KIRIL STAGGERED down the narrow, snow-filled pathway. On both sides of the path loomed massive walls of razor hedges. He glanced backwards again and was relieved to see that no one was there.
It had been snowing for many hours and even though the maze was protected by branches overhead, quite a bit of snow had gotten through and accumulated in high drifts. Now at last the storm had eased, and in the hours before sunrise, a deep calm had fallen over the maze. It was a calm so complete and so enticing that Kiril was tempted to sit and rest. But he knew he couldn't. If he did so, it would only be a matter of time before he bled to death.
The puncture from the thorn was deep and bleeding steadily. Kiril had knotted a cloth tightly around his hand to cover the wound, but even so, he was steadily losing blood. In what seemed like only minutes, the cloth had turned red. Under other circumstances, if he were able to visit a modern hospital, he could simply get an infusion of a clotting factor that would quickly stop the bleeding. There were other remedies as well, remedies that he'd been using for centuries. There were certain herbs—like bilberry, grape seed extract, scotch broom, stinging nettle, witch hazel, and yarrow—that could be used by hemophiliacs to help them make their blood congeal. But none of that was available. The only thing that would save him now was the green ash of the Founding Tree of Jasber.
There was also another matter. Kiril was fighting off the temptation to eat one of the red lotus berries that grew on the hedges. Of course, he had taken some Uralian nightshade with him—and this herb could be used to break one's addiction to lotus berries—but it was an unreliable remedy. Kiril had neither the time nor inclination to take chances.
As he walked onward, he felt near death. The fight at the gate had taken a serious toll. Still, he was disciplined enough to sop up the blood to ensure he wouldn't leave a trail. His fevered mind thought of the person who taught him everything he knew about the razor hedges—his father, Kemal Spratic.
As a young man, Kiril's father had served as a labyrinth sweeper. Being a labyrinth sweeper was a highly coveted position in Jasber. These were the elite, the hardy few tough enough to fight off snow snakes and clever enough to deal with any intruders who had found their way into the maze. Kemal had distinguished himself in his service as a sweeper and this seemed to prove to everyone, especially the elders of Jasber, that he was capable of running the Jasber Gate, which he ultimately went on to do.
At one time, when he was still a boy, Kiril himself had entertained the fantasy that he too would be a labyrinth sweeper. Throughout the early years of his childhood, Kiril begged his father to tell him stories about the labyrinth. Kemal Spratic was a serious man, but he loved his son and therefore each night at bedtime, he indulged Kiril's wishes and told stories about the two years that he had spent working in the labyrinth.
Kiril recalled one story in particular—an incident when Kemal had almost eaten a lotus berry near the end of his tour of duty in the labyrinth. Typically, a labyrinth sweeper served in this position for two years and, during this time, made a series of month-long journeys through the maze. At the end of each journey, the sweeper was allowed to return to Jasber for a short rest, and then he or she was deployed back into the maze for another month. This pace was grueling and it was made more punishing by the fact that sweepers always traveled alone. Sometimes the sweepers passed one another in the maze, but the maze was so vast that such encounters occurred rarely—perhaps once a day at most. If and when two sweepers encountered each other, it was customary for them to brandish their khopeshes at shoulder height and clash their weapons so forcefully that the clanging sound carried for miles. No words were ever exchanged. This ritual was also a safety measure. If an imposter entered the maze dressed as a sweeper and tried to talk or simply walk past another sweeper, that person would immediately be cut down.
In this particular story, as Kiril recalled it, his father was near the end of his month-long journey and he had not seen another sweeper in many days. A week earlier, he had battled a snow snake and, during this skirmish, Kemal had lost his bag of provisions. Interestingly enough, the snow snakes did not care for human meat. They preferred the various rodents that inhabited the hedges. However, they were starkly territorial and willing to kill anything that disturbed them. The snake that Kemal had fought and vanquished had also destroyed his entire bag of supplies with one gulp and now Kemal was close to starvation. He was stumbling home, one step at a time, but the situation was becoming worse. In a moment of exhaustion, Kemal sat down to rest and soon found himself staring at a cluster of lotus berries dangling just a few inches from his face. Immediately, his mouth began to water as he smelled the sweet, luscious scent of the berries. Then, before he even realized what he was doing, Kemal reached out, plucked a single berry, and placed it on the tip of his tongue.
