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  I, Asterion, slept and dreamt deeply, for several nights before the morning on which the great sacrifice was scheduled to take place—I experienced vivid dreams, in which my spirit wandered far abroad, over sea as well as land.

  When asleep, I can sometimes gain ready access to the minds of others, through the medium of dreams, my own and theirs. I can sometimes exert considerable influence upon my fellow dreamers, often without the subject suspecting the presence of an intruder. In a lifetime of such nocturnal wandering, out of my misshapen body, I have had many strange encounters, some of them with figures that I gradually began to recognize as gods.

  As the day of sacrifice and escape approached, I was not certain yet whether I would be one of the fugitives. But in any case my sister and her party were certainly going to require a ship.

  Ships were virtually always in the control of men. Sending my dreaming spirit drifting out from the Labyrinth, out from the island, over the waves, through the breezes of a spring night, I posed the question to the universe, or perhaps it was only to myself: Where is the man I have to find?

  Tonight the beauty of the sea had no attraction; my thought was too much concentrated upon our needs. But I knew it was on the sea that I must search. At last my search was rewarded, a good contact established with the dreaming captain of a small merchant ship.

  The detachment of the Palace Guard who were detailed to watch the youths and maidens of the Tribute took head counts only casually and sporadically, generally leaving that business to the priests of Shiva, who took them about once a day. The portion of the Maze in which the youths and maidens were confined was only casually sealed off from the rest—none of the victims seemed inclined to try to escape. And, after all, where would they possibly go, with the wide ocean between them and their homes? The two doors which had been cut into the old walls to connect their quarters with the outside world were steadily if not very intensely guarded.

  From time to time the young soldier called Alex the Half-Nameless, like many of the other men in his barracks, pulled a shift of guard duty at one of those portals.

  There Alex was able to observe, to his relief, that most of the guards were deployed on the wrong side of the people they were trying to guard. The escape plan, as it had been stealthily conveyed to Alex, in bits and pieces by the slave-girl Clara, did not require Theseus to break out into the palace grounds. Rather he was to accompany the others of the Tribute on their forced march deeper into the Labyrinth. Ariadne's lover was a superb athlete, and, as he assured her, confident that he could get right over the wall, at a certain point she had described to him in detail, where the barrier was no more than about ten feet high. All he would need was a moment or two to prepare himself, and a little space in which to run and jump. Alex himself, along with the princess Ariadne and Clara, would be waiting on the other side, ready to lead Theseus away to join the others who were taking part in the escape.

  Before the time arrived, the plan had been worked out in some detail. The planners, chiefly Daedalus and the princess, were proud of their achievement. If all went well, it seemed entirely likely that seven people were going to vanish as if the earth had swallowed them up.

  In the course of their secret meetings, Theseus several times expressed to Ariadne his admiration for the famous Daedalus, and said he looked forward to meeting the Artisan. Theseus was also intrigued by the participation of the Minotaur, whom he had not yet seen, and he questioned Ariadne about her brother.

  "So, he eats no meat at all? Then it's a pretty good joke to think that all these people are supposed to be somehow devoured by him. He eats no meat, can't handle wine, and goes to bed with no one. And we are all supposed to be terrified of this—cow."

  Ariadne's face suddenly looked swollen around the eyes, and her voice quavered. "Asterion is my brother. He is placing his own life at risk to help you get away."

  Theseus looked at her, and something altered in his face. "I am sorry." The words had a sound of beautiful sincerity.

  When they had kissed again, Ariadne observed, "I don't suppose the Lord Shiva is really going to eat seventeen people either. Is he?"

  "Not exactly." At the moment, Theseus wasn't much interested in Shiva. "But tell me more about Asterion. I'm sorry I spoke rudely about him, I didn't understand. Is he really a child of Zeus? And does he really have prophetic dreams? And what is his contribution to the escape plan going to be? Apart from dreams, I mean."

  Her response was sharp. "He is as much a child of Zeus as I am. Asterion is my brother, and to me he seems . . . almost ordinary, despite his strange appearance. And don't laugh at his dreams. Over the years he has told me many wonderful things, gathered in his own dreams and those of other people."

  The young man smiled faintly. "I think it is your dreams that interest me more than his."

  "I would like to hear about what you do in the land of Oneiros, when you sleep," Ariadne breathed.

  "And I of your adventures there."

  "And I will tell you of them."

  Theseus said intensely, "What I would really love, is to lie beside you as you dream."

  Fiercely Ariadne squeezed his hand. "I, too, desire that very much, my love," she whispered. "And it will come about, I promise."

  "I believe you."

  Moving back half a step, she drew a deep breath. "As to how my brother will help you, on the day of the escape, that depends. If I should be delayed for any reason, he will appear when you need a guide. You can trust him with your life."

  "I am trusting him with your life, too. And to me that is infinitely more valuable than my own."

  "Oh, love!"

