by Steve White
Jason nodded. He didn’t pretend to Nagel’s knowledge of this milieu, but he had spent time in the Middle Ages, and he recalled the delicate balance between “the Church Militant” and “the Secular Arm.”
They returned the way they had come, down the broad staircase and through the vestibule to the processional corridor, but this time they turned in the opposite direction, then turned left. Jason began to understand the legend of the Labyrinth.
They finally emerged into the great central court. This, at least, resembled the artists’ conceptions, surrounded by three levels of colonnaded terraces, broken by various staircases and monumental entryways. Then they were across the courtyard and into a stairwell illuminated by clerestories. (“The Grand Staircase,” Nagel breathed.) They ascended a flight of steps, threaded more passageways, and then turned into a great multipillared area with three light wells. (“The Hall of the Double Axe,” Nagel whispered.) Jason saw the ornamental axes that were to give the hall its archaeological name, mounted on pillars. In the center of the floor was a sunken water-filled basin. But he hardly noticed any of this, for at the far end loomed a statue that was like the image of the chief priestess, only twice her height and incomparably more resplendent—or, some might have said, gaudy—with skin of ivory, hair of bronze, and lacquer dress glittering with precious stones in the dim clerestory light. The arms were outstretched, and around them coiled golden serpents. Also of gold were the nipples and other areas that were covered with makeup on the living version. Imagination failed at the cost of the thing.
The chief priestess abased herself before the statue, and a great deal of responsive chanting went on between her and her subordinates in the archaic cult language. Perseus was clearly straining to understand it, and the longer it went on the more agitated he looked.
The priestess turned her dark, heavily mascaraed eyes on the prisoners, and deigned to speak in accented Achaean. “You are to be purified,” she intoned, indicating the lustral basin. “Afterwards, you will be dedicated to the Goddess Rhea. You, Perseus of Seriphos, are to be housed with the woman Deianeira, for the gods have plans for the two of you. The men Jason and Synon are to be gelded, thus rendering them more acceptable to the goddess.”
For the first time, Jason noticed a stone table off to the right. It held a set of bronze knives. An older-than average priestess stood beside it, flanked by brawny male assistants. Was it just his imagination, or did he detect a glint of eagerness in her eyes?
He forced his heart rate down as he looked behind him at the ranked guards. Maybe if I spring forward before the guards have time to react I can grab the chief priestess and use her for a hostage… . No. If all else failed, a Teloi would come and simply paralyze all concerned. And afterwards, the priestesses would really make it last.
So let’s see, he thought as sweat began to pop out. What can I say—what appeals, or warnings, or anything else—that will cut any ice here?
He was still wondering when Perseus—who, he would have thought, had less cause for alarm than any of them—suddenly stepped forward and cried out in a voice that dispelled the funereal solemnity like a strong wind blowing away dust and cobwebs.
“No! I am Perseus, son of Zeus, and I do not belong to the goddess Rhea, or to any of the Old Gods. I am my father’s, for him alone to judge.”
Only one guard was able to break free of the general speechless horror. “Silence, barbarian!” he hissed, stepping forward. His tall figure-eight shield was at his side, not covering his bare torso. With his usual hair-trigger swiftness, Perseus rammed an elbow backwards into the unprotected solar plexus. The guard doubled over in a clatter of dropped spear and shield. The Hero took another step forward, and only the basin separated him from the chief priestess, who stood as immobile as the statue behind her.
Perseus met her unblinking eyes, and his voice rang. “I call on my father!”
“Do you?” came a new voice.
Behind the statue, a glow of light appeared. There must be a doorway back there, Jason told himself. The sound that went up as the crowd sank to its hands and knees was one of terror held tightly in check lest it provoke something even worse than its object of fear.
