Read by Al Woodhall
I practised my steps on the deck of the ship that brought me. On the morning we landed I stood with my feet level and my knees bent, toes precisely on the line between two planks. I took a moment to breathe deeply of the salty air and listen to the seagulls. I stepped with my right foot across myself, so that its ball was precisely on the line, two planks ahead of my left foot. I pivoted on that right foot, bringing my left to the same level as its brother as I turned around and faced the way I came. The deck was useful, because in the dusty courtyard outside my house I have to imagine the lines and this can sometimes make my steps sloppy or imprecise. It's important to do things correctly.
"Sorry to interrupt your dancing, shorty," he said, not unkindly, "but we're about to go into the harbour."
Some of you were there, I think, when we were welcomed on the dock. The King in his golden regalia, the drums and the procession swirling through your magnificent stone-clad streets and towering buildings. I'll admit I was impressed, even overawed. The others from the City, the six other men and the seven girls, huddled behind as I strode ahead. It was important I be noticed so I spoke our greetings and, when the King seemed distracted, expressed our special concern for the health of his Queen and our sorrow that we did not see her with him. That needle met a nerve, as it was meant to. His expression showed he had marked me, would select me first.
*
At the feast I sought out your Princess, met her in the dance. Our palms together as we circled I told her how beautiful she was.
"You are very beautiful too, though we Island women usually prefer taller," she said. Then, glancing up at her father the King, listless on his throne, "It is a great pity for beautiful people to come so far, only to die." I smiled, turned to the musicians, clapped, turned back to the Princess. I spoke quietly so that only she could hear.
"Since I am not long for this world, your highness, you will excuse my directness. They say it is your half-brother, down there, born of your mother's adultery. Is that true?"
Flushing, she said "What does it matter to you? Whoever's brother he is, he'll spear you just the same."
"Perhaps," I said, as we promenaded down a row of the other dancers, "but I didn't come here to die."
"You came to the wrong shore, in that case. These days death is all we have."
"These days, but perhaps not for all the days to come."
We twirled away from each other, then came back together, clasping hands once more. I looked directly into her eyes.
"I need your help, Princess, I came here to kill a monster."
*
The following dawn the King selected me to go first into the maze, as I had hoped. His serving women bathed me magnificently, cleansing me with olive oil, and I rose from the bath glowing like a god. I was then both ritually clean, as a sacrifice should be, and clearly unarmed. They dressed me in this same robe, though then it was white like a wisp of summer cloud, not dusty and torn. The King pronounced the challenge, reminded me that I could escape through another, unguarded, way down by the beach. Though, of course, none had ever reached it. Then you put me into the maze and closed this heavy metalled door behind me.
Have you been inside? It's very finely built, not a hair could fit between the massive slabs that make up walls and floor. The ceiling has minute cracks, though. Just enough light leaks through that those who have practised seeing in the dark, as I have, can make their way. The corridor to the left of the entrance slopes very slightly downwards and the faintest hint of salt can be smelled on the air. Even the dullest person would know that way leads to freedom. Obviously, I turned right.
I won't describe all the twists and turns I took through those identical corridors. The only sign of my adversary was an occasional coarse hair underfoot until eventually I smelled him, an earthy musk floating in the air. Following to where it was strongest, I came to a ragged woollen blanket rolled on the floor. It stank like a barn, and looking up from the spot where it lay, through a narrow fissure in the stonework I could see tiny points of light. Stars, I realised after a moment, though it must still have been day. I am not sure what made me turn.
The creature stood at the end of the corridor. He was just as your Princess described, the hair of his head and neck flowing smoothly into a thick pelt around his shoulders, but past the nipples he was no hairier than an Easterner. He was finely built, broad at the shoulder and narrow at the waist, muscle and tendon bunching in the thighs, obviously of very great strength. He snorted once, the breath like smoke in the cool air, and regarded the chamber where I stood, his sleeping place. He turned his head a fraction, to see me better.
