Into the Labyrinth

38

Haplo woke the next morning, healed and rested, and lay quietly for long moments, listening to the sounds of the Labyrinth. He had hated this place while he was trapped here. It had taken from him everything he had ever loved. But it had given him everything he had ever loved as well. Only now did he realize it; only now did he come to admit it.

The tribe of Squatters that had taken him in when he was a boy, after his parents had been killed. He couldn’t remember any of their names, but he could see their faces in the pale gray light that was little more than a brightening of the darkness, but was morning to the Labyrinth. He hadn’t thought about them in a long time, since the day he’d left. He’d put them out of his mind then, as he’d assumed they must have put him out of their minds. Now he knew better.

The men who’d rescued that frightened little boy might still think about him. The old woman who’d housed and fed him must wonder about him, wonder where he was, what had happened to him. The young man who’d taught him the art of inscribing the sigla on weapons might be interested to know that his teaching had proved valuable. Haplo would have given a great deal now to find them, to tell them, to thank them.

“I was taught to hate,” he mused, listening to the rustle of small animals, the bird calls he’d never truly heard until now, never truly forgotten. He rubbed the jowls of the dog, which was snoozing with its head on its master’s chest. “I was never taught to love.”

He sat up suddenly, disturbing the dog, which yawned, stretched, and dashed off to annoy foraging squirrels. Marit lay by herself, apart from Haplo and his group, apart from the other Patryns. She slept as he remembered seeing her sleep, curled up in the same tight ball. He remembered sleeping beside her, his body wrapped around hers, his stomach pressed against her back, his arms cradling her protectively. He wondered what it might have been like, sleeping with her and the baby, the child between them, sheltered, protected, loved. To his astonishment, his eyes burned with tears. Hastily, embarrassed and half-angry at himself, he rubbed the moisture dry.

A stick snapped behind him.

Haplo started to turn, but before he could hoist himself up, Hugh the Hand had leapt to his feet, was confronting Kari.

“It’s all right, Hugh,” Haplo said, standing up. He spoke human. “She let us know she was coming.”

True enough. Kari had stepped on the stick on purpose, courteously calling attention to her nearness.

“These you term mensch, don’t they require sleep?” she asked Haplo. “My people noticed your friend was awake all night.”

“They have no rune-magic to protect them,” Haplo explained, hoping she hadn’t taken offense. “We have been through many dangers. He... that is, they”—Haplo had to remember to include Alfred—“are naturally nervous, being in such a strange and terrifying place.”

And why have they come to this strange and terrifying place? was the question on Kari’s lips. Haplo could hear the words as surely as if she’d spoken them. But to ask such a question was not her duty. She gave Hugh the Hand a pitying look, spoke a few words in Patryn to Haplo, then handed over a chunk of hard bread.

“What was that all about?” the Hand wondered, glowering darkly after Kari. Haplo grinned. “She says that you must be able to run like a rabbit, otherwise you’d never have lived this long.”

Hugh the Hand wasn’t amused. He glanced around grimly. “I’m amazed anything lives long around here. There’s a bad feeling to these woods. I’ll be glad to get out of them.” He stared morosely at the lumps of colorless dough Haplo held in his hands. “That breakfast?”

Hapto nodded.

“I’ll pass.” Pipe in his mouth, the assassin wandered over to the stream. Haplo glanced to where Marit had been sleeping. She was awake now, doing what a Patryn always did first thing in the morning—checking old weapons, making new ones. She was eyeing a spear, a full-sized one with a sigla-engraved rock head. It was a fine weapon, most likely a gift from one of the Patryns. Haplo recalled the man who had met her by the stream. Yes, he’d been carrying a spear like that.

“Very fine,” Haplo said, coming up to her. “Well made.” Marit jumped up, her hand tightening reflexively around the haft of the spear.

“I’m sorry,” he said, startled at her reaction. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Marit shrugged, cold, nonchalant. “I didn’t hear you coming, that’s all. This horrible place,” she said abruptly, glancing around. “I’d forgotten how much I hate it!” Taking out a knife—another present, probably—she began improving a sigil carved on the spear’s head. She had not once looked directly at him. “I hate it,” she repeated in a low voice.

