Ch.3: Bar the Way
Fr. Michael went on determinedly. He tried to take shallow breaths in consideration of his aching ribs, but this quickly proved impossible in combination with the rapid pace needed. Working against him was the Labyrinth itself, and the uncanny conditions it encouraged. Though there was no more eerie mist, and the smoky dimness had vanished at the last turning, visibility was poor. He could see clearly no more than ten feet ahead of himself.
Then his ears registered a strange sound. Snip. Snip, snip. Snipsnip snip. His pace faltered. He turned around, retracing his steps to a fork. He took another path now, in hopes of avoiding any unpleasant encounters with scissor-wielding maniacs. For a while, he walked with no other sounds save those of his feet and breathing. But in a very short time, he heard another noise: Snip! It sounded almost agitated now, like a hundred pairs of scissors being opened and closed out of sequence.
He glanced over his shoulder, and made a decision. He pressed on. Anna was the important thing; he had already used four hours of his time. He had to get to her; he would get to her. Though Hell should bar the way, he thought grimly. He did not fool himself by hoping that the blind child had been the worst of the Labyrinth's dangers.
A huge arch suddenly loomed above him. Its apex was some hundred feet in the air; it appeared to be made of steel. And attached to the curve of the arch were seven long, articulated steel serpents. Huge jaws were set on these supple necks. And in the jaws were pair after pair of scissors, serving the serpents as teeth. Snip, snip, snip. The snakes were still, watching him as he stared at them. They had no eyes, what other sense they were using he could not guess.
He noted with slight irritation that the queer visibility conditions did not affect his seeing up or down. The uncanny snakes made no more than the slightest of swaying motions. Fr. Michael crossed himself in gratitude for their apparent disinterest in him. He stepped toward the opening.
With shocking speed the seven steel creatures darted at him, teeth snipping. He staggered backward with a cry. The blank heads watched him for a moment. Presently, it occurred to they were no longer attacking. He got slowly to his feet. Observing the now-still snakes with some trepidation, he evaluated his choices. He could go back, which would probably be unproductive. He could try to go forward again, and experience a very queer death indeed. Or, he could talk to the mechanical monsters.
"Er, excuse me!" he said in a slightly unsteady voice, "But I'd like to go through that beauteous arch of yours, if yeh don't mind." The snakes simply stared at him, and he felt his heart sink.
Then the snake on the far left opened its mouth. You shall not pass, it said. Somehow, the words were formed through carefully combined scissor snips. Michael almost laughed aloud; the idea was so ridiculous: talking teeth. Or perhaps it wasn't so ludicrous, but he could almost feel his mind cracking from the stress he was under.
Shut up, Gandalf, the snake in the middle snipped in an annoyed tone. Honestly, you're so stupid. Sure we don't mind. It's not even our arch; we're just watching it for His Majesty.
What about the riddles? objected the sixth snake.
Oh, yeah, the riddles... almost forgot... Yeah, sorry 'bout that, you'll have to answer some riddles-
You're going to die! the third snake interrupted with glee.
-Which aren't very hard. You'll do fine. The middle snake finished reassuringly. Michael wasn't sure how he felt about being comforted by a metal snake. In fact, he was a little bemused. But he had caught one thing.
"Riddles?" he asked in confusion.
Yes, very easy ones. People win, all the time.
Yeah, like when? asked the fifth snake sarcastically.
OK, not all the time-
Never. The fifth one interrupted caustically.
-But don't think about that. Relax, you'll be fine.
The sinking feeling had returned. Obviously, the middle snake's ideas about how difficult the riddles were varied quite a bit with the impression the other snakes had. Impossible riddles seemed more than plausible in a place like the Labyrinth.
Your Majesty! The seven mechanical snakes said suddenly. They all bobbed their heads in fervent reverence. With a sick feeling, Fr. Michael turned around. The Goblin King gave him a jaunty little smile. Wickedness glinted in both of his mismatched eyes.
"Yes, you'll be fine. Of course. If you go back to your little town Aboveground, you will. The Labyrinth is not forgiving, Father," he pronounced the honorific mockingly, "Nor is it slow to anger. Continue, and you will find worse than death here." he promised in a soft, fatal voice. He stalked closer, and Michael struggled not to back up.
"Go back to your church, Michael. Say your prayers, and read your Bible. Light a candle for the child's soul, if you feel so obligated. You're wasting your time." The Goblin King drawled softly. Then he stepped back, and held up another of those accursed crystals. Within, perfect and miniscule, was the small Catholic church Michael served at. Next to it was the small, shabby rectory he'd come to think of as home. Longing welled up in Michael, and he was painfully aware of every ache and scratch, as well as his dry throat.
With an effort, he looked away from the heartachingly real image up at the cruel King. Brown eye and blue eye alike were dark with unspoken threats. Michael pushed back the awe he felt of this uncanny entity. "Maybe I am," he said softly, "But I know you're seekin' to waste more." He turned away, back to the seven sentinels. Somehow the blank metal heads managed to look sheepish.
"Yeh said yeh had some riddles to ask me?" Michael prompted. He intentionally ignored the brooding presence at his back. The snakes bobbed and swayed uncertainly. Finally, with an apologetic bob towards its king, the snake who had first spoken answered by asking.
