Hades Daughter (2 page)

Theseus nodded. “You have served your purpose,” he said.

He focused on something behind her, and Ariadne turned her head very slightly.

Villagers were walking slowly down the path to the beach, their eyes cast anxiously at the god-damned skies above them.

“They will care for you and your daughter,” Theseus said, and turned to go.

“I have served my purpose, Theseus?” Ariadne said. “You have
no
idea what my purpose is, and whether it is served out…or only just beginning. Here. In this sand. In this betrayal.”

His shoulders stiffened, and his step hesitated, but then Theseus was gone, striding down the beach to the waiting boat.

The sky roared, and the clouds opened, drenching Ariadne as she watched her lover desert her.

She turned her face upwards, and shook a fist at the sky and the gods laughing merrily behind it.

“
No one
abandons the Mistress of the Labyrinth!” she hissed. “Not you, nor any part of your world!”

She dropped her face. Theseus was in the boat now, standing in its stem, his gaze set towards the ship where awaited Ariadne’s sister.

“And not you, nor any part of
your
world, either,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “No one abandons me, and thinks that in so doing they can ignore the Game. You think that the Game will protect you.”

She hissed, demented with love and betrayal.

“You forget that it is
I
who controls the Game.”

D
eath came for Ariadne during the final stages of a labour that had stretched over three gruelling, pain-filled days and nights.

She felt the Death Crone’s gentle hand on her shoulder as she squatted on her birthing mat, her sweat-drenched face clenched in agony, the village midwives squabbling in a huddle on the far side of the dim, overheated room.

“They have decided to cut the child from you,” the Crone said, her voice low and melodious, a comforting counterpoint to her words. “They think that Theseus, not wanting you, will nevertheless be grateful for his child. See, now they hand about knives, trying to decide which would be the sharpest. The fastest.”

“No!” Ariadne growled, twisting her head to stare at the Crone who now stood so close to her shoulder. “No. I
will
not.”

“You must,” said the Crone. “It is your time.”

“And I say it is not,” Ariadne said, screwing up her face and moaning as another crippling contraction gripped her.

“You must—” the Crone said again, but stopped as Ariadne half turned and gripped the death’s claw resting on her shoulder.

“I will make a bargain,” Ariadne said. She glanced at the huddle of midwives. They were bent into a close circle, their attention all on the four or five knives they
passed between themselves. First this one was held up to catch the flickering light from the single oil lamp in the room, now that, each blade’s cutting edge assessed for its worth.

Being simple women, untutored in the mysteries, they were unaware that the Death Crone stood so close among them, nor that Ariadne conversed with her.

“A bargain?” said the Crone. “But I want you.
You.
What could you give me to assuage my grief at leaving
you
behind?”

“I think we can come to a most singular arrangement,” Ariadne said, her words jerking out in her agony. “I can make you the best proposition you’ve had in aeons.”

The Crone was silent a long moment, her bright eyes resting unblinking on Ariadne as the woman twisted and moaned once more.

“I shall want far more than just ‘a singular arrangement’,” the Crone said. “Far more.
What
can you give me, Ariadne, Mistress of the Labyrinth?”

The midwives had selected their knife now, and one of them, a woman called Meriam, had drawn out a whetstone and was sharpening the blade with long, deliberate strokes.

The frightful sound of metal against stone grated about the chamber, and Ariadne’s eyes glinted.

She spoke, very low and very fast, and the Crone gave a great gasp and stood back. “
You would go that far?
” she hissed.

“Will you not accept my bargain?” Ariadne said.

“Oh, aye, I accept. But you will destroy yourself, surely, along with—”

“You will have me one day, Crone, but it shall be on my terms, not yours. But if you want what I offer, then I beg two favours from you.”

The Crone laughed shortly. “And I thought
you
were to be doing all the giving.”

“I will need to see Asterion.”

“
Asterion?
The brother you helped murder? You would dare?”

“Aye. I dare. Tell me, is he in Hades’ realm?”

