The Labyrinth of Ketu

The silence was surreal. After hours of rhythmic drums rattling her bones, heavy woodsmoke choking her lungs, and nearly fifty people passing her around like a doll, Sonia was exhausted. The ritual was finally over.  

Her bare feet stung as she stepped through the frosty brush. It was nearly dawn and the sun was threatening to poke its head up from beyond the mountains. She neared the entrance to Ketu, the colossal ancient labyrinth that had existed since before the oldest stories. Its craggy walls loomed before her, a gaping maw eagerly inviting her to step inside and be consumed. There was no sound beyond the entrance; only her pulse, still beating the ritual song inside her ears. But the time for celebration was over, there would be no more celebration ever again. 

She turned around one last time, locking eyes with her family. They had gathered to see her off and were waiting a few feet away, huddled together against the cold. Her mother’s cheeks shone with a gloss that she would never admit were tears. Her mother never cried. Sonia ached to hug her sister one last time, and spend a few extra moments marveling at how beautiful she was. How beautiful they all were. Her sister’s ice blue gaze held her own, strong and determined. Sonia would miss those eyes. 

The shamans closed in on her, their adornments of feather and bone-beads clicking and swishing as they moved. They used their staffs to gently nudge her forward. They pushed and shoved until she was across the line of salt in the sand, and it was over. No running away now. The smell of incense and woodsmoke dissipated as they all turned from her and receded into the dark, towards the safety of home. 

Ketu was one of the few labyrinths left. Ancient holy places where magic still thrummed beneath the surface, and the only place on this ruined earth where the Tuin plant grew. Twice a year, Sonia’s tribe sent one member into the labyrinth to retrieve cuttings from the medicinal plant. Most other tribes around the continent had long since died out, falling victim to a fatal wasting disease without any known cure. All except for her tribe.  

Ten years ago, her people discovered the Tuin plant. Only growing at the center of the labyrinth, the flowers and roots had the ability to stave off progression of the disease, but only when consumed regularly. Only enough plant material to last for half a year could be harvested at a time. The shamans chose someone new to have the honor of venturing into the labyrinth and harvesting Tuin every six months. This person was deemed the seeker. Celebrated and revered for three days before they were sent into Ketu, the seeker was showered with ritual song and dance, blessings, and on the final night, bestowed a freshly inked tattoo onto their palms. A map of the labyrinth, channeled from the shamans' own visions. 

It had to be a new seeker each time. Once the seeker returned from their journey to the center of Ketu, they could not return. Once the line of salt was crossed on their way back, the seeker’s vision was permanently lost. Their world went dark, and their vision never returned. Nobody knew why the blindness occurred, not even the shamans. They said it was Ketu’s way of keeping its secrets safe, and the labyrinth had to be respected. 

It was considered a great honor to be chosen as the seeker. Members were given a chance to prove themselves to their tribe. It was a chance to be a savior, a hero. To them, the loss of sight was bitter-sweet, a noble sacrifice. It was their fate; the lives and longevity of the tribe were worth it.  

Sonia felt otherwise. She was the tribe’s best artist, creating beautiful pottery, tattoos, and painting intricate manuscripts of the history of their people. Her vision was essential to her way of life, and it was the one thing that brought her the most happiness. To lose her vision would mean losing her identity, her soul. It brought her profound guilt that she didn’t share the feelings of gratitude and honor that came with being selected. 

To decline selection wasn’t an option. Once the shamans decided who would be the seeker, there was no negotiating. It was a decision made by the divine. You had to go. To decline or resist meant banishment from the tribe. Cast away into the barren tundra, a person alone would not survive for more than a couple days, even with strong survival skills. It was simply too inhospitable, and it was dangerous to be out there alone and unprepared. 

So there she stood between the colossal pillars of Ketu’s entrance, alone and shivering in the pre-dawn mist. One shaky breath to gather her courage, the air dense and musty in her lungs, and she set off into the maze.  

The sunburn-sting of the fresh tattoo on her palms was a reminder; watch where you were going. The maze was known to be disorienting, confusing, and sometimes drove the seeker mad. Aside from the blindness, most seekers were different once they came home. The maze did something to their minds, took a piece of them away. Harvesting the Tuin flower was like a trade; a piece of your soul for a piece of the labyrinth. Nothing was free, there had to be balance, an exchange of energy.  

Sonia could not understand how people so willingly went into the maze. Sure, it was for the good of the tribe, but it felt cruel to keep sending people in there if it took so much away from them. Maybe that was selfish to think, but Sonia never really felt right about it. She would cringe when seekers came back from their journey into Ketu, shrunken and quiet, like empty shells of their former selves. She did not want that to happen to her. 

The map on her palms was vague and crudely etched into her skin. Nothing like her own delicate and precise tattoo work. This was done by the shamans, with a sharp bone and ashes from the ceremonial fire, while in spiritual communion with the Tuin plant. They said the plant’s spirit whispered to them in their trance and told them how to find it. 

After spending a few moments studying the map, memorizing the turns and landmarks, she took her first steps. Tentative at first, then growing in confidence. Let's get this over with, she thought to herself. It was thought that the journey to the center of Ketu took approximately three and a half days. She carried a leather satchel containing the necessities for such a journey; a canteen of clean water and some dried food. She managed to slip in a sketchbook and some charcoal without anyone noticing. If these were her last days with sight, she was going to make the most of them. 

