Heart of the Labyrinth

Minos seemed to leap at any opportunity to distract himself from the prophecy that hovered over his head like a dark cloud, speaking little of the creature and the labor that Leandros was soon to undertake. His wife was distant, present in body but seemingly absent in mind. She ate little and participated in their conversations even less, staring out at the ocean as though searching for some answer on the far-off horizon.

When the food was gone, and the moon was full, Leandros turned in for the night.

***

Their footsteps echoed hollow down the long passageway as Daedalus led Leandros deep beneath the palace, followed by a procession of palace guards. Leandros could tell that they must be far below ground by this point, as there was moisture clinging to the walls, and the temperature dropped a little more with each flight of stairs that they descended. Gone was the impeccable mosaic work and noble pillars of the buildings above, replaced by simple hewn stone, every step and corridor carved out of the island's very bones. The tunnel was fifteen feet tall and large enough that a whole formation of men could have marched down it standing shoulder to shoulder. Perhaps its designers had envisioned just such a scenario - it was certainly spacious enough for their entourage.

Laden with his chalk and the supplies that he carried in a satchel on his back, he felt more like he was marching to a battlefield than preparing to fight on one, but he would soon be glad of them.

The long passageway culminated in an ornate archway, the stonework carved with intricate reliefs depicting a bull-headed creature of impressive stature terrorizing groups of smaller people, their faces etched into grimaces of horror. The pillars that held it aloft were as thick as tree trunks, and there was a gate of massive proportions standing between them - a pair of wooden doors plated with bronze so heavy that ten men would have had trouble pushing them open. It looked like something that one would find outside a fortified city. It was barred, too - a pair of thick logs slotting into recesses carved in the walls to either side of it.

"If you were so worried that the creature would escape, why have a door at all?" Leandros asked. "Why not entomb the beast in its maze?"

"The king did not wish it," Daedalus replied, hesitating for a moment. "There are...other reasons. Since its construction, the labyrinth has been used as a method of execution for Crete's traitors and murderers. Should one conspire against the king or be found guilty of other heinous crimes, they were sent into the labyrinth through one of its entrances, and the door was closed behind them. There have also been sacrifices to appease the beast."

"Those sacrifices were in vain, it seems."

"Open the door!" Daedalus barked, and the dozen men who had accompanied them jogged forward to set about removing the bars.

It took six men to carry each of the heavy logs, then they gripped the handles on the bronze doors, pulling them open three to a side. The old hinges creaked as they slowly swung ajar, revealing inky darkness beyond, the light from their torches penetrating only a few paces before it was drowned out. Leandros took a few steps forward, glimpsing the shimmer of the damp stone walls beyond.

"We will close the gate behind you," Daedalus said.

"What happens if I return victorious, only to find it shut?"

"Here," the old man said, passing him the frayed end of a rope. Leandros traced it to a small bell that had been mounted on the wall beside the door. "Pass the rope beneath the gate on your way inside. A guard will be posted here at all hours of the day and night until either you return, or enough time passes that all hope of your victory is lost. Pull the rope, and the bell shall ring."

"How am I expected to find the beast?" Leandros asked skeptically. "Now that I have a better understanding of the labyrinth's size, what are the chances of us crossing paths before I starve?"

"It will be aware of you," the old man replied cryptically. "The labyrinth is all it has known for fifteen years, and its senses are far keener than those of any mortal man. You need only come close enough for it to hear or smell you, and it will do the rest."

"I hope I brought enough torches," he muttered.

"King Minos has one more gift to bestow upon you," Daedalus said, gesturing for one of the guards to approach. The man held out an unlit torch soaked in oil, and Daedalus touched his own torch against it, the flames flaring so brightly that Leandros had to avert his eyes. Sparks spewed forth, showering the floor, bright embers floating up towards the ceiling before slowly fading into nothing. When he dared to look again, the second torch was lit, and Daedalus was offering it to him.

