalty.”
“She is a good person, wise for her age. She will make a better ruler than Minos did.” To continue talking was foolish, but neither of them seemed to be able to help it. The icy silence was unbearable. “What drives you, Sebastianos?”
He thought of Theseus, captured and taken down this way in the hands of monsters. Of the grim fate that awaited the prince. It steeled him, and he squared his shoulders. “Love,” he said simply.
Chrysanthe smiled at that, and the expression was the warmest thing in the Labyrinth. “Then your prince is lucky as well.”
The structure was changing again. Artifice gave way to natural rock. At first, there were still traces of humanity. They were simplistic russet paintings. Some were cattle, goats, and pigs. Others showed things far more strange and terrible, which Sebastianos had no name for. Living floods covered with eyes. Rugose, corpulent things with tentacle faces and bat wings.
Then even those were gone. As unsettling as they had been, Sebastianos soon missed them. All that was left was the stone and the darkness and the cold. Was this some natural cave system now, which the cult had claimed as a home? Or had this place been shaped by hands that predated any human civilization? His mind retreated from the thought. There was no solace in it, and he could not afford to challenge his courage here and now.
There was a sound up ahead. It came to them on one of the gusts of icy wind. At first Sebastianos took it for nothing more than the wind groaning through some outlet. It proved too constant to believe that for long. It rose and fell steadily, a sonorous pulse. As they drew closer to the source it became clear there were words, of a sort, though he did not recognize the language.
“The ritual?” he asked, daring to voice nothing above a whisper now.
Chrysanthe nodded slowly. “I saw such a rite once…”
She motioned for him to douse the torch. Sebastianos hesitated. His thoughts flicked to that oily darkness he had seen – imagined? – at the entrance. The flame was all that stood between them. Was this the chance it was waiting for to devour them?
He dashed the thought with impatience at himself. This madness was getting to him, and his fears would not save Theseus. He ground the torch out against the rock of the wall with a sudden violent movement. It plunged them into a black deep enough to make Nyx herself stumble.
The sounds were still there. The endless, alien chant of the cult ahead of them. Sebastianos could hear his own breath and heart too, fast and frightened. He willed them slower. It was something to focus on if nothing else. Easy, he told himself. There is still the thread. There is still Chrysanthe. You are not alone.
Something caught Sebastianos’ eye. A single speck of light against the darkness, like a lone star in a blank night sky. It was so subtle that at first he judged it an illusion. Only when it did not go away did he look more closely. He held up a hand and waved it about, the light vanishing as he passed over it.
“Chrysanthe,” he whispered.
“What?”
He could hear her rustle around in the darkness, trying to find him. They fumbled and managed to catch hands finally. He took the chance to take her shoulders and point her towards the light.
“Do you see it?”
Chrysanthe took a low breath. “Yes. That’s where we need to go.”
“Are you certain?”
A pause. A low laugh. “I nodded as if you could see me. Yes. Hold on to me.”
Hand in hand they proceeded down the tunnel towards that pinprick glow. It grew as they approached, and the chanting grew louder in proportion. There was a musical accompaniment, he realized. It was a hideous tuneless piping, a high-pitched whine that set his teeth on edge. The ground rumbled beneath their feet. He could feel a cloud of dust settle on him from the cavern roof.
“Their master hears,” Chrysanthe whispered. “The Devourer Below stirs. We’re running out of time.”
Sebastianos could tell now that the light was the actinic brightness of the strange torches the cultists carried. A gust of hot air, startling after the chill, caught them as they approached. It was humid and heavy, laden with promise like the air before a storm.
The scent of death and rot came with it, sickly sweet and repugnant. He fought down a burst of nausea and pressed on. The light had grown bright enough he could make out his companion in the murk. Chrysanthe pressed the back of her hand to her mouth for a moment and convulsively swallowed. Then she followed. The fact that the pair had doused their own torch allowed them to creep right up to the entrance to the chamber where the ritual was taking place.
Sebastianos leaned around for his first glimpse of the ritual. If the space was natural, then it was a cathedral born of natural forces. It was a massive area, and the roof arched far overhead to be lost in darkness. The great wooden pillars Chrysanthe had spoken of were found here, holding up that vaulting height.
