I'VE BEEN IN funeral marches that were cheerier then our slow ascent from the maze’s entrance back to the palace. Ariadne’s shoulders slump and I notice her jaw clenching as if she’s biting back tears. Minos walks as if the midday glare over our heads bears down on him like a heavy weight, but Pasiphae’s jaunty step reminds me of the solar-powered bubblers Orpheus builds for his mother’s bird baths; it’s as if the sun has charged her with energy. Theseus is right; she’s no victim. She’s the one who is benefitting from these ordeals, not Minos. If Theseus fails—which right now I cannot feel a sense either way if he will or won’t—I can’t wage war against Minoa. No, this is something to do with the Council or Aryana. I shake my head. Always Aryana. Always Ares’s people who are the aggressors.
Ariadne lingers behind to join Odysseus and me. "Theseus has something that may help," she whispers. Odysseus perks up and looks about to ask her something, but she continues. "It’s from the gods, I swear it must be. A belt that stretches. It won’t help him fight the minotaur, but it will help him find his way out."
She says this with a tone of clinging hope and my heart nearly breaks for her. She has fallen for Theseus and now she must watch him fight for his life.
"He’s lucky," I say.
"Will he make it?" she asks, glancing quickly at my hair.
"I don’t have the sight, but he’s tough. He’s a strong vigile and, from what I’ve heard, he’s never lost a fight."
She gives a relieved smile at that and we continue in silence through the foyer. We enter a large room in which a screen has been set up. It reminds me of the screen Orpheus told me Aeetes had in his bedchamber to watch over his beloved pelt. An unexpected burst of happiness passes over me as I wonder how the new groom is getting on with his bride.
The moment of joy is cut off by a flame of irritation when I see Pasiphae pointing out a seat to Minos like a trainer telling a dog to sit and when, like an obedient mutt, he does what she commands. Ariadne takes the seat to one side of Minos and, before Pasiphae can plunk her bony behind into it, Odysseus assumes the seat behind Minos and places his satchel on the floor under him. I sit next to Odysseus, angling myself to watch Minos’s expression without having to be too close to Pasiphae.
The screen flickers on. Its images are an unnatural, sickly shade of green. The memory of Altair, the timid cameraman who joined Herc and I on our adventures and died for his loyalty, hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. One of the cameras focuses on the minotaur and somehow is able to follow his movements. Pasiphae leans forward, intent on the screen. I think of how Areans hate technology unless they can use it to surveil and subdue their own people, or to watch something horrible.
And what’s on the screen truly is horrible. It’s a creature with a man’s body, but a man’s body like no other. Even my big and brawny cousin, Herc, would seem small next to this monster. On the human body is the head of a bull, a massive bull with horns that taper to deadly points. The beast is made even more monstrous as the camera turns his eyes into glowing empty orbs. He sniffs the air and switches from passive to alert. I assume he’s caught scent of his latest meal, but he doesn't leave his lair. He's probably not hungry enough to hunt, but I doubt he’ll pass up an Athenian-flavored snack if one crosses his path.
Ariadne’s hopefulness now strikes me as idiotic. Knowing what he’s up against, how can she have any hope for Theseus? Despair for him would overwhelm me if not for the righteous sense of determination welling inside. No one should have to face this monster. I will bring war to stop it, not against Minoa, for I can see Minos has nothing to do with this, but against Aryana. And even against the Council whose members are allowing this to happen.
Minos doesn’t react to the beast’s appearance; he’s not even watching the screen. It’s as if he can’t bear to look and instead has chosen to stare at his hands as they fidget in his lap. Pasiphae’s attention is fixated on the screen, while Ariadne gnaws on her lip and twines her hands together as she watches without blinking. Although the monster is a fascinating creature, watching him do nothing but scent the air and roam about his lair is quite dull. Knowing that sitting too long makes my leg ache, I get up to pace the room, checking the screen intermittently to see nothing happening. The sun seems to race across the sky just as my mind races with apprehension of how I will convince the other poli to join me in a fight against Aryana, the fiercest polis in Osteria.
"There he is," Ariadne says in a voice that’s both excited and fretful. I slip back into my seat. Theseus is sniffing the air and pulling a disgusted face. His eyes glow eerily like the minotaur’s. For no reason I can fathom—the maze has to be pitch dark—he closes his eyes then angles his head as if listening for something. Like Pasiphae, I find myself leaning forward, my heart pounding. Theseus is no farther from the beast than the length of this room. Does he know how close he is? He takes another step deeper into the creature’s lair. He has a femur in one hand and I have to admire his improvisational skills in the face of danger.
"Are you sure you want to watch this?" I ask Ariadne, but she doesn't respond. Her eyes are fixed on the screen. The minotaur charges and Ariadne lets out a yelp, then slaps her hand over her mouth. Pasiphae gives her a smug look and her lips turn up in a grin of cruel amusement. Theseus swings the femur but makes no impact. Minos, even though he still hasn’t glanced at the screen, starts weeping; Odysseus mutters commands such as "swing left, step right," as if he can control Theseus with his words. When the creature attacks again, Theseus strikes once more with the femur. The bone breaks, but from the way he shakes his head, it’s clear the minotaur has at least felt the attack this time.
Theseus breaks off a fractured portion of the femur and clutches the remaining piece of bone. The movement of his hands in doing this reveal a rope—no, not a rope, it’s too thin, a string is more like it—stretching from Theseus’s other hand. Pasiphae jumps up.
"Get him out," Pasiphae screeches like an angry jay. Minos’s shoulders flinch at the sound of her raised voice. "He is disqualified. They are all disqualified. They all must die."
"I don't think so," Odysseus says, cutting off her tirade.
"He has broken the rules," she shouts.
"Which one? The rules state that a victim can’t bring in a weapon." Odysseus walks over to the screen and points to the string, or whatever it is. "That little thing would snap before it could ever be used as a weapon. And your guards checked him over. They cleared him. According to your rules, that means he's qualified to be in there. How did it go? Ah yes, ‘You'll be inspected by these guards before you go in. If they find no weapons you are qualified to enter the maze,’" he says, mimicking Pasiphae’s reedy voice. "I have a very good memory, Councilwoman."
"No matter," Pasiphae says, slipping back into her seat. Her face arrogant and cold as Theseus ducks and dodges the minotaur. "He won’t survive."
She may be right. On the screen the minotaur is just behind Theseus. This time it’s me shouting commands. "Run, you idiot. Duck!" Theseus stiffens, I think maybe somehow he has heard me, but perhaps he only senses the beast’s proximity. His body tenses. He’s ready to react. "Move!" Odysseus and I yell at the same time.
He ignores our orders. Theseus is on the verge of action, but the minotaur already has the momentum for his attack. With his mouth of vicious teeth gaping wide, the beast swings his head downward. Theseus’s legs bend ever so slightly as if he’s starting to crouch away from the attack, but it’s too little too late. The minotaur’s mouth surrounds, then clamps down on Theseus’s shoulder. Ariadne’s scream fills the room. Minos keeps his gaze fixed on his hands, but his shoulders heave as he sobs silently. Pasiphae ignores them and gives Odysseus a look of triumph.
She then turns her attention to me, her face as casual and amused as someone watching a play.
"I believe your polis is next on the list, Solon."