The Flame in the Maze (26 page)

“Quiet, all of you; look!” Chara cried, and pointed. All of them looked, except Polymnia.

“It's from
outside
!” Alphaios said, as the shadow grew on the crumbling stone at the top of the chamber. “It's coming in!
Down
! What . . . ?”

Chara clutched Asterion's slippery hand with her own and waited.

The shadow grew, and then it plummeted. Wings splayed and flapped and tucked in close to a slender, feathered body. Chara let go of Asterion's hand and stepped forward, though she was suddenly dizzy and far, far too hot. The body landed clumsily on its side, and started making a shrill, skirling noise. She drew closer.

The noise was laughter.

Her shriek was louder than the laughter. She threw herself onto her knees just as the slender, feathered creature was drawing itself up; their shoulders bumped and their arms tangled, and now they were both laughing, clutching each other with hands and talons.

“Icarus?” Asterion said from behind them, and they drew breathlessly apart. Icarus rose as clumsily as he'd landed. He spread his wings wide again and drew Asterion in against him.

“You died.” The words were muffled. Icarus loosened his wings and Asterion gazed at him with wide, shining eyes. “Chara told me: you, your father and mother—you all died.”

Icarus's cheeks were covered with feathers too, and his mouth was somewhere between beak and lips—a strange hybrid of a face, but Chara could still see the pain on it. “My mother died,” he said in a higher, more pinched voice than he'd had before—though she recognized it as his. “Not the way the king said she did. We were all imprisoned—by the king—and Ariadne knew.” His chest heaved and his finger-talons flexed convulsively. “There's too much to tell, and the king's close, and he's going to give himself to his god here, in fire, and I don't know how much time I can be a bird for, so I have to get you out
now
: Phaidra's up there waiting, and Sotiria, and . . . Ariadne.”

A huge chunk of rock smashed to bits on the floor by the bee column, but no one seemed to notice: they were all gaping at Icarus. He cleared his throat. “She and Phaidra came here together, and there's been no time to think about how to deal with her.”

“How will you be able to carry us?” Chara asked, into the silence. “The pipes are too narrow for you to fly inside them—and aren't they terribly slippery?”

He shook his head. “They were, but the earthquake shattered a lot of the obsidian—the gods granted us this much good fortune, at least. I'll carry each of you up to the pipes and we'll crawl to the top, and then I'll fly down with you.” He held up his hands; Chara saw blood dripping from beneath the feathers. “Wrap cloth around your hands and knees, though, if you can: it'll be a rough climb.”

Melaina walked up to him and put her arms around his neck. “Take me first,” she said softly. “I would see this Princess Ariadne before anyone else does.”

Icarus glanced at Chara, who shrugged and turned to Theseus. His eyes were on Melaina, steady and dark.
I don't care what he's saying to her
, Chara thought, and felt fresh laughter pushing into her throat.
Asterion and Icarus and maybe a ship that will take us away: that's all that matters.

When Icarus dropped back down again, Theseus said, “Take me next. I do not wish her to be where I cannot see her.”

It took three tries for Icarus to bear Theseus up; just one to take Alphaios. In the quiet after he'd gone, Asterion began to make his way over to Polymnia, who was still slumped against a piece of rock.

“What are you doing?” Chara said. “Leave her!”

“I can't.” Asterion picked up the same piece of obsidian that Melaina had used on the string. He knelt in front of Polymnia, who was humming around her gag: silver wound into the darker smoke above them. Blood beaded on her face, where bits of shattered obsidian and rock had grazed it. Her eyes were closed.

“Asterion.” Chara put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “Think of what she's done to you—to so many people.”

He shook his head and she drew back as his horns swept by her. “No. Yes. I know. But I can't bear this. We both suffered.” He cut the gag away.

More chunks of stone fell from the roof and exploded into splinters around them. Chara felt them cut her shoulders and arms; she heard Theseus bellow, from far above, “Chara! He is coming back now—hurry!”

“Asterion,” she said again, “you shouldn't feel—”

“I don't want to go.” Polymnia's eyes were open and nearly black. She was gazing at Asterion, who'd gone very still.

“You must,” he said, so quietly that Chara could hardly hear him over the hissing steam and cracking stone.

Polymnia smiled. The smile was beautiful;
she
was beautiful, despite the dirt and blood on her skin.

His head dropped and swayed from side to side, as if it were as heavy as the bull's. For a moment Chara was afraid he'd start to change again, but instead he looked slowly up at Polymnia. The shard of obsidian glinted. “At least let me cut your bonds.”

“What for?” That smile; Chara wanted to claw at it until it was shredded flesh and chipped teeth.

He opened his mouth but said nothing. He shrugged, helplessly.

Icarus fell toward them.

“Fly away, my dear one,” Polymnia sang, and Chara forgot her rage in the spiral of silver that wove around them all. “The sky is full of stars . . .”

The obsidian fell from Asterion's fingers. He took a step backward. Something whistled by Chara's ear and she stumbled back too, reaching for him. He took her hand and she held it tightly, even when a gout of flame leapt up from the earth between them and Polymnia.

“Gods grant you peace,” he said to her, and turned away.

She watched them go, through a shimmering haze of fire and smoke. Chara, who had spoken to her when no one else would, years ago, before the sacrifice. Chara, who had ruined her.