As she rounded sharp corners, navigated crumbling walkways and evaded sinking pits, Sonia was careful not to rush. Time felt different in Ketu. Or maybe it was the silence and the solitude. Aside from the thick layer of moss nestled in the cracks of the ancient stone walls, and the vines that wound around every pillar, there was little other life within. No bird song, no insects. The air felt heavier here, carrying the rich scent of soil and rain. As she ventured deeper into the maze, she began to notice a steady thrumming beneath her skin. Not unpleasant, but certainly unfamiliar. Could this be the magic that the shamans spoke about? 

After what felt like a few hours, she stopped for a break. It was hard to tell what time it was, as the light was diffused and grey from above. She took out her canteen and drank some water. She was far thirstier than usual, and had to stop herself from downing the entire bottle in one desperate gulp. After resting for a few moments and contemplating the view, she was about to reach for her sketchbook when she heard it. A sound.  

This was the first sound she had encountered so far that was not made by herself, and it startled her. The sound was... singing? At first, Sonia thought her brain might just be making things up, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. But no, this was a song from somewhere else. It was a soft, smooth melody that floated down the corridors like petals on a breeze. The song sounded somewhat familiar, like she had heard it before. It was comforting, and Sonia found herself closing her eyes, savoring the song. 

Behind her eyelids, colors began to form. Blobs at first, then slowly transforming, melding together, combining to create vibrant rainbows. It was soothing, watching them dance. The colors and the song brought with them an intense feeling of peace, a full-body heaviness and a deep sense of longing. She felt her body slowly lower itself to the ground, the cold stones of the labyrinth tile suddenly became like a warm embrace, welcoming her into Ketu’s soft bosom. The song rose in volume, and the last image to appear behind her eyes was of a little purple flower, wilting. 

Sonia awoke to the sound of thunder. She was instantly aware of the cold wind thrashing at her skin, whipping and tearing at her clothing. She opened her eyes and tried to stand, but the wind was relentless. Trying to get her bearings, she realized that she no longer recognized her location. This was not where she had fallen asleep. 

She crawled to the nearest wall, and braced herself against the howling wind. Her eyes watered from the cold, and her flying hair distorted her vision, but she could see enough. She was in an enormous courtyard with walls towering over her, almost blocking out the sky. There should not be wind here, yet somehow, she felt as though she was in the middle of a tornado. The courtyard was the same as the rest of the maze she had seen so far; massive stone walls covered with a thick coat of moss and choking vines. At the very center of the courtyard stood an elevated platform, and there was a single ray of golden sunlight beaming down on it. She squinted, struggling to follow the beam of light straight down until she saw it, the Tuin plant. 

Sonia braced herself, hugging her arms in tight, then pushed off from the wall and into the ravaging wind. She pointed herself in the direction of the platform and took slow, labored steps towards it. Sonia thought her ears might explode from the shrieking wind, and her senses were thrown into overdrive. Her lungs seized and she gasped for air, the wind was trying to steal her breath away. The sense of calm and serenity that had embraced her earlier was definitely gone now, replaced with only sheer panic. She was going to die before she even made it out of the maze. 

She dropped to her hands and knees and, once again, crawled. Hand, knee. Hand, knee. She kept moving forward, head down until she bumped into something hard. She grasped for the ledge and hauled herself up, using her last available air. Lungs burning, vision going dark, she plopped herself up onto the platform and lay there. 

The instant she rolled onto her back the wind stopped. She gasped, heavy and ugly, greedy for air. Her throat was raw and her eyes were wet. Had she been screaming? A moment ago, she could not hear anything other than the horrible, all-consuming howling of the wind. After some moments of holding herself, slowing her breathing and wiping her scratchy sleeves over her eyes, she took her bearings. She was in a garden plot, rimmed with red bricks. She sat in the rich, loamy soil and tried to understand what she was seeing.  

The garden plot was situated directly in the center of the huge courtyard. The wind storm still ravaged around her, the violent wind ripping vines and moss and chunks of brittle stone from the walls. Somehow, despite the storm, the garden plot was entirely unaffected. The air here was still, like a little pocket of peace in the midst of the chaos. The air smelled sweet, and Sonia took a deep, calming breath. 

In the middle of the plot grew a line of small, bushy plants. There were ten of them all together, all in slightly varying sizes. The shamans had instructed her to harvest only the top leaves, to allow the plant to re-grow until next time. She hastily removed her pack and pinched off the top leaves, careful not to damage the rest of the plant. Some of the plants had small yellow flowers, except for one. That plant looked a bit different from the rest. It was smaller, lower to the ground, with dark spiky leaves.  

Sonia suddenly remembered her dream. The small, wilting purple flower from her vision exactly matched the one on this plant. Although, this plant was healthy, not wilting. Though she was mostly sure that this was not the Tuin, she had an overwhelming urge to harvest a piece of it anyway. She placed it gently in her pack on top of the Tuin leaves, and buttoned the top. It was time to return home. 

Sometime later – She could not be sure how much time had passed – Sonia approached the salt line from within Ketu. So close to home. She stopped a few feet away from the line, unable to bring herself to cross it. She crouched down and removed her pack, slowly unbuttoning the top and revealing its contents. 

The Tuin leaves had begun to dry, emitting a deep, earthy aroma. She removed her sketchbook, and the mysterious plant with purple flowers, which had not decayed at all. Sonia scrunched her eyes closed, and wiped away the tears that had begun to form. With a final deep breath, she buttoned the pack closed and tossed it over the line. She would not be losing her vision today. She turned around and walked back into the depths of Ketu.