Chapter 26
26
T HIS IS THE LABYRINTH ?
I turn in place, scanning the area, hemmed in by solid walls. Darkness brushes my skin with its primordial chill. It smells of the earth in decay, the arid perfume of the desert air smothered by rot.
I press a hand to my breastbone. Fear twines so tightly with relief that I’m not entirely sure what to feel. I’m not dead, as I had believed: relief. There’s still time to save Ishmah: relief. I’m trapped in the labyrinth: fear. And the heaviest, the most potent: I don’t know if I will make it out alive.
I return to studying the mirror. Notus has begun to pace. “How can you be certain Sarai is trapped in the labyrinth?” he asks Tuleen.
Amir, however, continues to stare at his wife with a mixture of confusion and betrayal. “Why didn’t you inform me of this sooner?” he insists. “Why would you keep this from me?”
Tuleen is a small woman, bird-boned, and—I had thought—brittle. But she appears to grow three feet in the span of a single breath. “Your father was ill. I did not want to place yet another worry onto your shoulders.” She begins to cough, blinking rapidly through the thickening smoke. “We haven’t time for your dramatics, darling. Darkwalkers are turning the city to rubble—the forges to the west have already collapsed. Ishmah is burning down as we speak. You know now. Let that be enough.”
Agreed. There are more pressing matters.
Ammara’s new queen turns to the South Wind with a keen eye. “What do you know of the labyrinth, Notus? You yourself have walked its passages, have you not?”
He crosses toward the window, pivots, and returns to the door, head dipped in thought. “I know that the labyrinth was built to contain the beast, which hails from the City of Gods. A sacrifice was made to the beast every ten years.”
“Yes, a sacrifice.” Tuleen glances between Notus and Amir pensively, the latter of whom looks utterly befuddled by the conversation. “Have you ever noticed the ruby that marks the labyrinth entrance?”
Amir frowns, but Notus says, “I have.” He continues his anxious pacing, hands linked behind his back, tired boots appearing out of place against the opulent rugs embellishing the floor. “What of it?”
“According to my findings, the ruby is supposedly linked to the beast’s hunger.” She opens a small journal, where she has jotted down some of her notes. “The greater the hunger,” she says, scanning her handwriting, “the brighter it gleams. But yesterday, when I passed by the entrance, I found the ruby dull and lightless. I believe something was placed inside the labyrinth to feed the beast.”
My stomach drops. Or some one .
Gods. Was this to be my fate all along? Locked in this tomb with no hope of escape? For reasons unknown, I’ve always been drawn toward the labyrinth. If the curse was truly misinterpreted, I was destined for this prison regardless.
“You think Sarai was taken into the labyrinth as a sacrifice for the beast?” Amir says lowly. “Is that what I’m hearing?” He dabs the sweat from his forehead. When another fitful cough explodes from his wife, he passes his headscarf to her. Tuleen wraps it around her face for protection.
“Yes, darling,” she wheezes, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth. “That is exactly what I’m saying.”
Nervous laughter tickles the back of my throat. It’s not funny. It is the farthest thing from funny. But if I don’t laugh, I’m afraid I’ll break, and that is simply unacceptable.
My brother swears, and shoves the heels of his palms into his eyes, and sags onto the edge of his massive bed, red silk robes already kissed by falling ash. “So what do we do?” His hands drop. His eyes are wet. “I can’t leave Sarai to die in the labyrinth, but Prince Balior has unleashed his army upon Ishmah, and darkwalkers are ravaging the lower ring. People will be looking toward Tuleen and I to guide them to safety.”
“I will go to her.”
Tuleen and Amir’s heads whip toward the South Wind, who stands frozen in the middle of the room, mouth taut with grim determination. My heart flutters in gratitude. I do not deserve this brave and loyal immortal.