“Nay. Hades would not have him. You know this.” The Crone paused, her eyes on the midwives who were now slowly rising, their voices murmuring bitterly about the effort this Ariadne put them to. “Very well,” said the Crone. “I agree. I can send Asterion to you. And the second favour?”

“Push this child from my body that I may live long enough to play my part in our arrangement.”

“As you wish, Ariadne. But do not fail in your part of our agreement. I would be most disappointed should you—”

“I will not fail. Now, push this child from me…ah!”

The midwives stepped close to the straining woman on the birthing mat, Meriam at their fore, a large knife in her hand.

But as Meriam leaned down to push Ariadne to her back, the better to expose her huge belly to the knife, Ariadne screamed, and there was a rush of bloodstained fluid between her legs, and then the baby, hitherto unshiftable, slithered free.

Meriam stopped dead, her mouth hanging open.

Ariadne had sunk to her haunches, and now she looked up from her daughter kicking feebly between her legs to the gaggle of midwives.

“You may be sure that I will repay you well for your aid,” she said.

Ariadne rested that day, and when the sun settled below the horizon, she dismissed the woman who sat with her, saying that she wished to be alone during the night with her daughter.

Once the woman had gone, Ariadne put her daughter to her breast and fed her, and then rocked her
gently and sang to her softly, so that she would sleep through the coming hours.

As soon as the infant slept soundly, Ariadne placed her in a small, oval wicker basket, covered her well with blankets, then placed the basket in a dark corner of the room.

She did not want Asterion to notice the child and perhaps to maim or murder her in his ill-humour.

Once her daughter was attended to, Ariadne washed herself carefully, wincing at the deep hurt that still assailed her body, then reached into the chest of her clothes that Theseus had caused to be tossed on to the beach. She drew forth a deep red, flounced skirt which she bound as tightly as she could about her still thickened and soft belly, then slipped her arms into a golden jacket which she tied loosely about her waist, leaving it unbuttoned so that her full breasts remained exposed.

Having attended to her body, Ariadne now carefully painted her face. She powdered her face to a smooth, rich creamy mask, then lined her eyes with black and her mouth with a vivid red that matched her skirt. When that was done, Ariadne dressed her hair. For the finest effect she needed a maid to do it for her, but there was no one to help, and so she did the best she could, finally managing to bind and braid her glossy black tresses into an elaborate design that cascaded from the crown of her head to the nape of her neck.

She was still studying her face and hair in her hand-held mirror when she felt the shift in the air behind her.

Ariadne put down the mirror with deliberate slowness, calmly rose from her stool, and turned to face her murdered half-brother Asterion.

For an instant she thought him more shadow than substance, but then he took a single step forwards, and she saw that his flesh was solid and real…as was his anger.

“You betrayed me,” he said in his thick, guttural, familiar voice. “See.” He waved a hand down his body. “See what your lover did to me.”

She looked, for she owed him this at least.

Theseus’ sword had cut into Asterion’s body in eight or nine places: across his thickly muscled black throat, his shoulder, his chest, both his flanks, laying open his belly. The wounds were now bloodless lips of flesh, opening and closing as Asterion’s chest rose and fell in breath
(and why did he need to breathe at all, now that he is dead?)
, revealing a rope of bowel here, a lung there, the yellowed cord of a tendon elsewhere.

Ariadne swallowed, then very slowly lifted her eyes back to Asterion’s magnificent head.

It was undamaged, and for that she was profoundly grateful. The beautiful, liquid black eyes still regarded her clearly and steadily from the bold countenance of the bull, and his graceful horns still curved unbroken about his broad brow.

Her eyes softened, and at that he snarled, deliberately vicious, spraying her beautiful face with thick spittle.

“You
betrayed
me!”

She had not flinched. “Aye, I did. I did it for Theseus, for I thought he loved me. I was wrong. Deluded with love I betrayed you, and for that I am most sorry.”

He snorted in laughter, and she turned aside her head very slightly. “Most sorry?” He stepped forward, close enough to run prying fingers over her breasts and her belly. She stiffened at his touch, but did not move away. “You have given birth to his child.”