I did not run, or scream, which perhaps puzzled him and he gave a low, even a moo, in which I thought I could hear the hint of a question mark. I moved my feet slightly, so that that my toes were precisely on the line between two stone slabs. He gave a slight bellow, and I saw that he was like most men in one thing at least. He could not simply begin to fight, he had to become angry first. I smiled at him broadly to quicken his rage, I didn't want to give him too much time to think, to ask himself why this pink little animal stood apparently unafraid. I was, of course, very much afraid.
He bellowed, louder this time, snorted and pawed at the ground. Then he dropped to one hand like a sprinter on his blocks. I took in a deep, tingling breath of the cave air. He paused for a moment and charged, screaming like a man on fire, the dust swirling up with the wind of his passage. I stepped with my right foot across myself so that its ball was precisely on the line, one paving slab ahead of my left foot. Catching the tip of his horn in my left hand, I seated the bend of my right elbow at its base, the rough hair and his sudden heat against my biceps. I pivoted on that right foot, bringing my left to the same level as its brother as I turned around and faced the way I came, squatting down on the balls of my feet. His great momentum made the rest of the movement unnecessary.
As often in the performance of this trick, we were for a moment out of sight of each other. I having turned my back, he having failed to follow the quickness of my movement. I watched his great shadow on the floor as he floated, tumbling, over my head and came crashing at my feet with a sound like an earthquake. He was stunned for only an instant, but my size makes me quick, and as he clambered to his hands and knees I turned behind him. His neck was thick indeed, but not too thick for my arm to circle it. For a moment he scrabbled at my grip, then more weakly, then was still.
*
Afterwards I followed the thread the Princess had given me. That is, I placed my hand on the left wall and followed it however it twisted and turned. I paused after a while to tear a few strips from my robe and bandage up this gash on my chest, made by his horn as I turned in to the throw. It is not a deep wound, as you can see. The blood has not even soaked through this thin wool. I do not know if the Princess's Thread is a certain route to escape from all mazes, or only this particular maze. When I reach home I will set our mathematicians to answer it for me.
I see you are still doubtful of my story, but if you wait a moment I will offer you certain proof. The creature’s own head.
I beg your patience, for it I don't quite have it here yet.
Ahhh, there it is! Can you hear the noise from the Royal Apartments upstairs? My countrymen must have been very quick breaking down the wall at the maze's exit. It wasn't very sporting of you to brick it over, by the way.
*
Forgive me; I missed a part of my story. I told you I had my arm around his throat? As he stilled I released very slightly my pressure, until I saw that he had woken from whatever spiralling dreams fill that enormous head. The hold makes most docile and confused, but I am not a man who takes unnecessary chances so I kept the strangle in place as I said into his soft ear "I know your name, Asterion. Prince Asterion." He stiffened at the sound of it and I wondered how many long years he had raved in the darkness without his name; how long without light or company it had taken to make him mad and how understandable was his anger at interlopers from that shining world forever denied to him.
"They say in the palace up above," I said, slowly releasing his neck and sitting him against the wall "that you are the product of the Queen's adultery."
He snorted derisively.
"I know it is not true. A King who demands human sacrifice would not keep such a bastard alive for any purpose. You must be truly his. His own blood."
I stepped to the side of him, to look into his eye directly.
"This is not your true fate. You were meant to have the whole sky, not that tiny patch of it."
I offered him my hand, to help him stand.
"I need your help, Prince, to kill a monster."
*
And here he is, bringing his head along with the rest of him. Though more crowned than severed, I see. It seems his father has met with some terrible and inexplicable accident. Congratulations Sire! All hail King Asterion! And Princess, how lovely to see you again! Lay aside your weapons, you men, unless you plan treason? Well, don't just stand there, do you Islanders not bow before your kings?
(c) Daniel Key, 2015
Daniel Key is a professional computer nerd living in North London. He likes combat sports and Belgian beer. His writing has previously been featured on Liars' League Leicester and his mum's fridge.
Alex Woodhall has worked in comedy for the last 14 years, on stage, TV and radio. He DJs extensively around the country in clubs, festivals, zombie chase game 2.8 Hours Later, and is half of The Coffin Dodgers' Disco. Interests include ballroom dancing, Native American art and pornography.
Comments