The young queen plucks another book from the stack sitting precariously on the corner of the desk. “Before any decisions are made, I think you should read this.” She offers Notus the slender volume, which he accepts. After flipping to the bookmarked page, he scans the material, then lifts his head in confusion.
Tuleen regards him expectantly.
Notus speaks as he reads the inscription. “According to this account, there is more than one entry to the labyrinth. Deep in the center of the maze lies a doorway leading to the realm of departed souls—”
“The Deadlands,” Tuleen provides. “Have you heard of it?”
Notus huffs a short laugh of disbelief. He shakes his head, cheek caught between his teeth. “The Deadlands.” He snaps the book shut. “My eldest brother’s realm, though I have not seen Boreas in centuries.”
Tuleen explains, as she gently pries the volume from the South Wind’s grip, “I believe the labyrinth is connected to the Deadlands. Potentially other realms we are unaware of, too. In our culture, there is what we call the unseen , places where there is a thinning of the fabric between realms. The land on which the labyrinth was built is likely one such area.”
“That would explain why darkwalkers have overrun Ammara,” Notus says. “They are utilizing the doorway inside the labyrinth to enter Ishmah. They had to have come from somewhere. And since the labyrinth is within the city walls, they’re able to circumvent the protective runes on the gates.”
Beyond his shoulder, the sky continues to blacken. Smoke drifts in thicker globules across the rooftops. No shade of blue to be seen.
The South Wind strides toward the window again. It’s as though I peer over his head, for I see the whole of the courtyard, its eerie desertion, pockets of dim light wavering behind shadow and smoke. Notus stares at the labyrinth with disquieting intensity, as if he might crumble the structure with but a thought. “I’m going after her.”
Tuleen nods, having likely expected this. Amir, still seated on the bed, runs both hands through his ash-caked hair.
“Once you enter the labyrinth,” my sister-in-law says, “there is a chance you may become trapped there with her.”
“No god, man, or beast will keep me from Sarai. I will bring her back. I promise you this.” Notus’ attention flicks between the king and queen. “Will you both be safe?”
A perpetual wind smooths even the roughest of edges. Whatever came before, the vitriol spewed and suspicion fed, in this moment, Amir casts it aside.
“Tuleen and I will retreat,” my brother replies. “We’ve a safe place to shelter while I call upon our allies for aid. If Ishmah falls, we will flee to Mirash and regroup.” He hesitates, looks at Tuleen, who nods in encouragement. “Thank you, Notus, for your sacrifice. When you find Sarai, tell her that I love her.”
Not long after Notus’ departure, the mirror darkens. The ambient light, however, remains, pulsing from the wrought silver frame.
I touch the opaque surface of the looking glass. How could this mirror have known that I wished to view my loved ones above all else? Can the labyrinth sense my heart’s desire?
These past weeks have held murk and depths, but at last I have clarity. All these months, during which Prince Balior placed his pawns. Now he is in the unique position to overtake Ishmah, his army positioned to finish what the darkwalkers began. I wonder if, in having touched the black iris, I somehow unlocked the labyrinth and its roiling darkness, which now leaks through Ishmah’s streets. The only question is: Have I released the beast as well, or does it still pace its cage?
Whether or not Notus successfully finds me in this treacherous maze, I can’t risk standing still. An opportunity to escape may present itself, if I am brave enough to face the dark unknown. Choosing a direction at random, I begin to walk.
The air knits close as I follow the dim corridors, hitting dead end after dead end. The shush of my slippers no longer dies a muffled death, but brightens sharply, bouncing off nearby walls. Eventually, the pathway empties into a chamber with a round table placed in its center. There, I’m startled to find a violin nestled in an open case, cushioned by gray velvet. Tears sting my eyes, for here, too, is another locked door. I remember this varnish, red like the sunset sands. The violin is not mine. It is Fahim’s.
My pinky catches the A string and lightly plucks. Flat. It must be tuned. If I recall correctly, the peg that wound the A string was perpetually loose, slipping with a frequency that would often frustrate my eldest brother. My breath hitches at the memory. I was not the first prodigy in my family, but I was the first to become known.