“This may sound strange,” said Haplo, “but I was thinking this morning that it was sort of good to be back. My memories aren’t all bad—” Impulsively he reached out to her.

Her head snapped back. She whipped around. Her hair, flying, struck him, stung his face. She held the spear between them. “We are even now. I saved your life. I owe you nothing. Remember that.”

Spear in hand, she walked off. Several of Kari’s group were heading out, going to scout the path ahead. Marit joined them, took her place beside the man who had given her the spear.

Confused, Haplo stared after her. Yesterday she had claimed him as hers, warned Kari away from him. Last night she’d talked to him. She had been glad—or so he had thought—to have him near her.

All was ended. All was suddenly different. What had happened between then and now?

Haplo couldn’t guess. Kari and her people were breaking down their crude camp, preparing to travel. The birds had fallen silent. The only sounds were the angry chattering of three squirrels, up a tree, throwing nutshells at the dog, barking beneath. Haplo looked at his skin; the sigla glowed softly. Danger, not near, but not far. Never far.

He gnawed at a piece of bread. It filled the stomach; that was about all he could say for it.

“Could... could I have some of that?” Alfred was standing beside him, eyeing the bread.

Haplo practically threw it at him.

Alfred fumbled, caught it, nibbled at a corner. He started to say something, but Haplo interrupted.

“Here, stupid dog!” He whistled. “Stop that noise!” The animal, hearing the sharp and unaccustomed note of rebuff, fell immediately silent. Head down, it trotted back meekly, wondering what it had done wrong.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Alfred ventured.

Haplo shook his head.

“You really should eat—”

“You’re in danger here,” Haplo said grimly.

Alfred looked alarmed, nearly dropped the bread. He glanced fearfully around him, probably expecting to see packs of tiger-men swarming through the trees. Instead he saw only Hugh the Hand, stripped to the waist, plunging his head and shoulders into the rushing stream. Nearby, Kari and her group were ready to move out.

Kari waved to Haplo, motioned for him and his friends to join them. He waved back, indicating that she was to go on ahead. Kari looked at him dubiously, frowning. It wasn’t wise to split up. He knew that as well as she. But then, he thought bitterly, he wasn’t really part of her group anyway. He smiled reassuringly, held his hand up, palm out, to indicate that he would be all right, that they’d catch up in a moment. Kari shrugged and left.

“What you said about danger... I don’t understand—” Alfred began.

“You should go back.”

“Back where?” Alfred stared, helpless, confused.

“To the Vortex. Hugh the Hand’ll go. Hell, you couldn’t pry him loose from you. You’d stand a pretty fair chance of making it, I think. The tiger-men—if they’re still around—will be tailing us.”

“But the Vortex is destroyed.”

“Not for you, Sartan. I’ve seen your magic! You killed the king dragon-snake. You raised the dead. You could probably lift up the pieces of that damn mountain and put it back together again.”

Alfred protested. “You said I wasn’t to use my magic. You saw what happened—”

“I think the Labyrinth will let you—especially if it knows you’re leaving.” Alfred flushed. His head down, he glanced at Haplo sideways. “You... you said you needed me...”

“I lied. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone. What I came to do is hopeless anyway. My child is dead. Murdered in your damn prison. Go on, Sartan. Get out.”

“Not ‘Sartan.’ My name is—”

“Don’t say Alfred!” Haplo was suddenly furious. “That isn’t your name! Alfred’s a mensch name you took when you decided to hide out by becoming a mensch. No one knows what your real name is, because it’s a Sartan name and you’ve never trusted anybody enough to tell them. So just—”

“It is Coren.”

“What?” Haplo blinked, pulled up short.

“My name is Coren,” Alfred repeated quietly.

“I’ll be damned.” Haplo mulled over what he knew of Sartan rune-language.

“That means ‘to choose’ or something like that.”

Alfred smiled faintly. “ ‘Chosen.’ Me—chosen. Ludicrous, isn’t it? The name doesn’t mean anything, of course. It’s quite common among Sartan. Almost every family has—er—had a boy they named Coren. Hoping for a self-fulfilling prophecy. You see why I never told you. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you. I didn’t want you to laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” Haplo said.