  Chapter Eight

  Several days before the sacrifice of the Tribute was scheduled to take place, the priest Creon had approached the Princess Ariadne quietly and discreetly, conveying to her official notice of just where and when the ceremony was to be conducted. The ceremony would definitely not be open to the public. It would take place in the presence of a select few witnesses, in the assured privacy of a certain restricted domain within the Labyrinth, and not far from its center. At Shiva's orders a new ritual site had already been created there, by flattening and removing some of the old walls across a circle about a hundred feet in diameter. A semicircular viewing stand had been erected in about half of the cleared space, and an elaborate stage upon the other half.

  Creon, obviously enamored of his subject, seemed about to go into greater detail, when the Princess Ariadne interrupted to make it plain that whatever the arrangements were, she had no intention of attending.

  The priest had obviously expected that response. "Your uncle and I assumed that that would be your attitude, your royal highness." And he seemed content to let the matter go at that.

  But now that the subject of Tribute and human sacrifice had been raised, Ariadne was not going to let it pass without further comment. She said, "You are going to murder people, to please your damned new god, and it is a foul and vicious business."

  At that the high priest managed to look pained and shocked. "If I may say so, highness, that is not a very constructive attitude to take. It is even rather dangerous. Our lord Shiva has graciously consented to accept the offering of our most royal king, your uncle."

  "Since you use the form of asking my permission, no, you may not say so. What kind of god is it who demands an offering of human lives? What kind of king, who struggles to provide it?"

  Creon's countenance seemed to have become a mask. He bowed slightly, and silently took himself away.

  The morning on which the sacrifice of the Tribute was scheduled to take place dawned clear across the island of Corycus, on a day that promised to be very warm for spring.

  Ariadne had given everyone to understand that on this morning she would be visiting her brother, as she often did, in some remote portion of the Maze.

  She and Clara were just about to depart when the princess Phaedra was announced. Phaedra had come unattended, paying an unusual visit to her younger sister's
room. "Have you heard what kind of sacrifice is to be performed?"

  Ariadne was eager to get rid of the unexpected visitor, without arousing her suspicions. "Of course. I have even been officially invited to attend it—haven't you?"

  "I have." Phaedra shivered. "But of course I am not going."

  "Nor am I."

  Meanwhile the slave-girl Clara was standing by, trying to conceal her nervousness, watching and listening to the conversation, but taking little part. None of the Princess Phaedra's personal attendants were granted anything like the freedom of speech and action that Clara generally enjoyed in the company of her own mistress.

  Now Ariadne was saying, "Today's will not be the first human sacrifice Shiva has claimed here in our homeland."

  "I know that. There have been prisoners, slaves—"

  "Do you know who the first one was?" the younger sister interrupted. She paused briefly for effect, before adding, "Our father, Minos."

  Phaedra was aghast. She had to admit that the suspicion had crossed her mind, but until now she had been inclined to give their uncle the benefit of the doubt.

  When she stammered some remark along this line, the younger woman quickly cut her down. "Nonsense. Perses killed his brother." Ariadne spoke with firm conviction.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because I know it to be true."

  "But how do you know—? No, don't tell me!" Phaedra paced nervously among the feminine furnishings of the room. She glanced several times at her sister, who continued to regard her silently.

  At last the elder sister stopped her pacing. "I must think deeply about this."

  "I wish you would."

  "We must not—not take any hasty action. I must consider all these things, very carefully."

  "Yes, I agree. Oh, if you are concerned about Clara here, you need not be. I trust her with my life."

  The older princess knew that well enough, and was not worried about Clara. She was thinking again of the ceremony of sacrifice, due to get under way in less than an hour. She said, "I will not attend any such horrible event. What is our uncle thinking of?"

  "What he's usually thinking of—his own power. I suppose he will not be satisfied until he rules the world, may the gods forbid that ever happening." Ariadne paused, then added deliberately, "That is why he killed his brother."

  Phaedra turned pale, and this time involuntarily glanced toward Clara. Again she said, "We must talk of this later."

  "You keep telling me that, Phaedra. Yes, I agree, we must."

  For a moment Phaedra seemed on the brink of breaking down, under the weight of confirmed suspicions. "Ariadne, what can we do?"

  "At the moment, nothing."

  "But who is going into the Labyrinth today, to watch this horror? Ariadne, I have sent our uncle word that I am indisposed and will not be there. Will you stay with me this morning?"

  "Today there are reasons why I must be elsewhere," the younger told her tenderly.

  "Reasons? What reasons?"

  "I have promised Asterion."

  "Oh." Phaedra never spoke of her half-brother in the Labyrinth, much less went to see him. And the sisters embraced and kissed each other, a rare occurrence with them.

  One of the regular household servants now appeared on schedule, ready to serve the usual morning tea.

  But Phaedra protested that she was too upset to think of tea, or any other food or drink. Moments later she had taken herself away.

  "Thank all the gods," Ariadne murmured when her sister was gone, and the innocent servant too. "She dawdled until I feared that she would make us late. Clara, see that you have good sturdy sandals on. Beyond that, we dare not make any preparations."

  "I have, my lady."

  Clara and her mistress had already put on their ordinary clothes.

  As the princess looked down from her window, only the leaves of nearby treetops prevented her seeing into the section of the Labyrinth where the young people of the Tribute were being held.