I brush the ebony pegs, trace a line down the fingerboard, across the arched bridge, over the slope of the tailpiece. I think of how painful it must have been for Fahim to watch my rise from afar, this destiny that should have been his to claim.
Something scuffs the ground behind me. I whirl, unconsciously planting myself in front of the violin. I carry no weapon. I’ve no knowledge of combat. Whatever I face in this labyrinth, I face alone.
Large and formless, the creature shifts in those lightless pockets, too dark for my mortal eyes to penetrate. A slow exhalation stutters across my tongue. I’m not dead. Not yet, anyway. “Who are you?” I demand. “What do you want from me?”
“I’m surprised you do not know,” responds a voice. How cold. And how familiar.
A figure leans forward, revealing a sharp nose, followed by the thin curve of an unsmiling mouth and two amber eyes.
I recoil in shock. “Prince Balior?”
The long, emerald robe parts around his legs as he steps toward me, shedding the shadows at his back. “Were you expecting someone else?”
“How—?” But that is the wrong question. Rather, the question is why .
Except I know the answer. At least, I think I do.
“You didn’t come here to marry me,” I tell him. “You came for the labyrinth.”
He angles his head in deliberation. I have always considered Prince Balior handsome, yet in the obscured interior of the labyrinth, the planes of his face appear almost skeletal, cheeks sunken and jawbone sharp enough to cut. “On the contrary, I was willing to secure Ammara through marriage. This land has its faults, but acquiring your realm would help expand my vision for a new world.”
“I was merely a tool.”
“Well, yes and no.” He spreads his arms wide. The corner of his mouth tics upward. “You are lovely, willful, loyal to a fault. Why should I not desire a partner by my side when I am finally granted what I was promised all those years ago?”
The air is cold, but the prince’s words bring an unsettling finality, shaved down to the thinnest of points. “What are you talking about?” What, exactly, was promised, and by whom?
Pressing the tips of his fingers together, he begins to circle the room, his gait so smooth he seems to be gliding on ice. I shift to avoid exposing my back. “My research on the labyrinth goes back more than a decade. From a young age, I was fascinated by its presence. A prison for a hellish beast. Seven men to sate its hunger. It’s quite the tale.
“One year, I came across an obscure manuscript, which I found at a border town south of Um Salim. To this day, I don’t understand how a jeweler came to be in possession of the document, but he was more than willing to part with it—for a price. It was in this manuscript that I learned the labyrinth’s true nature: it is a doorway to another realm.”
His sharp eyes slide to mine, and I retreat, the heel of my slipper sending a small pebble clattering toward the wall. It hits the stone with a sharp ping. “I see from your expression that you are already aware,” he says, his smile terribly hungry. “Good. That will make it easier.”
If I thought I had any chance of escaping Prince Balior, I would already have fled. I have wounded his pride. I have insulted him, embarrassed him, deceived him as he has deceived me. He has every right to want to bring me harm. But it would be too easy to kill me outright. I imagine he wants my suffering most of all.
“You may not remember,” he continues, “but I visited Ishmah about ten years ago. King Halim invited my father and I to attend his nameday celebration as a token of faith and healing between our peoples.”
I do have a vague recollection. There was talk at court about a visiting prince, though I didn’t think much of it at the time. I was more concerned with my upcoming recital.
“You wore an ivory dress and your hair plaited in a crown atop your head. You were to perform for the guests that evening. While everyone gathered, I used the opportunity to slip away to the labyrinth. The guards were half-asleep. So lazy and irresponsible. I stepped inside with them none the wiser.
“It was there I met the beast. I’d timed my entrance perfectly. A few days before, a sacrifice had been made. It was sated, and with a full belly, it was able to regress to its humanoid state long enough to talk with me. It told me of its needs. I told the beast of mine. We reached an understanding, the beast and I.”
