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

I wished to hear them disproved. He had revealed only one to me. That one was ominous enough, and yet I thought that I disliked even more the other dream, the one that made him smile, and the one he kept secret from me. I thought that if one dream were proved false, that would refute them both.

The captain was flattered to be sought out and was soon talking about the voyage.

“No,” he said, puzzled. “There was no great storm, Princess Xenodice. The weather is usually untroubled at this time of year. There was a little delay in loading some of the supplies, which made us later than we might have been, but otherwise . . .”

Feeling much happier, I then demanded, “And was there a weather witch on board with you?”

“Well, no. We had the usual charms on bow and stern, of course, as well as several wind catchers on the sail, but no witch. There’s not a great deal of space on a ship like mine for passengers. In wintertime, of course, we’d welcome her, but as it was . . .”

“I meant one of the Athenians.”

He shrugged. “Frankly, your Highness, I don’t know. I don’t speak much of that Hellenic tongue. I’ve got an oarsman who knows it pretty well, and he translates for me when I have need. They’re just cargo to me, you understand: I see to it they’re fed and watered and none of them escapes or tries to kill himself or anyone else, and that’s the end of my interest in them. I have other duties and little leisure to spare.”

“Then,” I said, struck by another thought, “I suppose you don’t know what that young man, the last one to be presented to my mother the queen, said? That was strange.”

“Oh, him!” growled the captain in disgust. “I know which one he was. Self-important young rooster! If I hadn’t known my own life would be forfeit, I’d have tossed that man overboard and slept easier at night. Always talking, lecturing, arguing. My guess is that he’s the son of someone important in Athens. Or somebody they think is important, anyway. They all look the same to me, even that King Aegeus. They call him King,’ but he looks more like a dirty, toothless old dog to me.”

“Did you see King Aegeus, then?” I asked, feeling some curiosity about the man who had caused my brother’s death and so much misery to my parents.

“Not this time, my lady. Other years I’ve gone to collect tribute he’s been there, striding up and down on the shore and cursing and shaking his fists at us, as though the whole thing wasn’t his own fault to begin with. He doesn’t come too close, I notice—my men are armed. No, as I say, this year I never caught sight of him. They seemed more upset this year. They always are, of course, but this year . . . I suppose that man you asked about was somebody from one of the landed families and that got everybody more riled up than usual.”

“But then, why would he be chosen to go? I know my mother demands the best beloved children, but surely that is a mere matter of form by now. Would not the wealthiest houses bribe a poor family into sending one of their children?”

“They choose them by lot, or so I understand. I suppose the rules about cheating are strict. After all, even they must fear the wrath of the Goddess, ignorant savages that they are.”

I nodded.

“I tell you what, Princess,” said the captain, with the cheerful unconcern of one who has successfully handed over a tedious responsibility. “I don’t envy the family that ends up with that Theseus as a servant when his year of palace duty is up. Give me a slave who knows his place and how to keep his mouth shut.”

“Theseus?”

“That’s right, my lady. If there is one thing I do know about that man, it’s his name. He kept saying it over and over all the way here, along with some other gibberish I couldn’t understand. I am Theseus of Athens!’ That’s what he kept saying: I am Theseus of Athens and Troezen!’”

Chapter Seven

The Festival of the Bulls

ONCE, WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL, THE GROUND BENEATH THE Labyrinth shifted. Pots and jars fell to the floor and splintered, the roof of a jeweler’s studio on the eastern side of the palace collapsed, and several minor fires blazed up where furniture or cloth had fallen into open fire pits.

It frightened me, but my nurse, Graia, assured me that it was nothing. “Only a bit of temper, no more,” she said, and she told me this story.

“Deep within the Island of Kefti,” she said, “below the deepest caverns, below even that realm where the dead people dwell, down in the darkness and the heat of the earth, there lives a gigantic bull. The Bull in the Earth is the dearly beloved husband of the Lady Potnia, She Who Made All Things.

“The Lady loves her people, the Keftiu, but she also loves the Bull. These two loves do not always harmonize with each other. The Bull is as large as a mountain, and his breath is a roaring flame hot enough to melt stone. If he were allowed his freedom he would surely kill each and every one of the Keftiu. The Lady therefore keeps the Bull pent up within the earth, where he cannot destroy her people.

“Often the Lady goes to visit her lord deep in the bowels of the earth. This is why the people of Kefti seek to honor their Lady by placing offerings inside any of the thousands of sacred caves that thread their blind paths through the roots of our island. We likewise wish to show reverence to the Bull in the Earth. We love him for his beauty and power and we also fear him, even shut away as he is. For when the Lady does not visit her lord for a time, he