Minotaur (23 page)

Well, I wouldn’t say glow exactly, but it certainly emitted some light. Enough light that I wasn’t trapped in complete darkness. When I saw the light, my spirits rose slightly. The two craftsmen had also seen fit to embed a few semi-precious gems in the walls, which also glowed slightly. The occasional green or ruby glow provided much welcomed variety and even gave me a little perspective.

Although I couldn’t see clearly, the slightly glowing walls enabled me to move around and explore my new home more easily than you would’ve expected. Humans do have an ability to adapt quickly. Especially when circumstances demand nothing less.

Eventually, I regained my composure and began my exploration, limping slowly about on my sprained ankle. The labyrinth, as you would expect, was huge. The palace under which it sits is massive, but the labyrinth was larger still. Even now, looking at the ruins nearby, it is still difficult to grasp the true extent.

The trapdoor was always my reference point, my marker. Once my eyes became adjusted, I could see tiny slivers of natural light seeping from cracks in the wood. It wasn’t just that. The trapdoor was where my food and water was initially lowered, so it was vital that I didn’t become lost.

Of course, in the near darkness, eventually that’s exactly what happened.

Using the dim glow of the walls, I felt my way around the place. I began to find the touch of limestone soothing, the feel of the stone under my fingers telling me I was still alive. But of course, even limestone walls look almost identical to each other.

I began to feel more confident in my surroundings, venturing further and further away from the reassuring presence of the trapdoor. That was a mistake. Once, I lost my way for three days. I eventually found the trapdoor, starving and seriously dehydrated, sobbing with relief.

It didn’t take me long to work out a way to navigate the labyrinth. Using my horns, I sawed grooves into the corner of each wall at the height where I would normally place my hand. If the depression was greater on the left, I knew to turn left. If it was right, then that was the direction I went. A uniform depression indicated that I was to travel straight ahead. The effort caused me some discomfort, but it was little different to the times I had tried to file the points off my horns.

After what was probably weeks, I was reasonably confident that I had explored the entire maze. My exploration revealed one depressing fact. The labyrinth only had one entrance or exit: the trapdoor. There was no door at ground level on either side of the maze as other poets and scholars have insisted.

I was indeed imprisoned.

I lost track of days; the dim, unchanging uniform light emitting from the walls gave no indication of the passage of time. My only clue was the trapdoor. Sometimes the light seeping through the cracks was slightly brighter than at other times. I took that for a sign that it was daytime in the world above.

It was always a little cold. Caves and other places underground are extremely constant in terms of temperature, given how insulated they are. It never got colder or hotter, which was small consolation. Sometimes, my shivering got so intense it would wake me up.

When I was tired, I slept. When I was hungry or thirsty, I ate or drank. I made myself as comfortable as possible on the cold stone floor, but my sleep was restless and uncomfortable. Many parts of the labyrinth flooded at times, and the floor was often wet. I ended up making my uncomfortable bed almost directly under the trapdoor, curled into a fetal position in a vain attempt to keep warm.

My dreams were haunted by images of my beloved brother Androgeus dead in my arms. I dreamt of my mother, her face blackened by Minos’s fists. Phaedra also came to me in my dreams, and the memory of her provided some comfort. Even so, I often cried myself to sleep. Eventually, after some time, I began to doubt the existence of Phaedra. Perhaps she was even a product of my overactive imagination? Why would such a beautiful creature ever have anything to do with me?

My madness waxed and waned. Some days, I firmly believed that I had been sent to the underworld for killing my brother. I kept expecting to encounter Hades himself. I imagined that the puddles of water were the river Styx and that Charon, the boatman, would sail along and take me aboard. I think I dipped my head into the water a few times, hoping that the waters of the Styx would banish my memories.

I spent several hours or possibly days trying to remove my helmet without success. During the months that I had worn the helmet during my travels to Greece and my adventures with Theseus, I had grown accustomed to wearing it. It was almost a part of me. But now, due to the craftsmanship of Daedalus, it truly was.