I will not give him the satisfaction of asking what this understanding is. I know he is eager to tell me. So I wait.
“By combining forces, we would be able to achieve so much more. The beast wished to break free of its bonds. I sought power and influence, security for Um Salim’s future, a stake in the region. The beast agreed to bestow that power upon me if I vowed to help it escape. So I put my plan in motion. I would need to be invited back to Ammara. I was, by that time, already a renowned scholar. All I had to do was create a problem only a scholar could solve. So with the beast’s help, I unlocked the doorway into the Deadlands and released the darkwalkers into Ammara.”
Dread descends over me. Prince Balior continues to circle me as a vulture would a rotting carcass. It is becoming increasingly obvious that I have been a fool in more ways than one.
“Over time, the darkwalkers multiplied. Drought continued to plague your realm. Eventually, it became too much. King Halim hoped that I might unearth a solution to Ammara’s troubles in my ancient tomes and proposed that our two realms become one. It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for. I would return to the labyrinth, and the beast, to fulfill the promise I’d made all those years before.”
I shake my head, for I see the end of this long, treacherous road: ash and ruin. Father had hoped Prince Balior would banish the darkwalkers, alter fate. Instead, he invited a traitor into his kingdom. “Think about what you’re doing, Prince Balior. If the beast is imprisoned, it’s likely for a good reason.” Though the beast was locked away due to no fault of its own, I do not doubt that it is dangerous. “There’s still time to change things.”
“It cannot be stopped,” he says, spreading his hands wide. “My plan is already in motion.”
As if on cue, the ground trembles. Grit rains from the ceiling. I hurriedly snap the violin case closed to protect the instrument.
“We could have been happy, Sarai. With my promise to the beast fulfilled, I could have kept your people safe from ruin. But you spurned me, and for what? A man whose promises are worth no more than bits of worthless copper?”
“Notus’ promise is worth more than your word,” I snap. “Your word is poison.”
“Which you have gladly swallowed. Do not deny it.”
I deny nothing. “Do you know what comes from placing your trust in immortals? They take advantage. As soon as the beast no longer requires your help, it will dispose of you.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” He veers closer, forcing me nearer to the wall. I change direction to avoid being cornered. “You see, once the beast has escaped,” he says, “it will slowly return to its humanoid form and regain the powers it once had as a demigod. But it will be vulnerable during the transition. I’ve promised to protect the beast until it can enact its revenge on the one who trapped it here.”
“And when you’ve conquered Ishmah, what next?” I glare at the prince, wishing I had the power to set him on fire with a look. “Um Salim’s army may be vast, but it is still finite. How do you expect to maintain control over Ammara while you’re helping the beast? Do you honestly believe my people will bare their bellies to your blade?”
At this, Prince Balior emits a low chuckle. I can’t believe I ever thought him handsome. He is rotten to the core. “If they value their lives, they will kneel.”
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard blood slinks across my tongue. When I bare my teeth, I imagine them lined in scarlet. “You won’t leave Ishmah alive,” I snarl. “I may not survive the labyrinth, but Notus will find you. He won’t stop until you are dead.”
The prince shrugs as if he can’t be bothered by the threat, however thin. “Take comfort that, long after your body perishes here, your mind will live on in the labyrinth, forever haunted by your past. Eternity is a long time, after all.”
I lunge forward with a scream, swiping at Prince Balior’s eyes. He sidesteps and tosses up a hand. A sphere of darkness leaps from his palm, hitting my chest and launching me backward. I crumple against the ground.
Slow, deliberate footsteps approach. A fresh wave of aches settles in my joints as I push upright, wary of this strange power he wields. I’ve never seen anything like it. How am I to fight against something I do not understand? “You can’t take Ammara from me,” I cry hoarsely. “I won’t allow it.”
Prince Balior peers down at me pityingly. “Sarai,” he says. “I already have.”
