Son of Minos

Matas edged around the rock hiding the small cleft leading to his home. He had never met the monster himself, but he knew it was fearsome, and despite his strength, Matas didn’t think he could kill. He had first overheard wanderers talking about the monster with an air of restrained terror when he had been drawn to a rare glow of campfire long ago.

The way by his passage clear, he carefully stepped out, keeping his ears wide for sounds of any other wanderer. Wanderers came sporadically, and one could never tell how the Madness would take them. Many tried to harm Matas, and he learned early to be wary of them, even before Alec came to help him.

Matas’ used his wide-set eyes very little. The glow of fungus-light or touch of firelight only augmented the information he gathered through the echoes of the tunnels around him. Sometimes in his dreams, he remembered another world of light and color, but it seldom troubled him when he was awake. He had been in this place since his memories had dawned and had long since learned to adapt.

He walked the familiar passages past the mound of rocks where Alec lay. Gradually, the earthen tunnels became stone. His mind kept track of the turns automatically. He walked this way often to gather the soft fungus Alec had said tasted like “bread”. He could not gather more than a day’s worth at a time or it rotted with a fetid odor, but the vast cavern in which it grew was no safe place to hide. Therefore, he made the sometimes-dangerous trek every day, alone, now that Alec was no longer there to help him.

A sharp scrape alerted him to the presence of another. Immediately, he froze, carefully judging the source. Sometimes sounds that seemed distant were close while others sounded right in his ear from tunnels away. His throat closed in fear and excitement. There had been few wanderers of late. Perhaps this time, he would meet the monster at last.

Shrinking against the side of the cave, he waited; his face flushing and heart pounding. Gradually, the sound resolved itself into quiet footsteps, coming closer. It must be a wanderer! Maybe this one would finally be his friend as Alec had been, teaching him to make shapes with clay and stone and keep track of time with deep slashes on the wall. He had become very lonely in the hundreds of sleeps since Alec had gone. As the steps grew closer, Matas’ hopes faded as he scented panic and fear in the air that flowed through this part of the caves. His heart sank. The caves had a way of making most strangers go mad, Alec had said. He wouldn’t explain why. Matas knew that this stranger would probably be like most of the others.

Suddenly, a harsh glow of torchlight shone against the damp stone of the corridor. It crept along the wall, bright enough that Matas squinted his eyes against the glare. A trembling boy-man appeared, holding a sputtering torch. When he saw Matas, he screamed shrilly, leaping straight into the air, turning, and tearing off back the way he had come.

Matas, seeing the Madness in the boy, followed after, shouting, “It’s okay! Calm down, I can help!!!” But it was no use. The boy kept running, darting down the leftmost passage. The panic began to affect Matas, too, as he realized where the boy was unknowingly going.

“Not that way! STOP!!!” But the boy increased his speed. Frowning, Matas followed, trying to overtake the boy before it was too late. Pounding around a left corner, he reached out his long arms, swiping for the boy’s coat, but it was too late. With one final, pitifully thin scream, the boy tripped and tumbled down, down, down and over the lip of the Deep. Matas braked just in time, nearly tumbling himself in his attempt to save the boy. It was too far to hear the boy hit bottom, but Matas clapped his hands over his ears anyways, wincing.

So often it ended that way. The Madness overtook them and they fell down a hole or got lost beyond Matas’ ability to find them. Someday, maybe, he’d find one who could overcome the Madness as Alec had done. Though he could never help Alec with finding the way “out” he longed for, Alec had helped him with so many things. He always wished he knew this “out”. Alec had spoken of kings, heroes and gods, sun and sky and stars. It had sounded like a glorious place.

Returning to the fungus cavern to gather his meal, Matas felt exhaustion come over him. He found his way around the twisting tunnels to his secret hole, eating as he went. He squeezed through the cleft and entered it gratefully, exhausted and discouraged. He stopped at the holding wall where all his delicately formed clay figures were, removing the one of Alec and the one of himself and holding them despondently. He lightly touched the sharp curve of horn on the head of the figure of him, and then touched his own smooth horn. Alec had no horns, but he was so small he could probably never have held them up with his tiny head. At least Matas had his safe place. Here, he was safe from the monster.