The light intensified into an instant’s eye-hurting glare, and at that moment one of the Teloi “chariots” drifted out, holding a female Teloi. Even in his present frame of mind, he couldn’t help admiring the sheer theatricalism of the entrance. Something else he couldn’t help admiring, since the “goddess” was dressed in a version of the priestesses’ costume—or, more likely, the original of that costume—was the incontrovertible proof that the Teloi species was mammalian.
The herd sound in the hall sank to a low moan, above which rose occasional wails of “Rhea!”
Even Perseus took a step back. Jason was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of the look Rhea gave the Hero.
“Your kind has always been a disappointment to us, Perseus. Even more of a disappointment than the ordinary human stock, from whom nothing better can be expected.” She ran her gaze over the crowd, which cringed with new intensity, as though trying to burrow into the floor and escape those terrible eyes. She turned away from them with disgusted contempt and addressed Perseus alone. “Yes … we gods had high hopes for your kind. But instead of guiding the lesser humans into a proper reverence for their creators, you have proven more apt to lead them into even more blatant acts of disobedience and presumptuousness! So it has been ever since the time of Gilgamesh, a thousand years ago. But now you have invented a whole new form of insolence, by seeking the aid of one immortal against another! All the more so because the god you invoke is one of the younger generation, whose filial duty to us of the—”
“I no longer acknowledge the Old Gods!” Perseus’ words seemed to hang suspended in the incense-heavy air, and Jason expected a new exhalation of horror at his act of interrupting the goddess. But there was nothing. The blasphemy the Hero had uttered was beyond the threshold of outrage. Even Rhea was speechless.
“The Old Gods broke the link between themselves and mortals when they violated the law that separates the living from the dead,” Perseus continued into the silence he had created. “They loosed the bonds that hold together all the certainties that have always existed in the world … including their own right to our worship. So now—”
“Be silent!” Rhea shouted, abruptly emerging from her shock into something approaching hysteria. “Do you dare to claim that there are laws governing the world which bind the gods themselves? And that mortals can hold the gods answerable for failure to abide by these laws? This is madness! We owe you nothing, and you owe us everything. You need us!”
“We need gods … but perhaps not all the gods. I call again upon my father Zeus!”
“He will not answer. He knows his place.”
But then Jason became aware of a second glow of light, this time from behind him. He turned and stared as Zeus glided in, the guards scattering before him and falling to the floor.
Rhea stared, speechless, and her alien face wore an expression Jason could not interpret. But then the spell broke, and she spoke in a peremptory rush.
The crowd wore a look of uncomprehending awe, for this was not the ceremonial tongue of Crete, nor even related to it, or to any language ever fashioned for human throats. In fact, their expressions told Jason they had never heard this language before. He had, for he remembered these sounds, from another dimension. But he couldn’t understand that angry staccato outburst. An academically correct form of the Teloi language had been brutally forced upon his brain. It had enabled him to converse with Hyperion and Zeus. But he didn’t have a prayer of following this spate of idiomatic invective.
Zeus responded in the same tongue, not with Rhea’s asperity but in a low rumble of deep passion—and, from Jason’s perspective, just as incomprehensibly rapid-fire. He gestured toward Perseus as he spoke. Rhea replied with rising anger.
The priestesses and the guards were now prostrate, not even daring t
o moan, and the air of the hall was thick with the bewildered terror of small children first witnessing a violent quarrel between their parents.
Finally, Rhea overrode Zeus with a series of harsh syllables. Zeus fell silent, and sullenly backed away toward the rear of the hall from whence he had come. Rhea drew a deep breath and addressed the chief priestess in the ritual tongue. The chief priestess gave a series of stunned nods and got to her feet. Two of her juniors hurried forward to restore her lofty diadem, which had fallen off. Having it back on seemed to fortify her. She turned back to the prisoners with a glare of indescribable loathing.
“The goddess declares that thanks to your impiety the ritual is spoiled. It must be resumed from the beginning at another time, with all the proprieties observed, to restore the link between mortals and the gods. At present, you may not be purified. For now you will be returned to the custody of the Minos and imprisoned. Guards, get them out of my sight!”