"What was that?" Leandros marveled, taking the torch from the old man. He examined it, finding nothing out of the ordinary, afterimages still lingering in his vision. "What kind of oil causes such flames?"

"It is not the oil, but the fire itself," Daedalus replied. "What you hold in your hand is an ancient relic - a Promethean flame. Just as we trace our lineage back to our fathers and grandfathers before us, this flame is a successor of the ember that Prometheus stole from the Gods. The flame has been preserved, passed between torches and candles and lamps, each time burning with the same vigor. It can never be quenched, and it will never burn out. It shall serve you well in those dark passageways."

"I suppose this is it," Leandros said, peering into the black maw ahead of him. He felt like he was about to step over the threshold of Hades. "I will return with the beast's head, or not at all."

"May the Gods watch over you," Daedalus said. The guards were apprehensive, restless, as though just being near the open gate was enough to spook them. He heard them muttering quietly as he passed beneath the ornate archway, then there was a clatter of armor as they hurried to close the doors at Daedalus' order. Leandros didn't look back, hearing the creak of the hinges, followed by a resonating thud as he was entombed. The glow from the corridor outside was cut off, leaving him standing alone in a small pool of wavering torchlight.

He found himself in a wide passageway not unlike the one he had just left, the walls carved from the very bedrock, the crude chisel marks clearly visible. The walls were damp, and the air was cool, like he had stepped into a cave. The floor was level, overlaid with interlocking slabs of stone, the path ahead completely straight. These tunnels were larger than he had expected, making the map that Daedalus had shown him in the library even more impressive.

His sandals echoed off the floor as he began to walk, swinging his Promethean torch about as he examined his strange surroundings. There were two more torches in his satchel, and he had flint to make fire, but he doubted that he would need them with such a magnificent artifact at hand. Daedalus had mentioned shafts and mirrors, too - perhaps not all of the labyrinth would be impossible to navigate without a flame to light his way.

Eventually, he came upon the first junction. The straight hallway branched off into three different paths at sharp right angles, each one identical to the last. Leandros tried to suppress the apprehension that rose in his belly as he remembered the intricacy of the map, reaching for the sack that was tied to his hip and producing a piece of chalk. Should he make any special marks - something to aid his navigation? He elected to leave an arrow pointing back the way he had come, finding that the chalk did a fair job of marking the damp stone. Hopefully, it wouldn't just wash away by the time he returned.

Which way to go now? He had no landmarks down here - no way to navigate, save for his chalk, and no way to know where the beast might be in relation to him. It was harrowing not knowing if or when his quarry would be made aware of him. Based on what Daedalus had told him, approaching the creature unnoticed was not going to be possible. This was going to end in a duel - a duel against a creature said to be physically superior to any mortal man. Did that include him? If it could be killed, then he would find a way. He set off, venturing down the centermost passage.

***

Leandros walked down the winding tunnels for hours before he came across anything of note. After marking another arrow on the wall of a junction, he heard a noise echoing from further down the passage. It sounded like the trickle of water. The acoustics in this place were incredible, sound carrying for absurd distances as it reflected off the stone walls. Whether that had been the intent of its design or just a consequence, he couldn't say, but it was easier to understand how the creature might hear him from so far away.

He followed the sound, eventually coming across a channel that cut through the rock. It looked like an open drain, the slabs of stone that lined its bottom rendered smooth by years of flowing water, the stream just wide enough that he could cross it with a stride. He knelt, dipping a cupped hand into the cool liquid, raising it to his nose. It didn't smell foul, and there was no scum floating on its surface, so he took a tentative sip. It was fresh. This must be one of the streams fed by natural springs that Daedalus had described. At least there was no danger of dying of thirst now.

Encouraged, he continued on, his wavering flame lighting his way as he trudged down the dingy tunnel. He must have traveled for miles already, only his woolen cloak keeping the cold at bay. Could the creature really live in an environment like this? How intelligent was it? It was enough to drive an average man mad.