Her eyes flew back to his. “You shall not harm her!”

“Why not?”

“Do not harm her, Asterion. I beg this of you.”

He merely wrinkled his black brow in that peculiar manner of his that demonstrated mild curiosity. “And why not? Why not? Why should her death not be
my
vengeance for what you did to me?”

“I will give you vengeance enough, Asterion. For you and for me.”

He slid his hand in the waistband of her skirt, jerking her towards him, smiling at the pain on her face. “What nonsense. I am capable enough of taking my vengeance here and now.”

Their heads were very close together, her aristocratic beauty almost completely overshadowed by his dark and powerful countenance.

“I want you—” she began.

He smiled, horribly, and his hand drew her yet closer.

“—to teach me your darkcraft.”

Surprised, his grip loosened a little.

“You are the only one who has ever learned to manipulate the power in the dark heart of the Labyrinth. Now I want you to teach
me
that darkcraft. I will use it to destroy Theseus. I will use it to destroy his entire world. Every place that Theseus lays foot, everything he touches, every part of his world, everything will fall to decay and death. And yet even that is not all. I will combine your darkcraft with my powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth, Asterion, to free you completely.” She paused, using her brief silence for emphasis. “I will combine our powers together, beloved brother, to tear apart the Game once and for all. Never again will it ensnare you. That will be my recompense to you for my stupidity in betraying you to Theseus and my payment to you for giving me the power to tear apart Theseus and all he stands for.”

He held her eyes steady, looking for deception. “You would destroy the Game? Free me completely so that I may be reborn into life as I will?”

“Yes! This is something that only I can do, you know that…but you must also know I need the use of your darkcraft to do it. Teach it to me, I beg you.”

“If you lie—”

“I do not!”

“If you do not destroy the Game—”

“I will!”

He gazed at her, unsure, unwilling to believe her. “If I give to you the darkcraft,” he said, “and you misuse it in any manner—to trick me or trap me—then
I
will destroy
you
.”

She started to speak, but he hushed her. “I will, for there is one thing else that I shall demand of you, Ariadne, Mistress of the Labyrinth.”

“Yes?”

“That in return for teaching you the darkcraft, for opening to you completely the dark heart of the Labyrinth, you shall not only destroy the Game forever, but you will allow me to become your ruler. Your lord. Call it what you want, but know that if you ever attempt to betray me again, if you do not destroy the Game completely, I demand that you shall fall to the ground before me, and become my creature entirely.”

“Of course!”

His expression did not change. “‘Of course’? Taking not a breath to consider? How quickly you agree.”

“I will not betray you again, Asterion. Teach me the darkcraft and I swear—on the life of my daughter!—that I will use it to destroy the Game utterly. It shall never entrap you again.”

He nodded, very slowly, holding her eyes the entire time. On the life of her daughter? No Mistress of the Labyrinth ever used the name of her daughter lightly. Yes…yes, she was being honest with him.

As honest as Ariadne could be.

He smiled, tight and hard. “Your hatred of Theseus must be great indeed to arrange such dark bargains. First with the Crone, and then with me.”

She inclined her head. “He thought to cast me aside,” she said. “No one does that to the Mistress of the Labyrinth.”

“Very well,” he said. “I accept. The bargain is concluded.” His hand tightened once more in the waistband of her skirt, but this time far more cruelly. “You shall have the darkcraft, but I shall take my pleasure in it. Pain, for the pain you inflicted on me. Pain, to seal the bargain made between us.”

He buried his other hand in her elaborately braided hair and, with all the strength of the bull that was his, he lifted her up and hurled her down to the bed.

That night was agonisingly long, and she emerged from it barely alive, but at the end of it Ariadne had what she wanted.

Two days later, stiff, sore, her badly damaged body protesting at every step, Ariadne made her way into the village’s herb garden. In her arms she carried the wicker basket, and in that basket rested her sleeping daughter.

Two of the village midwives who had attended the birth of her daughter watched uneasily from the shadowed doorway of the house Ariadne had left.