Alfred looked very uncomfortable. “You should be. It’s really quite amusing.” Hugh the Hand, shaking the water off his head and shoulders, walked back up from the stream. He stopped to stare around the empty clearing, probably wondering what had happened to the others.

“You didn’t think that name of yours was so amusing when you woke up and found yourself alone in that mausoleum, did you, Coren?” Haplo asked quietly. Alfred was red again, then pale. His hands trembled. He dropped the bread—to the extreme gratification of the dog. Sinking onto a tree stump, Alfred sighed, his breath rattling in his throat.

“You’re right. Chosen. Chosen to live when everyone I had ever loved had died. Why? For what? They were all so much better. So much more worthy.” Alfred looked up, his pale face hard. His trembling hand clenched. “I hated my name then. I hated it. I was happy to take the name I bear now. I planned to forget the other one. And I succeeded. I had forgotten it—until I met you.” Alfred sighed again. He smiled sadly. Haplo looked back at the assassin, made him a sign. Hugh swung himself easily up into the branches of a tree, gazed ahead, in the direction the other Patryns had taken. He motioned back, raised one finger.

So Kari was keeping an eye on them. She’d left one of the group to wait for them. Courtesy again. She was concerned, didn’t want them to get lost. Haplo snorted.

Alfred was prattling on, obviously deeply relieved to talk.

“Whenever you spoke to me, Haplo, even though you called me Alfred, I kept hearing Coren. It was frightening. And yet it felt good to me, all at the same time. Frightening because I didn’t understand. Yet good—you reminded me of my past, my distant past, when my family and friends were still alive.

“How could you do this? I wondered. Who are you? At first I thought you might be one of my people, but I knew immediately that wasn’t right. Yet you obviously weren’t a mensch. And then I remembered. I remembered the ancient history. I remembered the stories about the—forgive me—the old enemy.

“That night on Arianus, when we were imprisoned in the vat, I cast a spell on you, put you to sleep.” Haplo stared, astonished. “A spell on me! You?” Alfred flushed. “I’m afraid so. It was only a sleep spell. You wore the bandages around your hands, to hide the tattoos. I crept over, lifted one of the bandages, and I saw...”

“So that’s how you knew.” Haplo motioned for the assassin to join them. “I wondered. And as fascinating as this trip down memory lane has been, Coren, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re in danger and you should leave—”

“But it does,” Alfred said, standing up so swiftly that he startled the dog. It bounded to its feet with a whuff, ears up, hackles raised, wondering what was wrong. “Now I know what my name means.”

“It’s just a name, damn it! It doesn’t mean anything. You said so yourself.”

“But it does mean something—to me. You have taught me, Haplo. You even said it. Not ‘chosen,’ past tense. But ‘to choose.’ Present tense. Everyone else has always made my choices for me. I faint.” Alfred spread his hands helplessly. “Or fall down. Or”—he cast a guilty glance at Hugh the Hand—“when I do take action, I ‘forget.’ ”

Alfred stood up very straight, very tall. “But now that’s different. I choose to be here, Haplo. You said you needed me. You made me ashamed. You had the courage to come into this dreadful place—for what? For ambition? For power? No. You came for love. The Labyrinth is afraid. Yes, but not of me. It’s afraid of you, Haplo. You have brought into it the one weapon it doesn’t know how to fight.”

Reaching down, Alfred timidly petted the dog, stroked its silky ears. “I know it’s dangerous and I’m not certain how much help I can be, but I choose to be here,” he said softly, not looking at Haplo. “I choose to be here with you.”

“They’re watching us,” said Hugh the Hand, coming up from behind. “In fact, four of them have started back in this direction. They’re all armed. Of course, it could be that they like us so much they can’t bear to let us out of their sight. But I doubt it.”

The Hand took the pipe out of his pocket, studied it thoughtfully. Putting it into his mouth, he spoke through his teeth. “She betrayed us, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” said Haplo, looking far back the way they’d come, far back to the ruined mountain.