The bird-man carried Chara up and out of sight.

O gods of all—O Poseidon and Great Mother, let the bird-man not come back; let your bull-god stay with me.

But he was not a bull. He was standing on two scarred legs. He was tall—though his shoulders were rounded—and his horns had shrunk, and he spoke in a man's voice, as if he'd never roared.

The bird-thing (too clumsy by far to be a god) dropped down once more, stirring smoke and sparks with his wings. He waited on what remained of the altar where her god had come to her, and run from her.

“My Lord!” she called—not to stop him, anymore; just to make him look at her. He didn't. He put his arms around the bird-man's neck.
He's bigger,
she thought;
they won't be able to leave the ground.

They rose, very slowly. Arms slipped from neck to waist—
Yes! Fall; I'll tend you, if you're hurt—
but they kept rising.

Close to her, or far away, a wolf howled.

“Asterion!” she cried, just as they drew up to the pipes. At last she saw his eyes, through the haze. She saw the clean paths of tears on his cheeks. And then she saw nothing but fire.

Icarus didn't so much set Chara down as let her go, when they were still above the ground. She tumbled and rolled; she pressed her cheek against dry grass and earth and started to cry. She was choking on tears and yet more laughter by the time she flipped onto her back. The tears made it nearly impossible for her to see the sky, so she rubbed at them until she could.

Darkness—but not the darkness of stone. Deep, soft darkness—some, but not all of it, filled with the mountain's smoke, which was grey, out here.
Out here
. Stars were scattered across the black beyond the smoke, and clouds stretched thin between the stars.

She sat up only when Icarus and Asterion came down, like a strange, meandering patch of shadow. She heard voices behind her but didn't look at anyone except Asterion, who huddled on his side where Icarus laid him, near the mountainside. She was afraid her legs wouldn't hold her if she stood, so she crawled to him, across the crackling summer grass.

“Asterion.” She touched his quivering shoulder. “Look up.”

“I can't.” His voice was muffled because his face was tucked into the crook of his elbow. “Can't look . . . at anything.”

“Look at me,” she said. “To start with.”

He eased his face away from his arm and blinked up at her. She watched his pupils grow and shrink as they tried to adjust to this new light. He raised an arm and wiped at the tears on her cheek, and she smiled into his cupped palm. “Now,” she said, “
look
.”

He gripped her hands as he sat up, and then he let them go. His breath rasped and whistled and he flattened himself against the rock, scrabbling at it as if he were afraid of falling. “Gods and fishes,” he hissed between chattering teeth. “Fishes and gods and fishes and . . .” His gaze swung from the sky to the mountaintop that jutted above him and, at last, to the people who stood watching him.

They were gathered in a ragged half-circle, Chara saw as she, too, finally looked at them. Theseus and Alphaios and Melaina, of course—but also Phaidra, and Sotiria—
Sotiria!—
and—

“Sister.” Asterion pushed himself away from the rock and took three wobbly paces toward the group. “Ariadne.” The strength of the words seemed to give strength to his legs; he was striding by the time he reached her, in five more paces. Chara followed more slowly, watching the princess's eyes dart from Theseus to Asterion.
Is
this
what she looks like when she's frightened?
Chara thought.

“Asterion,” Ariadne said. “Godsblood, but you look remarkable—so—”

“Alive?” he said.

“And Chara!” Ariadne went on, craning past him as if she hadn't heard him. “Look at
you
!”

“Also alive,” Chara said. “My Lady.” She was next to Asterion now, her arm resting against his. He was still shaking.

“I hope,” Ariadne stammered, “I hope you understand, both of you, that I—”

Asterion took one more step, which brought him so close to her that she had to crane up to see his face. Her eyes flitted from it to the scars that nearly brushed her own.

“I don't care,” he said quietly. “Not about what you were going to say. Not about you.” He flung his head back and laughed, his arms up, his horns glinting in the starlight. “Isn't that amazing?” he asked the sky, and spun so that he was facing Chara again, and fell to his knees.

Phaidra ran to him and wrapped her arms around him from behind. “Brother. Oh, Asterion—thank all the gods.”

“And fishes,” he added, and smiled at Chara.

Everything around her blurred then, for a time. Warm wind came and went across her skin. Clouds changed from sheets to ribbons. Stars flickered. Voices murmured.

“We mustn't stay. He's very close, now.”

“Wait a moment, at least. Look at them: they're in no shape to run.”

“A ship? Well if that's true—tell the captain there's an island: just a small one, but he'll see it, if he's coming around that way.”

The lash of Ariadne's familiar, angry voice brought Chara back. “Is there something I can do for you? Your gawking would suggest so.”

Chara discovered that she was sitting with her knees pressed against Asterion's. She looked up at Ariadne, who was glaring at Melaina.
Oh no
, Chara thought muzzily.

Melaina shrugged. Between them, Alphaios swallowed hard.

“I'm merely taking in the beauteous Princess Ariadne—the one Theseus intends to rescue from this benighted island and marry, instead of me.”

Ariadne turned to frown at Theseus, who was standing beside her. “Who is
this
?” she demanded.

He waved a hand at Melaina. “She is of no account—just a girl whose godmark the king and I imagined would be useful, in the labyrinth.”