The guards hastened to obey. As they were being hustled out, Jason caught the eye of the priestess beside the table with the knives. Even after what had just happened, her disappointment was palpable. Jason gave her the most irritating look he could manage.
They were almost to the door when Perseus broke free and stood before Zeus. He flung his arms wide and cried out in a voice that held desperation but no trace of pleading.
“Father Zeus! I can offer you no sacrifice, here in this place. But I swear that if you aid me I will forge a kingdom where only the New Gods are worshipped—and you will be acknowledged as chief among them! You will be the god of kings … and the king of gods!”
“Silence him!” shrieked the chief priestess.
Shaken as they were, the guards responded. A spear butt descended on the back of Perseus’ head, and others smashed at him as he fell forward. Two guards grasped his arms and dragged him out. The others nudged Jason and Nagel out with spearpoints. As they went, they passed Zeus.
The Teloi had not reacted visibly to Persus’ plea. And he remained still, not meeting Jason’s eye. But he wore an expression that Jason could have sworn was … interested.
Chapter Eighteen
They took the Grand Staircase back down … and down, and down. It extended two stories below the level of the central court, into depths which had been dug away centuries earlier from the eastern slope of the ridge which the palace crowned—regions where the clerestory light was dim indeed, and the foundations showed in all their brutal and unornamented massiveness.
“The archaeologists have never been able to entirely sort this area out,” Nagel murmured as they were prodded—or, in Perseus’ case, dragged—through torch-lit corridors. Jason concentrated on observing, enabling his implant to supplement the floor plan. They finally reached a bronze-studded hardwood door.
“In, mainland trash!” said the guard captain in almost incomprehensible Achaean. They were shoved through, and the door crashed shut behind them.
They were in a surprisingly large but rather low-ceilinged chamber, lit by shallow windows—little more than slits—near the top of the opposite wall. Nagel ran to that wall and, by standing on tiptoes, was able to peer out the window.
“We’re in the east wing, near the base of the outer wall—this window is just above ground level, which slopes away to the east. I can barely see the East Bastion, off to the left—it has always been regarded as the only means of egress or ingress on this side of the palace. And … yes! Down below is what has to be the bullring. I knew it! It’s the only suitable area. They couldn’t possibly have used the central courtyard for that purpose! Jason, come over here and look at it so it will be recorded.”
“Later, Sidney,” Jason sighed, sinking to the floor, resting his back against one of the wooden pillars that upheld the roof. The historian had clearly forgotten everything about their current situation, including the unlikelihood of their ever getting back to the world of scholarly publications. Jason’s own chief concern about the windows was their potential as a means of escape—and they were far too shallow for any adult human body to pass through.
Deirdre had gone to her knees above the unconscious form of Perseus. She observed his eyes and satisfied herself that his breathing was regular, then went to a pile of dirty rags in one corner beside a hole in the floor over which they were presumably expected to perform their bodily functions. (Jason recalled the inside plumbing that had amazed Knossos’ late-Victorian excavators.) She made a rough pillow for him out of one of the rags. Then, unable to do any more, she finally met Jason’s eyes.
“Hi,” he ventured, essaying a grin.
She responded with a weary smile. ” ‘Hi,’ yourself. We’ve got some catching up to do, don’t we?”
“You might say that. Starting when you fell into the water off Cape Taenarum.”
“Right. After Oannes’ sub surfaced, I was trying to get out of it when that particle beam hit. The concussion threw me, and I banged my head against a stanchion and lost consciousness. I must have slid out when the sub started to list.”
“You sank like a stone. Perseus tried to save you. Afterwards, he really tore himself apart for failing.”
“I know he did,” she said softly. “But the Teloi must have fished me out of the water, because the next thing I remember is having salt water pumped out of me.” Her eyes were haunted by the memory of that experience. “That was in the Teloi pocket universe.”
