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chapter twenty-one.
( the battle of labyrinth )
❝ hello darkness, my old friend! ❞

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I don't know what I was expecting. But, we got lost only just after thirty minutes, so ... I blame Percy?

No, obviously not really, but I need something to lighten up the situation, okay? Just seeing the pout on Percy's face when I told him I—jokingly!—blamed him for us getting lost made me feel better. It made me think I was back up in the light of the world and at Camp, just casually having arguments with Percy that never really meant anything. Now, I was stuck underground, on a quest most likely leading to death.

The tunnel looked completely different to the one Percy and I had fallen into before. Now, it was round like a large, old sewer pipe with red brick walls and iron-bared portholes every three metres. I was actually considering we had accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up in an actual old New York sewer, but no, that was just me hoping for too much. Out of curiosity, I shone my torch inside one of the portholes to see whether they led anywhere, but it only just opened up to infinite darkness (if that is even possible?). Cain told me he thought he heard voices on the other side, but I couldn't. I just frowned at him, and he shrugged.

Annabeth was leading us the best she could. I trust her more than anyone else to lead us, but even she was having trouble. I don't blame her. Annabeth doesn't know everything, despite how she constantly feel pressured like she should. I couldn't expect her to know how to navigate us through the Labyrinth, a constant changing maze of death.

She had been quiet for the whole thirty minutes. I couldn't see much further in front of me, but I knew she was brooding; thinking. I wondered whether it was the prophecy that was on her mind. I know a certain prophecy was on my mind.

"Um, Annabeth?" Cain then asked from where he was walking behind her. He really was not liking this—he acted as if Annabeth was going to bite his head off. I mean, she might, it's Annabeth, but Cain doesn't seem to annoy her like he annoys everyone else. It was like she could deal with him not knowing stuff. I could tell Percy was a bit miffed by that. What was the difference when he didn't know things and got eye rolls and when Cain doesn't know things, she just explains? I wonder that too, honestly. "Why are we keeping our hand on the left wall?"

"If we keep one hand on the left wall and follow it," she said, giving him a grey-gaze glance, "we should be able to find our way out again by reversing course."

As if hearing exactly what she said, the maze immediately shifted. The left wall completely disappeared, and we found ourselves in the middle of a circular chamber with eight tunnels leading out, and no idea how we'd got there.

"Sorry?" Cain muttered, immediately blaming himself.

Annabeth held her hand up to him, and he fell silent. She narrowed her eyes at the doors.

"Um, which way did we come in?" Grover asked nervously.

"Just turn around," said Annabeth.

Each of us turned towards a different tunnel. It was kind of stupid, because I don't think any of us really knew which may led back to camp. I mean, I certainly didn't.

"Left walls are mean," Tyson said. "Which way now?"

Cain swept his flashlight beam over the archways. "Um, eenie, meanie, miney mo?"

Annabeth arched a brow at him. He shrunk back. "What? It's a option ... I don't think the maze would think of us doing that..."

"Well, now that you said it, I think it kind of does..." Percy frowned, and Cain went red.

I smacked Percy's arm, and he gave me a what? look as Annabeth thought about what Cain said. She then shone her light on a particular tunnel. "That way," she said.

"How do you know?" asked Percy.

"Deductive reasoning."

"So ... eenie, meanie, miney mo?"

Annabeth rolled her eyes and walked past him, "Just come on."

The tunnel she chose narrowed quickly. The walls turned to grey cement, and the ceiling got so low that soon we were hunching over. Tyson was forced to crawl. I tried to give Percy as much space as possible, hoping that would make him feel better about being in such a small space, but Grover's hyperventilating probably wasn't helping that much.

"I can't stand it any more," he whispered. "Are we there yet?"

"Grover," I said. "We've been down here like five minutes."

"It's been longer than that! And why would Pan be down here? This is the opposite of the wild!"

"Maybe that's the point," Cain muttered, but kept shuffling along.

I was beginning to think we would have to head back and pick another tunnel, for it just seemed to continue to get smaller and smaller, until it opened up into a huge room. Percy shone his light around, "Whoa..."

The whole room was covered floor to ceiling in mosaic tiles. The pictures were old and grimed up with dirt and dust, but I could still make out the colours: red, blue, green and gold. The frieze showed the Olympian gods at a feast: Poseidon, with his trident, held out grapes for Dionysus to turn into wine; Zeus was partying with satyrs; my Dad was dressed very inappropriate (look, I don't wanna talk about it); and Hermes was flying through the air on his winged sandals. The pictures weren't very accurate. My Dad wasn't that buff; he looked way more feminine. It made me realise that this wasn't a Greek interpretation.