The faceplate was now firmly latched in place by strong, clever metalwork that was beyond my strength or skill to remove. The mouth slit had only been designed for breathing. Fortunately, there was just enough room under the plate to shovel scraps of food. I had to tilt my head back almost completely in order to drip water into my mouth.

That in itself was not enough to prevent me from removing the helmet. Forced by Minos, Daedalus had been thorough. By drilling holes through my horns, he had attached the helmet to me with bronze wires that had been heated to seal them. Even now, I still believe that was almost the worst pain I have suffered. Almost.

Like the faceplate, Daedalus’s work was so cunningly wrought and well made that, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t remove it. Not only that, but each try brought intense pain. My bellows of pain served to enhance my legend. Servants and visitors to the palace probably wondered about the manner of beast imprisoned beneath their feet. Especially one that made such tormented sounds.

I was bored, lonely, and cold, wallowing in my own guilt and sadness. I gathered the darkness to me and wrapped myself in it like a blanket. I tried to remember the light of the sun, the wind on my face, but the memories were fleeting. After a time, I gave up trying to chase them. It was like I had always been in this place.

I did try to mark the passage of time. At first, I did it as a matter of necessity, a way to keep me sane, my only connection to the world above. On a wall near the trapdoor, I used my horns to scrape marks, one for each day. I really didn’t know for sure. I suspect that I might’ve slept and missed a few but I did my best.

Later, it became a game. Something to do. I started to toy with the marks, embellishing and changing them. In my growing insanity, I thought that I was creating fabulous works of art. Much later, when I was able to examine them properly, I saw them for what they really were. Random marks and scratches. The work of a madman. Or a beast.

As a result, I really had no idea how long the first part of my imprisonment was. At the time, I believed it might have been weeks or months, even years.

I did other things to try and keep me sane and occupied. I exercised, wrestling imaginary opponents. I tried to climb the walls. Sometimes, in utter rage and despair, I attacked the limestone, knowing the feeling of wetness on my knuckles was blood but not caring.

I assumed that food and water came once a day, but perhaps it was every second, lowered down in a basket from above. There wasn’t much of it—sometimes a bit of broth or soup, occasionally a chunk of stale bread. The water tasted sour, but I always drank it.

I only caught glimpses of my guards. At first, I yelled at them, pleading, begging. Later, my pleas turned into rants. They threw rocks at me and I swiftly got the message.

It was at this time I discovered the second of my animal friends. I would’ve preferred the companionship of another dog like Kyon, but dogs were in short supply in the labyrinth. It was a rat.

Like Kyon, we initially bonded over food, sharing my meager scraps together. I named him Glaucus and laughed about my cleverness for days. Glaucus was my only friend in that place. He had much in common with the real Glaucus. He was sneaky and had a nasty streak. He bit me on a few occasions, but I always forgave him. Unlike the real Glaucus, he was nowhere near as fat. That, in part, probably saved his life. I was always hungry and was tempted several times to eat him. Thankfully, I never gave into the demands of my stomach. To do so would have been to eat my only companion.

I told Glaucus stories. I talked and he listened. He was an excellent listener. I told him of my childhood. I told him about my adventures with Theseus. Most of all, I spoke of Phaedra and Androgeus. I cried a lot. If Glaucus became bored or frustrated with me, he never gave any sign. He was a good friend.

Time passed. I started to become accustomed to my new life, but the reality was that I had probably passed into madness.

The amount or perhaps frequency of food and water lowered to me declined. I was even hungrier than before. Often I lacked the energy to move. It was almost too much effort to suck water puddling on the floor nearby. Glaucus became a more and more attractive option.

I contemplated suicide but lacked the means. I couldn’t even beat my head against the walls. All I succeeded in doing was wedging my horns into the limestone.

In my saner moments, I thought about simply starving myself to death. It wouldn’t have been hard. Hades beckoned and his call was becoming harder and harder to refuse.

Ω

At first, I thought I was imagining the light. I realized that I had gone completely mad and began laughing uproariously.