The consequences of swallowing the berry would be dire: the berry induced week-long comas and was highly addictive. Eventually, of course, another labyrinth sweeper would come upon Kemal. Yet, even then, a sweeper would be compelled to do nothing. According to the ancient code of the labyrinth sweepers, it was strictly forbidden to wake another sweeper from his coma or help break an addiction to lotus berries. Either sweepers were strong enough to do this on their own or they were condemned to remain in a coma forever.
"So I was sitting there with the lotus berry on the tip of my tongue and every sense in my body urging me to eat it," Kemal was fond of saying to his son. "And what saved me was you, Kiril, the thought of you. You were just a boy, and so perfect in every way—"
Kiril's reminiscing was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. He looked up and noticed that someone in a scarlet robe was approaching him head-on. It was a labyrinth sweeper. Kiril took a deep breath and reminded himself that he had prepared for this moment. Kiril was dressed in a scarlet robe too, and he carried a khopesh. He certainly looked the part of a sweeper. The labyrinth sweeper drew nearer and Kiril saw that he was an enormous man, perhaps seven feet tall, with broad shoulders. The khopesh that he carried was quite large, almost twice the size of Kiril's. The two of them were now just ten paces apart. Kiril brandished his khopesh. The enormous man did likewise. They pulled even. Kiril raised his weapon overhead and whipped it toward the enormous sweeper. There was a deafening clang. Kiril felt tremendous vibrations ripple through his hands and he almost dropped his khopesh. He remembered to keep walking. He took a step and then two more. The open wound in his hand throbbed painfully, and he knew the blood was flowing in a steady stream. He felt weaker by the minute. Still, he kept his discipline. He didn't look back, but he sensed that they were each continuing on their respective ways. His ruse had worked.
Kiril kept walking for another ten minutes before stopping to glance backwards. The path was clear. He stared up and saw that the storm had cleared and the moon shone through an opening in the branches. It was time.
Kiril reached into his robe and pulled out a thin slab of rosewood. It was the lid to the box that Alfonso had found in Alexandria. Kiril brushed a hand over the lid, almost lovingly, and examined it closely. It was blank. There were no markings on it of any kind. Then he held it up so that the moonlight shone on the surface of the lid. Over a period of several seconds, the moonlight caused an intricate map to appear.
It was a map of the razor hedges and it showed thousands of turns and passageways. In addition, there were three distinct markings. The first was of a door at the southern perimeter, which quite clearly was the entranceway to the maze. The second was a large lake at the northern end of the maze, which was Kiril's final destination. The third was the symbol of an X at the center of the maze. The X was glowing very brightly, as if this was where Kiril was meant to go. This had to be the location of the Great Sleeper's cottage. It made perfect sense. Only a Great Sleeper would ever go to Alexandria, take a rosewood box like this one, and then enter the maze. The X had to mark the location of the cottage, the place where all Great Sleepers, like Leif, were supposed to go.
Once he oriented himself, committing his specific path to memory, Kiril considered his next step. Time was of the essence. He was bleeding and therefore couldn't risk further delays. But he would have to pass by Leif's cottage anyway. Why not pay his old enemy a little visit? The very thought warmed him, like a fire on a cold night or a swig of strong spirit in the biting cold.
Kiril shook his head. "Don't be a fool," he muttered. "Your only goal is the armory."
This was true; the real prize was the armory in Jasber. This is where the Jasberians kept their supply of green ash and the canisters of ether from the city's Founding Tree. Of course the ether was his ultimate goal, but the Jasberian ash would likely save his life, in addition to restarting the clock and giving him decades, perhaps centuries, of life. Clearly, he needed to get to the armory as soon as possible. It was the logical thing to do. Still, he could not remove Leif's memory from his head, just as he could not remove the scar from his face.
Suddenly, the wind gusted, rattling the branches and thorns of the razor hedges. Kiril glanced around nervously. He was alone. He placed the rosewood lid back under his robe and continued trudging through the maze.