When is it cruel to be kind?It inquired numinously. Michael frowned and tilted his head a bit. It was a habit of his; people sometimes joked that he was hoping the right answer would fall into place. He mouthed the words to himself, frown deepening. Oh, Lord, please help me, he prayed. He began running through his head all the scenarios that might fit the bill.
"When the kindness… is life, and living is cruel." He said finally, haltingly. Painful memories wrenched at his heart.
Correct, the snake conceded snippily. This caused some nervous bobbing among the other snakes. They seemed unnerved by his answering the first riddle correctly. But, surely, someone had gotten at least that first one right before?
Michael turned his head marginally to see the Goblin King's reaction. The strange monarch had vanished. The priest shrugged a little. When is left, right? Asked the next snake along. This one seemed easy to Michael; he remembered his first choice in the twists of the Labyrinth.
"When left is the right direction to go in." He answered. The questioner coiled up sulkily. Apparently, he was right. Surely, there was a trick somewhere to all this. Maybe the next riddle would be harder.
When is time, space?Asked the third snake. Ah, here was the hard one. Michael frowned and rubbed his palm hard against his forehead. He paced, and muttered. The mechanical beasts followed his every motion hungrily. He couldn't waste time. He had nothing to lose, really, so he hazarded a guess.
"When the world stands still?" He said with a slight shake of his head. He had no idea where that notion had come from; and it seemed fairly ridiculous to him. He squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of slicing teeth.
Correct. The third snake said after a stunned silence. Good heavens… it added faintly. It then recoiled in a nervous sort of way. Fr. Michael got the weird notion that it was afraid of him.
My turn! The middle head announced cheerfully. OK, what's either stronger than steel or more fragile than silk, according to whom it is given? Come on, guess! The loquacious piece of machinery bobbed up and down in an excited manner. Michael frowned slightly and bit his lip. It must be something as metaphysical as all the rest, he mused. Giving… Strong or fragile… His mind skipped through all kinds of intangible gifts.
Suddenly he smiled. "Hmm… This is hard… Could it be… Trust?" he asked in a teasingly halting voice. The middle snake writhed happily.
That's right! You're good at this. I told you you'd do well! The encouraging metal creature snipped happily. The head to its left gave an annoyed shrugging motion. The middle head clashed its teeth threateningly at its neighbor. It recoiled, and the middle snake looked about it in an aggressive way. The head on the other side of it snipped its teeth impatiently.
Anyway, it said in a pointed sequence of snips, Now that you're quite finished... Can we move on? Yes? Good. They can be balm, or they can wound. What are they? It inquired in an officious way. Its posture was an S-curve of smugness, staring down its metal snout at him with non-existent eyes. This made the priest feel slightly testy.
"Well, since you're using them yourself," he said in a cross voice, "Yeh should know 'em. Words." His tone was decidedly short. The riddler seemed hurt by his tone. It looped into sad metallic coils. Needn't be rude, it muttered in a pained way. Michael instantly felt a pang of remorse.
"I apologize." He said with sincerity. The snake went straight and quite rigid with surprise. Apology accepted, it said in a shocked way. I- er- was quite rude myself... it trailed off in an embarrassed way. Fr. Michael smiled at it cheerfully. "Quite alright, I wasn't a bit offended." It made shy, loose coils of itself. He looked at the next snake along.
What can bind and hurt you, but also make you free? It blurted without preamble. Fr. Michael couldn't see why it was in such a rush; it wasn't like it had anywhere to go. He was the one in a hurry. This reminded him, with a jolt, of the phantom passage of time. Immediately banishing any indignation he might feel about the abruptness of it, he applied his mind to the riddle asked. Almost at once he ascertained the answer.
"Love." he said simply. Painful memories threatened to capsize the fragile vessel of his emotions, but he held firm against the storm. The hurt raged on, but locked behind a wall. But this barrier was rather like a scab; it was only a temporary solution and could easily be ripped open. Michael therefore sought to keep his thoughts mild. Only dispassionate, diluted reactions allowed.
Right-ho, the final snake said briskly, Last one: Does love lie? All of the senitels directed their heads to "gaze" eyelessly at the suddenly stiff figure of the priest. Fr. Michael felt paralyzed, his numb mind had suddenly stopped working. Two answers, seeming equally plausible, suddenly blazed into life, with any number of memories arrayed behind them like competing hosts. He fell into confusion; he couldn't extract himself from the nostalgic mire enough even to pray for help.
Suddenly, in the midst of the mental drowning, he heard himself speak. "No." he said confidently. Michael heard this, and the storm halted, as if every memory had heard and now stood stock-still in bemusement. Internally, Michael investigated to discover what part of him had spoken.
No? the last head asked ambiguously.
"No." Michael confirmed in a slightly strange voice. It was a tone tainted with curiosity and a sort of longing. He felt, with absolute certainty, that this was right. The snakes stretched as one entity. The archway was clear for Michael. With a weird and lingering wistfulness sighing in his mind, the young priest stepped through.
Hot winds blasted him, and his foot sank into superheated sand.