The Ennead Contest Entries

1- Limbo of Theseus

The scuffing of Theseus' sandals on sandy stone echoed through the stairwell as he descended the steps of the labyrinth. He drew his sword from beneath his tunic, the blade singing softly as it reflected the dancing flames of the torches lining the walls. Blood rushed in his ears—louder and louder with each step until the last was behind him and the floor beneath his feet was flat. He approached the arch marking the entrance proper. He slowed his breathing—calmed his racing heart. There could be no doubt in his mind if he was to press on. But—he couldn't help feeling he'd done this before, only a short time ago. . .

No, it was long ago. He'd been a young man, shipped off to Crete to put an end to a tyrant's reign. But was he not young now? He touched his chin. No beard. He must be. But why did his mind wander to what seemed so far passed?

He stepped into the labyrinth, but stopped himself. String. He was supposed to have a ball of string on him. He reached for it at his belt, but his fingers closed on empty air. Of course they did; he didn't have anything on him. Aside from his sword, obviously. Why had he thought otherwise?

What had he thought otherwise? Familiarity struck him again. He could swear there was something else. Something to help him find his way through the labyrinth. What had he been reaching for again?

A woman's voice echoed in the far reaches of his mind. Like honey—and accompanied by the scent of freshly-peeled oranges. "Take this," said the voice.

Take what? He was on the cusp of it. If only he could remember.

The voice continued. "Architect Daedalus wishes me to relay the path to you."

Who was Daedalus again? This was as far as he could recall the conversation going. Maybe he'd remember if he kept moving. He proceeded into the atrium. Nine dark corridors spanned before him, their entrances each lit by a single torch. Theseus pressed straight forward, lifting a torch off the wall as he passed. Shadows struck at the pool of light splashing the walls with an orange hue. Theseus shot his gaze to each one. There was something down here. Right? What was it? A creature. Something the tyrant used to keep his people in check.

Ariadne!

Thoughts of what lay in wait dissolved as he remembered his love—the tyrant's daughter. That was it. Her visage was so clear to him now. The dusky ringlets that framed her delicate features. Her striking emerald eyes, standing out brilliantly against her olive complexion. Her jaw, rounding gently into her slender neck. He'd doted on the lines that had formed on her brow when it had come time for him to enter the labyrinth.

But why did he have memories of her after that as well? He hadn't seen her again before the tyrant's guards kicked him into the pit that led to the labyrinth. So how could he recall sailing alongside her?

And abandoning her to a jealous god. . .

Theseus cursed his foul memory. It must have been a trick of the labyrinth. An effect of its lashing shadows. That was the only explanation.

Still denigrating himself, Theseus emerged from the corridor into another chamber. Sand covered the floor of the large, round arena. There were no branching paths in its smooth walls. Only torches illuminating a hulking figure at the centre of the room. Shadows danced deep across its dark mane. The creature stood as a man at seven feet, but hunched as a beast ready to strike. In its belt hung a sword at its hip. At its other side stood an axe, held upright by a massive hand resting atop its pommel.

Theseus dropped his torch. He remembered now. The Minotaur—King Minos' monster. Every nine years the tyrant would send for Athenian men to enter the labyrinth and be devoured. But not this time. Not him.

He held his sword before him and approached. The beast's eyes shot open. Fire burned voraciously across their glassy black surface. With a deep huff, the Minotaur heaved its greataxe up before it in both hands. Twice it kicked sand back with one hoofed foot. Then it charged.

The torches' fires leaned back at its deafening roar. The beast swung its axe in full moons above its horned head before bringing the crescent blade down on Theseus. He leaped aside. The axe crashed into the floor—hewed a cleft into the stone. The Minotaur lifted and swung again, horizontally. Aimed for the neck. Theseus crouched and stabbed into its chest. The beast lost its grip on the axe—stumbled back. But its hide was thick; his sword had barely pierced it. It huffed again. The sand at its feet folded out at its wind. Its warm breath entered Theseus' nostrils, rancid with human viscera.

Theseus bared his teeth and lunged—for every innocent Athenian the vile creature had consumed. He swung his sword. Cut deep into its shoulder. Swung again. Sliced into its side. Thrust his sword forward.

The Minotaur grasped the blade before it struck its neck. Theseus tried to pull away, but the beast held tight to the sword, blood trickling down its wrists from cut palms. Theseus pulled again. Harder. Again.

The beast flicked its wrist. The blade snapped in two and Theseus fell back. He crawled back as the beast approached. Rose to his feet. But the Minotaur closed the gap. With a sweep it backhanded him hard in the chest. Theseus flew and hit the wall behind him. His lungs deflated—chest ached with fractures. He struggled for breath, clambering back up to his feet.

Two more kicks back. Sand flew up. A cloud hung in the air behind the Minotaur—was torn out of form as its charge created a vacuum behind it. The beast lowered its shoulders, leading with the horns atop its head. Drawing nearer. Closing the distance in a mere second.

Theseus gasped for the stale subterranean air. His lungs filled again. Expanded in his aching chest. He rolled out of the way as the beast rammed its horns into the wall where he'd been. Pierced deep into the stone. It reached for him from this position, but he scrambled out of its grasp. Stood up. The creature pulled back. Tried again. Roared with frustration as it planted its hands against the wall to push off.

It was stuck.

Theseus strafed around the helpless beast. It saw this and kicked back at empty air. A warning. He took heed, deciding not to approach. He examined his surroundings instead. His sword lay broken on the ground. Its sword rested still at its hip—well within its reach should he draw close. But there was another option.

Wrapping his fingers around the handle, Theseus lifted the Minotaur's axe up onto his shoulder. He approached around the side of the beast. It roared and struggled still, shaking its head to loosen the stone's hold on its horns. But it was futile. Theseus spread his feet apart. Gripped the axe hard in his fists. Took a deep breath.

Straining every muscle in his body, he heaved the axe down over the Minotaur's neck. It sliced through flesh, crushed bone and severed the beast from its body.

Theseus breathed a sigh. It was over. Athens was saved. He dropped the axe and drew the fallen Minotaur's sword from its belt. It was unlikely there would be more to fear down here, but he hid it under his tunic anyway.

The ground beneath him rumbled. He turned at the sound of stone scraping against stone. Dust rose from the centre of the arena as the floor's tiles dropped—each falling lower and lower in sequence until a staircase had formed. He approached it. Swallowed hard his apprehensions. Began his descent.

Was this supposed to happen?

Was what supposed to happen?

The scuffing of Theseus' sandals on sandy stone echoed through the stairwell as he descended the steps of the labyrinth. He drew his sword from beneath his tunic, the blade singing softly as it reflected the dancing flames of the torches lining the walls. Blood rushed in his ears—louder and louder with each step until the last was behind him and the floor beneath his feet was flat. He approached the arch marking the entrance proper. He slowed his breathing—calmed his racing heart. There could be no doubt in his mind if he was to press on. But—he couldn't help feeling he'd done this before, only a short time ago. . .