Rhythm of the Labyrinth — Isabelle Knops
short story ☆
short story ☆
Sleep-deprived, they danced, a tangle of limbs, covered in each other's sweat, hearts beating wildly as they moved to a rhythm only Icarus could hear. Asterion had not been expecting him, not with the ongoing harvest celebrations; addicting as his companionship and laughter were, it put them in a risky position. The only thing separating them from the festivities were the labyrinth's walls, and though they kept Asterion inside, they didn't stop noise from travelling and being heard by those who wandered too close.
'This is madness.' Asterion rasped when he stumbled, unable to follow Icarus' lead.
‘Madness perhaps, but a madness ought to be experienced at least once. Praise Dionysus!' Icarus responded, voice light and giddy on wine. The light cast by the torch he had brought caressed the silky skin of his chin, where hair refused to grow despite his twenty summers, finally settling on his bee-stung lips.
Asterion lowered his eyes. 'You ought to get some rest – your father …'
'My father will be fine without me this once,' Icarus protested. It was unlike him. Yes, he complained about his father regularly, but he never abandoned his duties. Not even Asterion had managed such a feat in two years of friendship.
'You're merry.' Asterion tried to reason with him, only to be silenced by the mouth of a wine bottle being pressed to his lips, its sweetness taking him by surprise.
'From your stepfather's personal supply. Better than the maiden I had to kiss for it.'
A touch of bitterness took hold of Asterion, and he pushed the bottle away from him with more force than he had intended, spilling its contents.
‘Careful!' Icarus called out, one hand attempting to hold onto the bottle while the other tried to intercept the splash of purple before it hit the floor. But it wasn't just his hands that moved – his upper body pivoted forward until his balance was lost.
Asterion held his breath as the bottle shattered, and with it what little peace that had existed inside his labyrinth, as Icarus' wails passed from one wall to another.
No one came for them. Asterion suspected that most guards had passed out drunk themselves, or had succumbed to other pleasures.
Icarus hissed as Asterion tightened a strip of fabric around his hand where a shard had left its mark.
'By the gods, whatever possessed you?' Asterion wanted to shake him – wanted to hold him tight and never let him go. He didn't expect to get a coherent response. Icarus was still pretty disoriented and was surprised when the latter spoke.
'It's the only thing keeping me sane.'
'Sane?'
'Keeps nightmares away.' Icarus mumbled.
'Nightmares?'
'King Minos is unhappy with my father – it's his death which keeps visiting me in the depth of night.'
'Unhappy how?'
'He suspects.'
'The wings?' Asterion asked. Icarus had told him about the wings his father was working on. Wings to carry them far from Knossos.
Wings meant to separate them …
'Don't think so, but he suspects something. Keeps asking questions about the work we do. Keeps piling on new projects for my father to work on instead.'
‘And your father?'
'He won't rest. It's why I came tonight. Attending the celebration … he couldn't deny me. Not when I pointed out it would place us in a favourable light. So I danced, and the wine. It just kept coming.'
Icarus gazed at Asterion with glazed eyes. 'It was never my intention to leave you on your own for so long. If I had been able to sneak away before tonight, I would have …'
'I know.' Asterion squeezed his hand. 'But please promise me – stay away from the wine.'
'I'll try.'
Asterion didn't want Icarus to leave, but he had already been away from the palace for too long. The guards would be returning to their positions before long, and Daedalus would be looking for his son.
'One last dance,' Icarus begged. 'To give me something to hold onto when Morpheus visits me tonight.'
Asterion allowed Icarus to pull him into one last dance, this time to a rhythm he recognised. He closed his eyes and allowed Icarus' sweet scent, a mixture of wine, sweat and wood, to calm his own demons.
Isabelle is a trilingual author based in Edinburgh, Scotland.
She is the author of Icarus and Asterion and Displacement, both featured in Ekklesia; The making of the Dioscuri Twins published in Agora; Thetis Reborn published by The Orpheum Collective; and Harpies, published in Glyph.
While Isabelle is of the opinion that a pen is the most powerful weapon a human can wield, she can regularly be found on piste fencing.
