Lavýrinthos

Lagoros looked at the crack in the floor of the labyrinth. When he held his torch close, the light could barely illuminate the walls of the space beyond the split cobblestones, let alone the black abyss beneath Lavýrinthos. The drop beneath would likely drop him into the Underworld should he fall into it. He reached down to take hold of his sword, to secure it doubly lest it slip as he passed the pit, but dislodged a pebble with a careless step. He held his breath and moved against the wall, suppressing his presence as best he could while he waited for the echoes of the pebble’s descent to fade away. In his agitated state it felt like an eternity, the sound of stone-on-stone sounding up from beneath. When the echoes had finally stopped, Lagoros looked up and down the corridor, but nothing seemed to be approaching, neither had his hearing picked anything up. With a deep breath and a prayer to Zeus, he moved across the pit and further into the labyrinth. The darkness behind and above him would swallow him whole if he should lose or abandon the torch, and so he kept a firm grip on it. His skin was covered in gooseflesh from the chill of the air, but he suppressed his shivers as best he could, afraid of being heard by the labyrinth’s guardian. It must be close now. Lagoros had no way of tracking the passage of time, but it felt like hours and hours since the doors of the labyrinth had closed behind him. His torch was also nearing the end of its usefulness, which would plunge him into darkness. He had long since decided that if the end of his light should be close, he would run as fast as he could. Better to be discovered by the guardian than be plunged into darkness in this accursed space. Lagoros again felt tempted to bemoan his fate, to curl up on the floor and curse the gods for putting him here, but it would do no good. Shouts and cries would not bring him any closer to his salvation.

Lagoros turned another corner and nearly cried out in relief. Further along the corridor was a bend around which he could see torchlight, a sputtering promise of light and safety from the darkness. But he must be cautious; where there was light, there was undoubtedly a reason for the light, and Lagoros could only think of two possibilities; another convict like himself, consigned to the labyrinth as penance for their crimes, or the guardian. If Lagoros could slay the creature and bring proof of its death back to the labyrinth’s entrance, his captos had sworn on the Gods that he could go free. But only one could go free, that had their captors said as well.

Lagoros switched the torch to his right hand and drew the sword. No matter who or what he met, it would be unpleasant. With an effort, he relaxed his breathing as he approached the bend. The leather on the sword’s handle creaked under his anxious grip and the torchlight flickered as his hand shook. His heart felt like it would burst from his chest when he heard a shuffling noise further along the corridor and a grunt. His mind’s eye conjured the image of a demented pig, grown fat and huge on the corpses of the many men consigned to this labyrinth, belligerent in its madness. Lagoros pushed up against the wall as the grunting continued, growing no closer or further. An eternity later the grunting stopped and the shuffling noises started again, moving away from the entrance that spilled the light. 

Lagoros decided that, whatever was beyond the doorway, he would not have a better chance to surprise it. He prayed to Ares as loud as his lungs would allow even as he leapt from his hiding spot, sword in hand. The sight beyond the doorway nearly held his hand.

A humanoid figure stood there, only a hand or so taller than he. It was dressed in skins and hides of dubious origin, tied around its waist or hung from its shoulders. Its skin was rough, the filth coating it making it unclear if it was furred or bare as a human. Arms and legs were long, eerily so, and naked against the darkness and the cold. In its hand it held a sword, the metal tarnished and worn by long use. But worst of all were the beady eyes in the face that had turned to look at Lagoros. They spoke of insanity, of a mind unhinged into bestial cruelty by a lifelong imprisonment within the labyrinth. The evil in that beady glare nearly stunned Lagoros, but thoughts of his life outside reminded him of the need for swift action. With the prayer renewed on his lips, Lagoros struck with the sword. The creature had been standing by the door and was within reach. He chopped and the sword cut a bright red line down the creature’s left arm as it swung to attack him. It howled like a wounded animal and raised its own weapon. Lagoros jumped aside from the first wild swing then raised his own sword to block the barrage of strikes that the creature rained on him like a drummer beating a pigskin. It howled and screeched and tried to break through his guard by sheer force, hoping to batter his sword aside. It swung at him with the left arm, but the wound weakened it and the blow was slow and feeble, only succeeding in spattering Lagoros’ robe with its blood. Lagoros retaliated with a quick slash from his sword, opening up another gash in its arm. With a grunt of pain it tried to distance itself from Lagoros, but he would not let it. The loss of blood and the effort of repeated attacks had left it tired and so it could not defend itself from Lagoros. Every other swing opened a fresh wound on its body, cutting away the hides and the furs to wound the body underneath. Lagoros was no swordsman, but he was desperate, and this creature was weak and wounded, its mind addled by long isolation. 

The creature let out a great roar and spread its arms then charged at Lagoros, meaning to push him to the ground under its bulk. Lagoros grit his teeth and braced, but the creature’s strength and mass bowled him over. Together they crashed to the gorund in a heap, but only Lagoros lived. The creature had spit itself on Lagoros’ sword that he had held forward as he braced, and the sharp blade had split the creature’s guts. Blood was spilling onto the ground and onto Lagoros’ robe, soaking his skin. He pushed the dead creature off of him with a grunt of effort and stood up, pulling the sword free from the creature’s stomach. The blade was dented in places and covered in blood, but was otherwise still serviceable. Sword in hand, Lagoros nudged the creature’s body with his foot, but it did not respond. 