Jason nodded. They must have taken her directly into the caverns by aircar, and through the portal, using some kind of artificial aid to keep her drowned body from crossing the threshold of death.
“Afterwards, they put me in something like a hospital recovery room. Hyperion and some others questioned me about the TRD. I told them the truth up to a point—that time travel isn’t my specialty, and I couldn’t help them with the theory. But then I used my imagination, and made up a story about how the TRD itself was what allowed us to travel in time, but only under the control of our masters uptime.”
“Good work,” Jason said with feeling. Judging from what Hyperion had told them, the disinformation had taken root.
“Thanks. Anyway, there was just the one interrogation session. After which,” she added emotionlessly, “they did a biopsy. Then I was back in the recovery room … but only for a little while, before they opened the door and shoved Perseus in.” She suddenly looked embarrassed.
“You and he … ?” Jason let the sentence trail off on a note on inquiry.
Her embarrassment wasn’t entirely gone, but she met his eyes squarely. “Yes.” She gave a quick, rueful half-smile-and-shrug combination that spoke volumes. “Anyway,” she hurried on, “we were only together for a little while before they hustled us out, and we found out we were here in Crete. I guess they must have flown the portal device here.”
“No, they didn’t.” Jason told her about the differential time rate in the Teloi’s private dimension, and repeated what he had told Nagel about the consequences of their stay there.
He didn’t expect hysterics—not from her. But she still surprised him with her stoicism. After a heartbeat’s silence, all she said was: “How do you know about the time rate?”
He lowered his voice, even though he was certain there were no surveillance devices here. “Oannes told me.”
“Oannes?”
“Yes. We met him on the beach after getting off the sub. How much did Perseus tell you about what we had been up to?”
“He told me Oannes led the three of you through the caverns of Hades, and into the realm of the dead, which is where he thinks we were. I wasn’t sure what to make of it all.”
“That account is close enough. Anyway, when they caught us Oannes avoided capture with an invisibility device he’s got. He made contact with us just before you saw us—that was when he told me about the time effects. He also said he was going to try to slip out through the portal while it was open at Amnisos. I don’t know whether he succeeded or not, or what he’s up to if he did.”
“I hope
he succeeded. If so, we have one thing going for us.”
“We may have another. Zeus is playing some kind of game I don’t understand. For one thing, he kept the fact of Oannes’ presence to himself after Perseus blurted it out to him.”
“That’s something, maybe … for whatever good it does, given what you’ve just told me.” She managed a smile of sorts. “Maybe I’m better off than you and Sidney after all, with my TRD cut out of me.”
“Don’t think you’re getting off that easily! We’ll get yours back, and then you’ll have to take your chances with the rest of us. When we fail to appear on the displacer stage on schedule, I guarantee Rutherford will call a halt to any further departures pending an investigation. Hopefully, the moratorium will last until we do reappear. Of course, he can’t stop returns from the past that are already locked in. But he can and will hustle them off the stage as quickly as possible. It has to improve our chances.”
“I suppose so.” She looked a little more cheerful. But then a new thought seemed to occur to her. “Jason … just exactly how much time passed in the outside world while we were in that other dimension?”
“I can’t answer that, Deirdre. Not even Oannes could answer it. All I know is that it’s autumn now.”
“Autumn?” Urgency awoke in her eyes, as it had not when her personal survival had been all that was at issue. “Do you understand what that means, Jason? Kalliste could blow at any time!”
His eyes fell, unable to meet hers. “Before we left Amnisos, I looked northward. I saw a curl of smoke on the horizon.”
“Oh, God!” She could think of nothing more to say. Jason couldn’t think of anything either. They sat in silence as Nagel babbled on about some new archaeological enigma he’d glimpsed.
*
Guards brought them barely edible food and stagnant water twice daily. Otherwise, they were ignored in a way that was more nerve-wracking than constant attention from their captors would have been. Which, Jason reflected, was perhaps not an altogether bad thing. Without the tension, it would have been easy to lose track of the days.