Filling this arena were biers that sprang directly
from the rocky ground. Bodies were laid out on each, swathed in cloth and bound in cords. Each was surrounded by the accouterments of a burial: oils and sacred incense and more. Many were pallid and still, but a few were visibly struggling against their restraints. Standing among them were the funereal creatures of the cult, wrapped in their all-encompassing black garb. Some held the blazing white torches, raised high as if to illuminate as much as possible. Their attention was focused on a single point at the center of the chamber. Sebastianos followed their gazes and…
His mind reeled. He wrenched his gaze away.
It was like a pit, a hole into some greater abyss beyond. The bull-priest stood at the very edge, too-long arms raised high in macabre exultation. Within, the darkness reached a zenith. It transcended mere shadow and night and became something more. A gap in the fabric of the world itself, and beyond…
Sebastianos could only piece together fragments of what he’d seen there in the heart of the room. Charnel expressed unto infinity; that was the impression that remained. Bleached bones and rotting meat. Death on a scale beyond human comprehension, beyond possibility. A universe of elemental putrefaction.
There was something more in that other-place. Something approaching across desert plains of bone mulch and mountains of offal. A shape of pure shadow, a writhing mass of inchoate nothingness. There was a core and a corona… like a star turned inside out. The Devourer. It was coming, and soon.
Blood ran from Sebastianos’ nose and the corner of his left eye. He wiped it away furiously. His hand was shaking like a leaf in the wind. It was hard to even think in the wake of such a thing. The reaction went beyond fear. It spoke to something primal in him, that begged him to quit this place.
“Sebastianos,” rasped Chrysanthe.
He turned his head to look at her. Her own eyes were completely bloodshot, the irises ovals of brown in a sea of red. She must have looked too. Now, however, she was pointing to somewhere else in the chamber.
He followed the direction of her finger. She was pointing to one of the biers, and on it… His heart leapt into his throat. Theseus was laid out there. The prince stared at the ceiling with glassy eyes. Dead? Sebastianos refused to believe it. He ground his teeth in sudden rage. It was welcome, a hot spring within him that drove away the fear of this place.
“Do you see Ariadne?” he asked.
Chrysanthe nodded.
“Alright.” He took a deep breath and wiped away a fresh trickle of blood. “We’ll split up. Work around the edges in opposite directions and free as many people as we can.”
She nodded again, but caught his arm as he turned away. Her eyes were intense. “If they spot you – if they spot either of us – then we start burning pillars. This has to stop here and now, one way or another.”
“Agreed.” Sebastianos placed his hand over hers for a moment and squeezed. “May the gods of Olympus smile on you.”
Chrysanthe managed a smile at that. “May Isis watch over us both, my friend.”
They separated. Sebastianos resisted the urge to make straight for Theseus. Instead, he worked his way along the edge as planned. He focused on the people who were still moving. Some were Cretan, some were Athenian. It did not matter. Each one he came to he held a silencing finger to his lips before cutting them free. By pantomime, he guided them towards the tunnel and the thread that would lead them back to the surface.
In this way he reached Theseus at last. A small blessing, the cultists were so focused on their rite they still had not noticed what was happening. Sebastianos could only hold his breath as he crept over towards the prince, staying low. His friend stared upwards sightlessly, unmoving. This close, he could see the blood in his eyes; there was no telling what terrible sights Theseus had gazed upon. Sebastianos cut the cords that bound him nonetheless.
He caught the prince’s hand up in both of his own and chafed the flesh. Breathe, he willed Theseus. Smile. Live.
“Theseus, please,” he whispered. “Do not let this all have been for nothing.”
The prince blinked. He inhaled shakily. Slowly his head turned to the side, and his eyes focused again. His mind came back from whatever terrible void had held it.
“Sebastianos?” he rasped.
“Yes,” Sebastianos said. It was difficult to speak around the weight of emotion in his chest. Tears welled up in his eyes. “Yes, my prince. I am here.”
“What–”
An awful howl cut the reunion short. It sliced through the sonorous chant of the cultists and left a void of silence in its wake. Sebastianos turned his head with terrible certainty. The bull-priest had turned from the pit-void and was pointing. It wasn’t towards them, however. The accusing finger was aimed directly across the chamber towards where Chrysanthe stood.
Everything hung in a tableau for a split second. Then dark-clad cultists began to rush towards her.
“Blood of Zeus,” cursed Sebastianos. He gripped Theseus’ hand tight for one more precious moment. “You must go, my prince. Run for the corridor. There is a line that will take you back to the world above.”
“But–”
“There is no time, Theseus! Go!”