The flickering light got closer as I lay huddling on the ground, watching it, mesmerized. It burnt my eyes, but I didn’t care. Imaginary light couldn’t hurt me. I stopped laughing, listening to the footsteps as they got closer.

Eventually, I became aware that someone was carrying the light. Whoever it was stood above me.

“Asterion,” said a voice. A voice I seemed to recognize.

“Go away,” I said, shielding my eyes from the hurtful light.

“Asterion, it’s me,” said the voice. A strangely familiar voice. It sounded like Phaedra. But it couldn’t be. My mind was playing tricks on me.

“Phaedra? Is that you?” I asked with a sudden surge of hope.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s me. I’m here, Asterion. I’m here for you.”

It wasn’t possible. But I wanted to believe. I needed to believe. I began to sob hysterically. I felt gentle hands touching me. They wrapped me in a soft embrace, and it was only with that actual physical contact did I finally believe that I wasn’t alone. Phaedra was here.

“How? Why?” I blurted in a voice that sounded startlingly loud.

She shushed me. “Soon, my love. I will tell you all you need to know soon.”

She helped me to my feet, staggering under my weight, even though I probably weighed a fraction of what I had before. Phaedra rummaged in a satchel slung over her shoulder. She gave me some bread, which at first I eyed disbelievingly, then devoured hungrily, shoveling it under my faceplate. I looked around for Glaucus, but the light and the presence of another human had scared him off.

“Can you walk?” she asked.

I nodded slowly, not trusting myself to speak.

“Here,” she said, thrusting something into my numb hands. “Hold this.”

It was a ball of thread.

We walked slowly, me winding the thread up as we followed its path through the labyrinth. Phaedra supported my weight and guided us with the light from a small oil lamp she carried with her free hand.

I wanted to explain to her that I could’ve navigated that place by using my wall scrapings but for a moment, I was just content having her by my side. I was also terrified that if I spoke, I might offend her somehow and she would disappear.

In silence, we journeyed through the labyrinth. I basked in her presence. I kept looking at her and touching her with my free hand, just to ensure she was real. By the time we reached our destination, I was finally convinced she was.

She led me to a dead end. An indent in the wall assured me that I’d been there before. In the flickering lamplight, I could just make out a large pile of items that certainly hadn’t been there last time.

She told me to sit and then lowered herself to the ground, setting the lamp on the damp rocky floor between us.

She looked at me properly then, and the anguish on her face told me everything I needed to know about my appearance. I was filthy, emaciated, and disheveled. She stroked my mask with one hand and began to cry. I saw her flinch when she first laid hands on the cold metal that was now my face, but she quickly repressed any feelings of revulsion. If the mask surprised her, she didn’t show it. Presumably, she had already been told what had been done to me.

For my part, I drank her up. She was just as beautiful as I remembered. I had missed her so. It was almost too much to bear. I felt tears welling up and began to sob again.

“Oh, Asterion. My poor Asterion,” she said, taking me into her arms again. “I’m here now. It’s going to be alright.”

“But … but how are you here?” I croaked. “You can’t be. There’s no way to get in. There’s only the trapdoor. The trapdoor …” I trailed off, my eyes glazing over.

“Asterion,” said Phaedra, taking my masked face into both her hands. Tears were still running down her cheeks, but she had regained her composure. Phaedra was always stronger than me. “I know it’s hard. I can’t even begin to understand what you have been through. But you need to concentrate now. I have much to tell you.”

“How … ?” I stammered.

“Peace,” she said, releasing me and settling back onto her haunches. I wanted to grab her and make her put her hands back on me. I needed her touch.

“First, you probably want to know how long? You need to steady yourself, Asterion. It has been three months.”

I was actually a little surprised. If Phaedra thought I would be dismayed, she was wrong. I thought it had been much longer. I had started to believe that I had always dwelt in the labyrinth, that the outside world was pure fiction created by my overactive imagination.

Phaedra watched me digest this news in silence, although my faceplate meant she couldn’t see my expression. She did, however, know me well enough to read my body language. Phaedra had probably thought I would break down, but when I seemed able to handle this revelation, she continued.