  What might have been the entire crew of odylic priests and wizards who attended the new king and his strange god, perhaps a dozen men in all, were busy arranging and decorating a table in one of the larger plazas of the Labyrinth, an open space that served the captive youths and maidens as a kind of common room. Two or three sections of wall had been taken down, enlarging the plaza by converting sections of several passageways into a single open space.

  Ariadne could not exactly see just what the servants of Destruction might be doing down there, chanting as they did so. But it was an easy guess that they were drugging the wine which was to be ritually served to the victims just before the young people were led off to their doom, in another recently created plaza perhaps a mile away.

  Ariadne looked sharply at Clara, who was now visibly trembling. "Do calm down. You're as nervous as my sister."

  "Yes, my lady."

  Then she asked Clara, "Did you hear anything in the room last night? See anything?" For about a month now the princess had addressed those same questions to her servant almost every morning—and on the few mornings when she failed to do so, Clara had asked them of her. The ritual of questioning had been going on ever since one memorable night when the suite of rooms shared by the two young women had been plagued with a mysterious flurry of strange midnight whisperings. The unintelligible voices, coming from no visible sources, had been mixed with other sounds, hard to identify but suggestive of small objects being moved about.

  On the following night, similar phenomena had taken place. Each occasion, both occupants of the room had arisen, Ariadne from her huge canopied bed, Clara from her cot nearby, and had consulted in whispers as to whether they should call the guard. But neither young woman put much trust in the guard, since their uncle had taken over. Neither mistress nor servant had been molested in any way, and a careful inspection of the contents of the rooms by daylight showed nothing was missing.

  On the second night of the strange visitation, which had turned out to be the last, Ariadne had dreamt, or thought she dreamt, of a shadowy figure bending over her in her bed. But in the morning her jewelry—quite a modest collection for a Corycan princess—lay in its strongbox undisturbed, and the gold and silver medallion, the gift of Daedalus, still hung on its fine chain round her neck, lying just above and between her breasts.

  "I heard nothing last night, my lady," Clara said now. "I saw nothing." For almost a month, inhuman intruders had been as totally absent as any of the human kind.

  "Do you suppose anything of the kind has been happening to my sister?"

  "I doubt it, my lady. Today would have been the Princess Phaedra's chance to tell you all about it. And . . ."

  "And she probably would have done so, had there been anything to tell. But she said nothing."

  The princess and her slave-girl had both felt confident from the start that at least the trespasser, if there really had been one, had not been Shiva. The thought of an unknown power was somewhat disturbing; but whatever it might be, they feared it less than they did the one which now had the kingdom in its grip.

  Now, on the morning of the Tribute, Ariadne put the matter of strange intrusions completely out of her mind, and looked out of the window again. She breathed a prayer to her favorite goddess, Artemis—and then to be on the safe side, she added silent pleas to Athena and Aphrodite.

  He was down there; and she was going to save him.

  On that morning of mixed omens, good and bad, I, Asterion, awoke somewhat earlier than usual, my sleep having been tortured by strenuous and disturbing dreams. These were only partially concerned with the escape plan, in which my personal part was simple. Because of my own uncertainty as to whether I was really going to escape or not, I had been assigned no duties in the way of helping others.

  I opened my eyes about half an hour before dawn, when certain stars, and a single planet, that I could interpret as favorable omens, were still visible. The Morning Star, that humans have sometimes identified in a mystic way with the Goddess of
Love, was plain in the slowly brightening sky. But Venus had nothing to say to me.

  Much, much closer to where I lay, but still at a considerable distance, I could hear loud chanting from the priests of Shiva, and I muttered useless curses under my breath.

  My slumber had been fairly long, and my body should have been rested, though my mind had labored even while I slept, but in fact even my flesh and bones felt tired. Near the middle of the night, in a determined search for allies, helpers, wherever I could find them, I had once more visited the dreams of a certain seafaring man named Petros, the captain of a small trading ship, and had reinforced the message I had conveyed to him on the previous night, and also on the night before that.

  Now I knew, in the effortless way one knows such things in dreams, that Petros, still at sea and many miles distant, was the one I needed to accomplish the second stage of the escape. With what seemed to me the willing assistance of Oneiros—though I was aware of no direct contact with the God of Dreams—I had planted in the trader captain's mind the vision of a particular swampy cove, at only a few miles' distance down the coast from the main Corycan harbor.

  Then, in the hour before waking, when come some of the clearest visions, I had dreamt, involuntarily and quite naturally as it seemed, about the coming into my world of the eighteen young folk from the mainland. It was an ambiguous perception, which I took to indicate that the impact of the business of the Tribute on my life was going to be so violent that there could be no certainty about my future for a long time afterward.

  Uncertainty was rising about me like a sea. I was not to be left simply to manage my own affairs. Once I had pledged to Ariadne that I would do all I could to make sure that Theseus escaped, she had taken me at my word and begun to assign me tasks. When the ceremony began, I was to be in a place from which I could watch the sacrifice itself—just in case the inconceivable should have happened, and at that point Theseus was still penned in with the other prisoners. Then it would be up to me to somehow contrive to set him free.