I DIDN’T TAKE YOU FOR A QUITTER, the silvery voice says in my ear.
Too late. There’s only so much one person can take.
Chicken, she teases. It’s just ice. Do you find ice particularly terrifying?
No. No, my journey’s done. Let me sleep.
No it isn’t. You can still escape this place.
I don’t care if I escape anymore.
Well there’s your problem, dummy.
I open my eyes, her name on my lips, “Wi—”
Willow isn’t here. There’s nothing here—nothing but cold leeching my strength away, and wind threatening to blow me back into the abyss. The world is dark—the ice’s glow is gone. Now only icicles twinkle like stars in the blackness.
But, no—I see something else. There, hewn into the frozen cliff side, is a faint glow—the outline of a doorway. And beyond that door is a staircase carved into solid ice.
I drag myself forward. My legs won’t listen to me—my knees refuse to unbuckle.
The stairs are the green of a frozen river. They’re weather-worn and uneven, broken in places and crumbling. They descend in a tight spiral, so that I can’t see past the next corner.
I tip my weight over the first stair and begin sliding down on my belly. My body responds like a sack of flour. I drip down the stairs one at a time.
I’ve slid down some fifty stairs when I wonder, why? Why belabour this? Why carry on?
Because you are here. Willow whispers. Even if it’s not what you would have chosen.
But here there be monsters.
I hear the slow, heavy clatter of hooves awkwardly climbing down the stairwell behind me. I hear the ominous clip as the monster finds its purchase on an icy step, clop as the beast draws nearer.
I freeze and it’s more than cold and fatigue pinning me in place.
You can handle it, a different voice whispers in my ear.
But I’m afraid. I can hear the hooves descending.
Clip clop. Just above me. Clip clop. Getting closer.
It’s all right to be afraid. It’s smart to be afraid.
No. I can’t move my body, much less face the beast.
There’s a bellow. A heavy snort.
That’s all the fight you’ve got? the voice whispers, soft and chiding. I miss that voice.
I can’t do it.
I hear its horns scrape the ceiling. I feel the ice tremble. Hell above descends towards me.
Of course, there is no monster in this maze.
I drag myself up to crawl on hands and knees. I start moving again.
And from behind, the monster moans.
I brace myself against the wall and stand upright. I place one foot in front of the other.
I hear ice cracking. Something heavy slips and stumbles down a step.
My stride grows longer, my steps more confident. I push myself away from the wall—my legs have strength enough to continue.
The sound of hooves slows. The monster limps. I remember that a maze is no place for a Minotaur.
I turn back, look up. “Come on,” I say. “Just a little further.”