***

Keeping track of time was almost impossible in these dank depths. There was no sun, no moon, no stars - only the bare rock ceiling above his head. His stomach was growling, so he elected to take a break, leaning his spear and shield against the nearest wall. He sat down on his cloak, which did a fair job of shielding him from the cold ground, and slung off his satchel.

Inside was the dried fish and a sealed pot of barley porridge. It was a far cry from the feast that he had enjoyed the night prior, but as a soldier, he was accustomed to eating whatever was available. They carried only enough supplies for a few days at most, and usually stole or scavenged whatever they could from the settlements that they raided. He broke off a piece from one of the dried and hammered fish - it was almost as hard as fire-baked clay - and popped it into his mouth. It was unpleasantly salty, but edible. Had he more time, he could have soaked it in a pot of water to help soften it, but he wanted to keep moving. For all he knew, the beast might already be aware of his presence.

"What a shame that there are no Promethean honey cakes," he muttered to himself, chewing on another leathery morsel.

***

After another few hours of fruitless walking, the environment began to change - what had once been walls of carved rock transitioning into slabs of cut stone. As he made his way along, holding his torch high above his head, he saw a glint of light in the distance. It was so small that it could have been a pinprick in a piece of cloth, but it was unmistakable. Could this be one of the light shafts that Daedalus had described?

It grew larger as he approached, and the light began to waver as though it was being cast by flames. Leandros stepped into one of the larger chambers that he had seen on the map, finding himself in an expansive room, the arched ceiling rising high above his head. It was held aloft by stone pillars of impressive size, and the floor was patterned with mosaics, making him feel like he was standing inside a great hall in a palace rather than a cave. The light was coming from braziers the size of his shield that hung from the ceiling on long chains, their flickering flames casting long shadows that danced across the ornate floor.

Nobody had been here to tend to these flames in years. It was true what Daedalus had said - any flame kindled by the fire of Prometheus would burn eternally and never peter out. These same braziers might have been lit two decades prior during the construction of the labyrinth.

A glint of bronze caught his eye, and he reacted reflexively, raising his shield as he pointed the tip of his doru at a shadowy recess between two nearby pillars. He inched a little closer, then lowered his guard, seeing a figure sprawled on the tiles. It was a man wearing a bronze cuirass and an ornate helmet with a prominent crest, a shield resting in his lap. He was long dead, his skin blackened by time, his body little more than a shriveled husk. This must be one of the assassins that King Minos had sent in before him.

Leandros ventured nearer, examining the corpse for a moment. There was no sign of violence that he could see - no severed limbs or crushed bones. Had this man fallen victim to the beast, or had he merely lost his way in this maze and run out of supplies? There was no way to tell.

He paused to make a chalk mark beside the entrance, then continued on, choosing an exit on the far side of the massive room. There was another, smaller room on the other side, the labyrinth laid out like the floor plan of a wealthy landowner's property. Someone could have lived here if that was their wish, but it was strangely devoid of any furnishings. There was nothing functional inside it, as though it was merely a shell. No tables, no chairs, no beds. It gave the place an eerie, unnatural feel, raising the hairs on his arms.

He explored the structure for what must have been a half hour before it abruptly transitioned back to bare stone. Pausing at the threshold, he looked back, marveling at how the mosaic of tiles that made up the building's floor stopped at the doorway. He raised his trusty torch again, leaving the warm glow of the braziers behind him.

***

Leandros trekked through the winding tunnels, seeing nothing but wet stone, only his chalk markings giving him any sense of direction. The layout of the labyrinth was nonsensical, with tunnels that branched off one another randomly, many of them taking him on long detours that culminated in nothing but a dead end. He had been walking for what felt like the better part of a day, and even he was starting to tire in this bizarre environment.

As he was walking along another nondescript corridor, he came across something strange. He knelt, picking up a piece of jewelry, its golden glint making it shine in the firelight. It was a bracelet - one that must have belonged to a woman. Lifting his gaze, he scanned the path ahead, finding nothing more. Slowly, he crept along the passage, his eyes open for any more evidence of people.