Sebastianos could afford him no more attention. He turned away and charged the nearest cultist carrying a torch. The creature’s attention was across the room with the battle erupting there. He caught it unawares with a low tackle, lifting it up off the ground and smashing it into one of the biers. There was a crunch as hidden flesh met naked stone, and the thing went limp.
He snatched up the torch that had fallen from its hand. The strange white flame at the end had a garlicky stench to it, unlike anything he had encountered. It burned with a terrible heat. Sebastianos held it away from himself and grabbed an amphora of burial oils that lay nearby. He hurled it against the nearest wooden pillar with all his might, and the pottery shattered. He thrust the torch into the spatter it left.
The oil ignited with a sputtering hiss. Such oils burned reluctantly, but once lit the fire was hard to kill. Sebastianos felt a deep satisfaction in watching that blaze spread, but he could only savor it for a moment. His actions had drawn attention, and his advantage of surprise was gone.
Another of the cultists rushed him. Sebastianos greeted it with a thrust of the torch. Black cloth ignited instantly. Within a matter of seconds the creature had been turned into a humanoid bonfire. It staggered away with a keening howl that made his already aching head even worse.
That seemed to teach the rest of them some fear. A few other close ones shied away as he waved the torch at them threateningly. They were not driven off, merely circling for a better avenue to attack him from. Sebastianos did not care. He seized the opening to sprint further towards where Chrysanthe was fighting for her life. If they had to make a last stand, they would do it tog–
There was a sound like thunder. Something hurled Sebastianos from his feet. The whole world went white, then red. He smashed into a bier topped with a dead body. The whole thing collapsed under the impact, sending him and the corpse skidding to the ground. The torch tumbled from his nerveless hand and skittered away across the floor.
All Sebastianos could do was wheeze, the air knocked from his lungs. He tried to get his hands underneath himself to rise, but they were struggling to respond. A shadow loomed above him. He blinked against blurry vision. The shape was capped by the sweep of great horns.
It caught hold of his ankle with its elongated fingers and began to drag him towards the center of the room. The thought of the pit welled up in Sebastianos’ dazed mind, and the terror of it set him to fighting as much as he could. He grasped at passing objects to try to stop his progress, to no avail. The priest was possessed of a strength beyond that of a man.
It spoke. “You have disrupted something you have no understanding of. You will learn. Sooner or later all will learn. If you had run for your life, you might have been last. Instead, you
will go first.”
The edge of the pit was mere feet away. Someone bounded in from the side. Chrysanthe. She was bleeding from several scrapes, and one arm appeared dislocated, but she was still fighting. She lunged at the priest, knife outstretched. It raised its free arm to ward her off. It wasn’t enough. The blade sank home multiple times, and the priest screamed, an inhuman wail.
It released Sebastianos to better confront its assailant. It caught hold of her, and she was hurled bodily away. For one blessed moment, however, he was free. He staggered up to his feet and threw his entire bodyweight at the priest. He hit it in the side, and both toppled towards the horrid depths.
A hand caught hold of the back of Sebastianos’ tunic. The priest seized him by the front. He dared a glance back. Theseus had him, muscles straining. They hung precariously at the edge, caught between the Labyrinth and something even worse. Something reached forth from the void-gate, snatching at the priest. Shadows, come to life. The limbs of a ravening god.
The priest’s mask fell away, tumbling into the abyss. If it had ever been human, it wasn’t anymore. The head was canine in shape, but hairless and pale, parchment skin pulled tight over monstrous bone structures. The sight burned into Sebastianos, a nightmare made real. He was sure it would haunt him if he lived.
Sebastianos pulled the knife from his belt and slashed it across both of its grasping hands. It screeched and let go. He met its eyes in a brief instant, and saw a terror there. Not of the unknown, but of a fate it suspected all too well. Then it tumbled back and it was gone.
Theseus and Sebastianos fell back the other way. Both scrambled to their feet as fast as they could. More of the columns were burning now, some of the freed peoples having turned to joining the fight rather than merely escaping. The ground shook beneath their feet and dust rained down. The ritual had been disrupted but not prevented. The Devourer Below was still coming.
“We have to go!” shouted Sebastianos.
Theseus nodded, and leaning on each other they staggered towards the exit. Sebastianos searched around desperately for Chrysanthe and found her nearby. She was being helped to her feet by a well-dressed young woman of Cretan descent. The four of them fled to the doorway that led from the chamber to the tunnel upwards.
The Devourer Below Page 12