With the guardian dead and himself no longer fighting for his life, he could survey the chamber. It was large, larger than the average house, accessed by one of four corridors, their entrances lit with torches. Lagoros did not stop to wonder how these torches still burned despite it having been years since the labyrinth was constructed and sealed off. One corner of the chamber was occupied by a pile of pelts and furs, presumably where the guardian-creature had slept. Bones strewn over the chamber floor attested to the fates of previous labyrinth explorers, a fate that Lagoros had avoided, Gods be thanked. He was hungry, thirsty and tired, but he was alive. His thoughts turned to the task set for him by the people who had thrown him into Lavýrinthos in the first place; to go to the centre of the labyrinth and return with the gem-studded skull found there. Looking around the space, Lagoros found it quickly. It was a macabre but valuable item, placed on a stained marble plinth. It was a human skull adorned with rubies and emeralds embedded along the brow and temples. Lagoros had heard stories that it was old, dating back to the days of the first humans to be created by the Gods. He took the least-filthy of the skins on the floor and wrapped the precious skull, then set off down the corridor he had come from. He felt that he had a good idea of how he had progressed through the labyrinth, and so followed the map in his mind. His spirits were high, offsetting the fatigue in his limbs. 

After a span of time walking in the darkness of Lavýrinthos, Lagoros turned a corner to see a torchlit corner up ahead. He called out to the guards in hix exuberance and ran the rest of the way. But when he reached the corner, the space beyond was not the exit he was searching for. He was back by the guardian’s chamber, the creature’s body still cooling on the floor. With a frustrated sigh, he turned back to the corridor and began to navigate the labyrinth again.

Again he wandered until he saw lights up ahead and again he found the chamber at the centre of the labyrinth. By now he was sore and tired from the day’s exertions, so he laid down on the bed of skins to sleep. It was filthy and smelt of things best not dwelt upon, but it was preferable to the cold stone floor. The body of the guardian he had dragged over to the pile of bones so that the spirits of its victims could gain some measure of revenge. 

Sleep came easily but his dreams were haunted by the stone walls around him. Lagoros dreamt that he was trapped in a coffin of stone, being lowered into the soil despite his protests. He could not know whether the onlookers were ignoring his pleas or if they could not hear them in the first place. 

He woke to find that his torch had gone out while he slept. He could light it on one of the torches illuminating the guardian’s chamber, but the wood was but a stump. Instead he lifted one of the torches from its sconze and set off for the exit a third time. His stomach grumbled and his throat was dry. He had been caught the day before just as he was breaking his fast in the morning, and so it had been a full day since he had anything to eat or drink, and he was feeling it. He stumbled on a rock in the dark and tumbled to the floor, spilling both his torch and the skull. With what strength he had he rushed to examine the skull, his quivering fingers probing it for cracks or splits, but found none. After what felt like an eternity, he rounded a bend to see a torch-lit doorway. By now, he could recognise the corridors surrounding the centre. 

As Lagoros entered the chamber again, he fell to his knees. He prayed to the Gods, entreated them for their kindness and forgiveness. He begged for their help, that he might escape this tomb of stone and see the light of day again, smell the flowers. Feel the wind on his face. He would become a hermit, become a priest, slay a monster, anything that he might leave this place. When silence and darkness was his only reply, Lagoros sank to the floor again, this time to weep.

He woke again later, his eyes aching from crying. His stomach hurt more than before and his throat was still parched. He did not want to die, and especially not a death by wasting away in this pit. Thinking of all the stories he had heard in his life, Lagoros looked about the chamber for a way to assist in his navigation of Lavýrinthos. Bones to use as marks of past passage. Pelts and furs to turn into lengthy strips so that he might avoid retreating ground. His sword could chip away at walls to leave further markings. But no matter what he tried, his path always led him back to that accursed chamber. Once, in hunger-fueled madness, Lagoros suspected that the creature was not fully dead, and had been following him to destroy the marks he left behind. Using the sword, he dismembered its corpse, hacking at its arms and legs until it was unrecognizable. His arms trembled at task’s end, and he felt he was nearing the end of his strength.

In hunger and desperation, Lagoros set about the only food he could find; the corpse of the guardian. With the torches of the chamber as a makeshift campire, he roasted the mutilated pieces, hating himself for how the smell of roasting flesh excited him even knowing its source. He tore into the meat like a savage, tearing it from the bone with his teeth even as the heat seared his tongue. Of the pieces he recognised, only the head did he leave behind, throwing it and its accusing glare behind the marble plinth. His clothes were matted with filth and grease from the cooking, and so he threw them on the pile and clothed himself in skins as best he could. He was beyond caring what they would think of him at the entrance. Doubtlessly they imagined he was dead, slain by the same guardian that had killed so many before him. The bones he threw to the other bones. With his belly full and silent, Lagoros fell into the easiest sleep in weeks. Upon waking he grabbed the bundle with the gem-studded skull and his sword and returned to the labyrinth, emboldened by his returned strength, though he tried not to think of the meat. 

But the strength seemed to make no difference as he again turned a corner of the labyrinth that he recognised with a sickening certainty. Ahead of him was a torch-lit entranceway that led to a square chamber. The floor still had the markings of the fire from earlier. Frustration and rage overtook him. The bundle with the skull he hurled into a corner of the chamber and swung his sword with wild abandon, slashing at the air around him. He howled and screamed, a shout of no words, simply anger. Only when the fires of his anger burned low did he fall silent, his chest heaving to draw breath into overexerted lungs. 

It was then that he heard a sound from the corridor behind him; a pebble accidentally dashed over the floor and a whispered prayer to Ares, the god of war.