Daedalus had said that both criminals and sacrifices had been sent into the labyrinth at one point or another. It was a cruel fate to be exiled into these dark depths with no hope of survival, doomed to either be devoured by the beast or to succumb to hunger and exposure. Everything that his father had told him had painted a picture of Minos as a wise ruler who meted out justice with both swiftness and fairness, but this revelation brought that into question. Leandros had executed captives on the field. A swift blow with a sword or spear was sufficient to carry out a sentence - there was no need to prolong suffering unduly. If you were going to kill someone, you killed them. You didn't make a cruel game of their deaths.

Another piece of evidence - Leandros leaning down to pick up a sandal. Someone had been here before him. As he rounded another corner that led to a dead end, he came across its owner. A woman wearing a shawl was curled up on the ground, one hand resting against the far wall. Like the armor-clad warrior that he had come across in the strange, empty hall, her body had been reduced to little more than a leathery husk by the slow march of time. She must have been resting here for many years. He felt a pang of pity as he considered that she might have lost all hope here, in this passageway to nowhere, her strength failing her in the pitch blackness.

He was still relatively close to the entrance of the labyrinth, skirting its periphery. The bodies that he had found so far had died within a day's walk of the gate, unable to find their way in this nonsensical maze. Leandros drew his waterskin from his hip, taking a long draw of cool water, steeling himself for the journey ahead.

***

Leandros surmised that night must have fallen. The muscles in his legs were aching, and his feet had grown sore. It was impossible to tell how far he had marched without counting every pace, but he had experience traveling by foot, and his instincts told him that it was time to rest. He stopped, then shrugged off his crimson cloak to lay it on the cold stone, folding the garment so that he could sleep inside it. The wool would do a fair job of trapping his body heat. As exposed as he felt just lying in the middle of a tunnel, he had not come across any more dead ends in a while, and he had no other options. One of the fake rooms would have been warmer and more comfortable, but he hadn't seen any more of those during his journey.

He sat on the rough fabric, pulling another piece of dried fish from his satchel. He had enough supplies for only three days, and one had already passed. There had been no sign of the beast yet, and something told him that he had barely scraped the surface of the labyrinth. How far would he have traveled if that map had been laid out before him right now? An inch? Less?

After eating as much as he dared, he lay down to sleep, wrapping the cloak around himself tightly. Remembering what Daedalus had said about the Promethean flame being impossible to quench, he lay his torch on the stone tentatively, finding that it continued to burn without issue. As much as removing his armor would have made him more comfortable, he kept it on - not wanting to be taken off guard if his quarry should turn the tables on him.

***

When Leandros awoke, he had a quick breakfast of fish and porridge, then continued on his way. He wandered the stone tunnels for many hours, then came across something strange, running his fingers along one of the damp walls. There was a covering of furry moss that was misted with water droplets, lush and green. How could such a thing grow in these depths where there was no sunlight?

As he continued on, he noticed that there was more moss, growing from sparse patches to larger carpets that covered the walls almost from floor to ceiling. No, there was light. It was just faint, and his blazing torch had been overpowering it. It grew gradually brighter, reflecting down the tunnels, and it quickly became enough to see by. Soon, he noticed that the texture of the floor had changed, glancing down to see dark soil scattered on the stone slabs. Soil, moss, light - what was going on?

He soon emerged into a long passageway that was furry with moss, seeing a point of light at the far end. This wasn't the flickering of a brazier - it was golden and steady. Was this one of Daedalus' lauded light shafts?

The tunnel grew steadily more overgrown as he made his way towards its mouth, more soil covering the floor until he could barely see stone. He paused, dumbstruck to see blades of grass and weeds starting to take root. There was enough light and moisture here for them to subsist. Before long, it was more like walking through a field, the dew-misted plants dampening his shins as he trudged through them. His eyes had to adjust to the light as he stepped through into a large chamber, and when his vision cleared, he was met with a sight that robbed him of his breath.