Lost in the Labyrinth by Patrice Kindl (ereader with android txt) 📗

“By the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars,” came a terrified chant from below the floor. “By the name of She Who Gives All and Takes All! By the—” The string of invocations broke off.

Another silence, shorter this time. Then: “What a crawling worm may do, a man may surely do also,” he said. Mystified, those assembled consulted one another in puzzled whispers.

An interval followed, and then Polyidus said loudly, “Awake, young master, awake!” A murmur of satisfaction at this dramatic touch spread through the crowd.

But then from under the ground came a cry. “Mama! I want my mama!” The voice did not belong to Polyidus.

Those closest to the trapdoor now drew back, crushing their neighbors in their anxiety to put distance between themselves and the voice.

“Glaucus?” I whispered. I shuddered, and kissed the amulet that hung from a cord around my neck, for I feared it was his spirit only that spoke. “Glaucus!” I cried aloud in a voice I could scarce command. “Glaucus, is that you?”

“Yes,” said Polyidus. “Speak up, my lord. Let them hear your voice.”

“Xenodice? Let me out of here,” my little brother cried. “It smells in here. And the seer keeps poking at me. Tell him to stop. Why am I so sticky?”

I pushed forward through the crowd eagerly. Just as I reached the trapdoor and bent to raise it, however, several in the crowd objected. They dutifully tapped at their foreheads with the backs of their knuckles as I passed, but they were frightened and they did not mean to let me touch the iron ring.

“My lady,” said one, whom I recognized as a journeyman potter. “It is for the queen to do this thing, or perhaps for the king, as he is the one who shut them up in there. Do not let the young lord’s spirit out upon us or it will do us harm.”

“Oh, very well,” I snapped. “Run and fetch my mother and father. Quickly!”

Catreus stepped forward also. “The rest of you, back away. We must have room here. The queen comes!”

I knelt down on the floor and spoke through the trapdoor.

“Do not be afraid, Glaucus. Our mother is coming to let you out. You must be patient only a little longer.”

“Xenodice, now the seer has pinched me.”

I could hear Polyidus muttering, “He’s alive! Alive! I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“Polyidus!” I called.

“Princess Xenodice! Do you know what I have done, my lady? I have brought the young prince back to life! I have raised the dead!”

“Yes, and we are more grateful than we can say. But please do not pinch the Lord Glaucus. He is but a little boy recovering from a very upsetting experience.”

“I am the greatest seer in all of Kefti,” Polyidus said with conviction. “In the world!”

“I am very sure you are right, Polyidus,” I said, my heart sinking a little as I contemplated the likely effect of this on Polyidus’s self-love. Still, he had raised my brother from the dead and I must think only of that.

My mother came striding along the corridor with my father at her heels, the excited potter trotting in their wake, gibbering of spirits and serpents and seers.

“Be silent,” my mother commanded. “Show me.”

The crowd had withdrawn to a respectful distance, whether in obedience to the command or through their own fear I do not know. They flattened themselves against the walls as my parents passed; the close confines of the little kitchen and hallway did not allow them to do more than briefly sketch a gesture of respect.

The potter pointed mutely at the trapdoor.

I bent down to the wooden door, said, “Here is Mother, Glaucus,” and moved away.

My mother fixed her eyes upon mine.

“Is it he?” she asked. She looked, if anything, worse than she had last night. She had allowed her women to change her honey-stained clothes, wash her face, and comb her hair, but her aspect was dreadful.

I had opened my mouth to answer when the cry came: “Mama! Mama! Xenodice won’t let me out and I hate it down here.”

“My son!”

My father stepped forward. “Polyidus,” he called out in a threatening voice, “if this be trickery—”

“Oh, but it isn’t, I assure you, King. Truly. The little boy’s as lively as a cricket. I did it. I brought him back to life.”

“Open the door, Minos!” cried my mother. “Open the door!”

My father stooped and hefted the heavy door. In the shifting light of a sputtering oil lamp were revealed the uplifted faces of the seer Polyidus and my little brother Glaucus. Glaucus’s expression was utterly unlike the one I had seen on his face last night. Then he had looked serene, even beautiful, in his golden glaze of honey. Now he looked like an appallingly dirty, thoroughly disgruntled small boy. In the few brief moments of his new life he had managed to smear dirt all over his hands and face, which had of course adhered to the honey. His hair stuck up in spikes, his brows were knit, his arms were folded across his chest, and his lower lip stuck out belligerently.

“I itch all over, Mama,” he said irritably, and demonstrated by scratching himself vigorously.

He was unquestionably, undeniably alive.

A wooden ladder was lowered and Glaucus swiftly restored to his mother’s arms, once more spoiling her dress. The years dropped from her like castoff rags. She laughed tremulously and covered his filthy hair with kisses, clasping him to her bosom so tightly that he cried out in protest.

I could not help but wonder. Would my return from death give my mother such joy?

Polyidus emerged from the underground in a stately, deliberate manner. He paused at the edge of the trapdoor, smiling benignly at the rejoicing crowd.

“I am but a humble servant of the Goddess, no more,” he said, when a momentary lull in the noise level allowed him to be heard. “Do not praise me more than my merit, I pray you.”

Polyidus was