He gestures to a mirror leaning against the wall I’m positive wasn’t there previously. The surface fractures into a thousand ripples. When it settles, I watch, horrified, as Amir and Tuleen attempt to bar their bedroom door. Something slams against it. Through the crack that forms in the wood, a black wisp slinks into the room, extending toward Tuleen’s ankle. She screams and whacks it with the book she clutches.
Amir shoves her behind him, sword drawn. The door bows with a groan. A sharp crack precedes splintering wood. Tuleen retreats, quickly scanning the room for salt, the only means of protection against the darkwalkers, aside from runes. She finds none.
I watch as my sister-in-law races for the open window to peer below. She will jump. It is three stories high, but she will jump. Behind her, Amir braces his shoulder against the door, stabbing his sword at the beasts salivating on the other side.
Where are the guards? Dead? Souls sucked dry? As I watch Tuleen climb onto the windowsill, the mirror goes dark.
All at once, the breath leaves me. No.
I whirl around, diving toward Prince Balior with a ferocious cry, but he vanishes before I can reach him. I’m not certain how he manages to disappear. I only know that shadows enfold him, and he’s gone.
My breath shortens, my mind spirals. Tuleen and Amir: my only remaining family. Someone has to know Ammara’s monarchs are in peril. If not… if not, I must trust Amir’s proficiency with a sword. And pray that someone, somehow, comes to their aid until I can reach them.
But there is no way out. The shadows that Prince Balior escaped into have somehow sealed the tunnels of the labyrinth shut. As I search the room, my attention falls to Fahim’s violin. I have spent my entire life allowing others to dictate how I must live, what I must eat, what I should wear, how I should speak, where I may wander, and when, and with whom. But I remember Ibramin’s parting words to me all those weeks ago.
Music is grief, yet it is also healing and wonder and joy. Remember that. Remember the ways it has shaped you. Remember how it nurtures and heals.
My hands move before I’m aware of it, snapping open the case to brush the silver-wound strings, pulling the bow free of its recess and tightening the horsehair. Then, the violin itself. Its heft is familiar as my name is familiar, a knowing stitched alongside my heart.
Tucking the instrument beneath my chin, I drag the bow across the open strings, slowly tuning using the pegs. The strings are old, but they ring as if they have been recently broken in, resonating with a velvet depth. And then? I play.
Here is what I know: grief never truly lifts. It may alter its shape, it may shed its skin, but no matter the attempts to live your life around the hole of what was, inevitably, the pain penetrates the shield you have erected around yourself. I did not realize that in erecting that barrier, I barred my heart from joy and curiosity, awe and tenderness. I became stern, bitter, full of sharp stones. There was no remedy to smooth their edges. I did not wish for one. I did not ask.
But here, now, the shield crumbles. Music encases me in its soft presence, and flows without impediment. It soothes my weary, grief-stricken heart.
If I could speak to Fahim now, I would say this: I’m sorry. I love you. I understand you. I miss you.
As the melody crests, my fingers shifting higher, tears slip down my cheeks. And that, too, is healing.
I’ve nearly reached the end of the piece when something moves in my periphery. I turn, staring into the shadows. Nothing. Perhaps I only imagined it.
Yet when I continue the piece, the flash and flutter of light comes again. A door, arched and wooden, has materialized across the room. As soon as I halt my playing, however, it vanishes.
A sign? Is music the answer to escaping the labyrinth? If so, I’d like to think it is Fahim guiding me to freedom.
So I slip into a jaunty tune. The melody springs beyond my control, spiraling into one of the showpieces Fahim used to perform when we were young. By the time I reach its conclusion, my fingertips throb, tender to the touch. But the door remains clear, gleaming like a dawn-kissed mist. For too long, fear has kept me small. Whatever awaits me on the other side, I’m prepared to meet it.
Pushing open the door, I cross the threshold before my courage flees. And I take the violin with me.