The Center
They had finally reached it. After weeks of searching through this labyrinth of riddles, they had finally reached the heart: the Minotaur. Cathy’s white dress was now soaked through with muddy water, making it stick in wrinkled shapes like a worn paper bag. She climbed through and breathed a sigh of relief. She ran over to Andrew who sat staring at the statue, his eyebrows knit in contemplation. There was a marble statue of a woman wearing a cloak, where the hood hid her eyes. She was leaning on a sword, which were engraved the words: I can never say quite as much as I know. On her left was a Nymph and her right the Minotaur.
Andrew turned to her. “Any ideas? I’m plumb out.”
“A ball of thread,” Cathy said to the statue.
Nothing happened and Cathy shrugged her shoulders to Andrew and walked around the statues.
“Wait. Maybe everything is just asleep,” Andrew said. “We can get out if we’re quiet. That’s how Theseus managed to kill the Minotaur.”
Cathy finished her circle around the statue and walked to the middle. “There’s no other exit. This is it.”
“But if we’re in the center—”
“Theseus left the same way he came. There’s no need to have another way.”
“So let’s leave the way we came.”
“And face all those traps again? I don’t think so.” She stood in front of the statue, her legs spread shoulder width apart and putting her hands out in front of her, palms first, said: “Tell me what you know.”
Andrew grabbed her arm, but too late. The room burst into light and the statue looked up at Cathy.
“I am the oracle of Apollo, the last descendant of Greece, and the key to your last riddle. For every three questions, I ask one. If you get my question correct, you get three more. We continue until you ask the right question, then you are free to go.” A shuffling sound continued as the statue was talking and when Andrew turned around their exit had disappeared and they were locked in the room with the oracle and her two minions.
Cathy turned smiling to Andrew, but he wasn’t there.
“What is the ultimate reward of answering these questions and getting out of this labyrinth alive?” she asked.
“Fame, fortune, perhaps love. There is no clear answer of where your path lies, but what fate has in store for you. I can no better tell you what fate has in store now that history has written itself, but I can tell you to expect great things in the outcome.”
Cathy thought for a moment and the statue stayed still. She wanted to make sure she asked the right questions, but at that particular moment the only questions coming to mind were fluffy ones, like “what’s your favorite color.” She supposed the trouble she was having was because she had no idea what to expect from the oracle’s questions. She contemplated her second question and took a deep breath.
“As we are without string, how will we find our way out?”
“I’m uncertain as to the ‘we’, but finding your way out should be the least of your troubles. You have already traveled the way out on your way in. As for string, there is no need for that.”
Andrew let out a breath slowly, thanking whatever god there was in this place, that the statue hadn’t seen him. Cathy looked at it puzzled, before realizing that Andrew was nowhere to be seen. She hoped he hadn’t run off when she called the statue to life. When, she turned around and saw the exit gone, a small pit grew in her stomach. If he had run off, he was gone now. She turned back to the statue and stared at the blade. It had turned slightly blue and the words “I can never say quite as much as I know” had darkened to a black. She bit her lip contemplatively and waiting for an idea. The statue made no move or sound as minutes went by.
“Why did Apollo place you here?”
“Apollo had no part in placing me here. It was a test for Zeus to test the heroes from the average citizen. Only those who could make it through mentally as well as physically could be worthy of the gods. In order to please Zeus, my god sent me, his most faithful servant, into the center with a Dryad and the famed Minotaur to watch for the next hero. Now, it is time for one of my questions.”
Cathy’s heart sank, but she stood tall. “All right.”
“What white bird featherless, flew out from paradise, perched upon yon castle wall, when up came Lord Landless, who took it up handless, and rode away horseless to the king’s white hall?”
Cathy stared at the statue in shock intent. “What?”
The statue cocked its head. “It is not quite time for your questions, you must first answer mine.”
Fears started to circulate through Cathy’s blood stream. She had never been good with riddles; Andrew got them through that. She was there solely for the purpose of providing history and keeping records, nothing more.
“Give me a moment,” she told the statue and turned around to face the back wall. She thought if the statue couldn’t hear her answer, then she could keep going as long as she kept quiet. Ok, she thought, this can’t be that hard. ‘What white bird featherless,’ well it’s obviously not a bird. ‘Flew out from paradise, perched upon yon castle wall,’ shoot this isn’t getting me anywhere. Ok, calm down. What’s next? Shoot. ‘what white bird featherless flew out from paradise perched…oh, when up came Lord Landless?’ What? ‘who took it up handless,’ so, Lord Landless has no hands. Or Lord Landless isn’t real. Ok, so you have a metaphoric bird being picked up by a metaphoric Lord Landless. And then…shoot…he rode away to the king’s white hall.’ Wait, horseless, he didn’t have horse. So she’s really asking me what can be picked up by something and carried off? No, too generic. “Picked up by what?” she whispered. “Damn.”
Cathy pursed her lips and let out a breath. “Well, it’s got to be something from ancient Rome or Greece because she is the oracle of Apollo. So what would they have known of there? I suppose that narrows it down to a couple things. Paradise: somewhere up above, heaven. Oh,” she snapped her fingers and smiled, “the bird came from up above, falling down and perching on a wall. When up…maybe it’s down because he brings the bird back up to paradise again. So, the question is what goes down only to be brought up again,” Cathy bit her lip. “Something with the weather.” She turned around at the statue who was still in its position, unmoving. There was something about the dryad and the minotaur that looked more realistic and warm, but she couldn’t place what. Perhaps because there was more color in the stone…she tried not to think about that. “Rain, that’s it!” But it’s white, she thought quickly. Finally it occurred to her.
“Snow and the sun.”
The statue nodded and stayed silent. Cathy breathed a sigh of relief.
“Why do you ask all these riddles of the people who come in?”
“A hero is not solely one who can fight. He must have wit along with it. Those with brains to match their skill can get through with very little trouble, but those with skill that does not match their brains, will slowly whittle away to nothing. Follow a tree: as it has no mind it can be chopped down with very little struggle. And its life is gone in moments.”
“That’s horrible!”
The statue did nothing, but its sword glowed slightly red. The inscription disappeared to a dull pink among the glow.
“How can I figure out the right question?”
“You have to first figure out the answer you are looking for in order to ask the question. If you don’t know what answer you need, you can’t ask the right question.”
Cathy sighed and sat down on the floor. “Is there an easy way to answer your questions to get out of here?”
“If you are indeed a hero, this shouldn’t be a struggle for you. But if it is some consolation, you are almost finished. A question from me, and you are free to continue.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Cathy said plopping her chin on her hands.
