CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE #2
‘Try it now,’ I say, closing my eyes to focus just as I catch Hermes’s wriggling fingers.
I open my eyes. Did I stop it?
Hermes regards me curiously. ‘How do you feel, Ariadne?’
Fine. ‘Feel, Ariadne.’
That hadn’t been what I meant to say, and I go to tell them as much but when I open my mouth no sound comes out.
Dionysus glowers at Hermes as though these curses aren’t precisely the point. ‘Echo, really?’
‘Echo, really,’ I repeat, though I’d intended to tell him to lift it.
Hermes smiles. ‘Hermes, you’re far more handsome than my husband, Dionysus.’
‘My husband, Dionysus.’ I snatch Dionysus’s thyrsus and point it at the god.
Hermes shrugs. ‘It was worth a try.’
He waves his hand.
‘I don’t think this is helping,’ I say as my tongue becomes my own again. I hand Dionysus’s stick back.
‘Great, let’s quit while we’re all thoroughly entertained, shall we?’ Dionysus asks, taking the thyrsus from me. His hand brushes mine and I startle.
I’d prepared myself for intentional touches, the performance of a love we are feigning. This accidental one shoots through me. And I wish, instantly, that Hermes wasn’t here and that we didn’t have a gaggle of people watching so we could … be ourselves, I suppose. Without all this pressure.
Then, as though he is remembering the pretence too, Dionysus’s hand falls to my waist, like it is the only way to stand close to me.
Hermes clears his throat. ‘I think perhaps it is better to begin where we know power has been displayed and work outwards.’
‘No,’ Dionysus snaps. ‘We aren’t doing that.’
‘Yes, we are,’ I protest, turning to him – stepping away from his touch, but he reaches back out, snatching my hand. ‘Hermes is right: we don’t have the luxury of time to be inefficient with this.’
‘Ariadne,’ Dionysus pleads, his hand gripping tight. ‘What if it works? You’ll be locked into torment.’
‘Brother, I can lift the curse at any time,’ Hermes says gently. ‘It won’t be like what you faced. I promise.’
Dionysus looks wary, his eyes round and vulnerable. A lock of hair falls into his face and I want to push it out again, to soothe him. I want to talk about what happened to him, rather than allowing him to shut it down and only mention it when, like this, it pushes him to break.
His eyes dip and, in a quiet voice, he says: ‘Don’t let go of me, please. If you’re going to do this, then I don’t want you to face it alone like last time.’
I nod, twining my fingers through his.
I turn to Hermes. ‘I’m ready. Curse me as she did.’
He crosses over to me this time, no waving hands or muttered curses.
His glance slides to Dionysus. ‘It will be alright.’
Then his fingers press into my forehead.
The labyrinth materializes before me, like mist overlaying the ship.
It can’t cement itself, can’t become solid.
It rises up around me, but I push it aside, focus past it on the people hovering at the stern of the boat, then, before me.
On Dionysus, his hand tight in mine. Each of his fingers curled, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into my skin.
And I squeeze tight on to reality and wave the vision away.
Hermes solidifies before me, his hand steadied, ready to lift the curse at any moment.
‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘It wasn’t as vivid this time – like the vision was hovering over reality rather than replacing it.’
‘What?’ Dionysus says, more panicked than I’d expected.
‘It’s fine!’ I say hurriedly. ‘It fell away when it couldn’t take hold.’
He remains tense, searching my face like he might find something there. ‘Alright. It’s just … only Hera’s curses ever fully replaced reality. When it was my own mind, it was more like what you describe – falsehood interwoven, an encroachment … But you can’t see it any more?’
I nod, squeezing the hand I hold. ‘The hallucination faded. It was the labyrinth again – but this time I knew the way out.’
‘Interesting,’ Hermes interjects. ‘Shall we try some more? The mind is a complex thing. There are a number of ways to break it.’
I take a breath. ‘Great, can’t wait. Let’s do this.’
We rifle through curses. My emotions surge in waves. Then shut off completely. But mostly, the gods’ curses centre on crafting what is not there. Voices call my name. Hands close about my throat. Figures rise up out of nothing.
But they are all hazy and insubstantial. All a quiet whisper. All readily shaken off.
The stubborn ones linger – but I think of the labyrinth’s door, its smooth, barely discernible crack. And I demand it opens.
The visions shatter.
‘It’s definitely this,’ Hermes says. ‘Mentality or …’
‘Labyrinths.’
Hermes and Dionysus look at me sharply. I don’t know how I know – there could be any reason why that is the image that returns to me. But I know.
‘I grew up above one, raised on the fear of it. If I had some innate magic, the sort of thing that wouldn’t manifest without training or opportunity – it would make sense that it latched on to the thing I knew best.’
It is my childhood, isn’t it? Not just the breathing below the tiles but the winding path beneath. My own steps, spiralling in and out as though somewhere deep within I knew. Like it called to me.
The labyrinth. One long winding road. It is fate. It is inevitability. It is all paths to the centre and all paths out.
‘There’s no truer labyrinth than the mind, I suppose,’ Dionysus allows. He lets go of my hand. My palm is clammy, having gripped his for so long.
I feel the loss suddenly and heavily.
‘Excuse me,’ he says.
He doesn’t look back as he turns and retreats into the darkness of the ship.
‘Crete on the horizon!’ a maenad calls from the edge of the boat. It is difficult to recognize the approaching landmass as my home. Its arches unfamiliar, its rivers and valleys things I have only ever seen on a map.
But even from here, I can see the red towering pillars of the palace of Knossos.
There is no escaping this labyrinth – only the path drawing us to its centre.