"What is this place?" Percy murmured. "It looks—"

"Roman," I crossed my arms. I arched a brow. "I knew my Dad looked too angry."

Annabeth stared at the mosaics in wonder, "These mosaics are about two thousand years old..."

"But how can they be Roman?" Percy then asked. "I'm pretty sure Romans didn't make it this far to Long Island."

"No, they didn't," explained Annabeth with a slight roll of her eyes. "The Labyrinth is patchwork. I told you, it's always expanding, adding pieces. It's the only work of architecture that grows by itself."

"You make it sound like it's alive."

A groaning noise echoed from the tunnel in front of us.

"If this maze is alive," I muttered, "then it's having some serious indigestion."

"Let's not talk about it being alive," Grover whimpered. "Please?"

"All right," Annabeth said. "Forward."

"Down the hall with the bad sounds?" Tyson frowned. Even he looked nervous.

Cain glanced at him. Tyson immediately whimpered. I could tell it affected him, but he wasn't showing. "Daedalus created the maze, right? So like his workshop will be in the oldest part, and the architecture is getting older...?" he glanced at Annabeth for clarification, but she looked rather stunned.

"Thats ... that's right," she said. Cain went red.

There was an awkward silence. I glanced at Percy. What was happening?

Percy cleared his throat. "Okay, well, um—down the hall with the bad sounds?"

Annabeth snapped out of it. "Right! Right! Let's go."

The idea was smart. But mentioning it just ruined it. The maze started to toy with us—we went fifteen metres and the tunnel turned back to cement, with brass pipes running down the sides. The walls were spray-painted with graffiti. A neon tag sign read: MOZ RUZ.

"I'm guessing this is not Roman," Percy gave a glance towards Cain and the boy went a deep red.

"Sorry," he muttered.

I gave Percy another look. I know why he felt like this towards Cain but couldn't he just find a way around it? It wasn't Cain's fault. Cain was a good person. Annabeth didn't give Percy a glance. She took a deep breath, and then forged ahead.

The maze twisted and turned and branched off. The floor beneath us changed from cement to mud to bricks and then back again. There was so sense to any of it. We stumbled into a wine cellar—like we were walking through someone's basement, but I guess we kinda were? I mean, Daedalus did build this place.

Later, the ceiling turned to wooden planks. They were damp, and smelt terrible. I could hear people above us, footsteps, as if we were under a bar. I was looking up, wondering whether there was a way where I could get up there when I slipped on something.

Cain caught me before I could fall. When he did, Percy stepped forward, his fists clenched, as if ready for a fist fight. I frowned at him. He calmed down and stepped back, looking a little ashen. I remembered what he told me. Cain gave him the same energy as Gabe did—playing off his fears and bringing them out before him in the view of Cain. I wondered whether he thought that he'd had to stop him ... I didn't want to think about it; his mother married a really really bad guy.

"That's gross," he instead said, nodding towards what I slipped on.

At my feet, was a skeleton. Grover jumped back, letting out a small satyr-like squeak! But Cain and I didn't move an inch. Seeing something else that was dead gave me a weird sort of familiarity that I didn't like. The skeleton was dressed in white clothes, like a uniform. Beside him, was a crate of old, mouldy milk crates.

"A milkman," I muttered.

"What?" Percy frowned.

"They used to deliver milk—"

"Yeah, I know that, but ... that was when my mom was little, like a million years ago. What's he doing here?"

"Some people wander in my mistake," Annabeth shrugged. "Some come exploring on purpose and never make it back. A long time ago, the Cretans even sent people in here as human sacrifices."

I was about to ask whether I could use Percy as a human sacrifice, but I felt like it wasn't the right time.

Grover gulped. "He's been down here a long time," he pointed to the bottles. The skeleton's fingers were clawing at the brick wall, like he had died trying to get out.

"Only bones," Tyson said "Don't worry, goat boy. The milkman is dead."

"The milkman doesn't bother me," Grover said. "It's the smell. Monsters. Can't you smell it?"

Tyson nodded. "Lots of monsters. But underground smells like that. Monsters and dead milk people."

"Oh, good," Grover whimpered. "I thought maybe I was wrong."

"We have to get deeper into the maze," Annabeth said. "There has to be a way to the centre."

She let us to the right, and then to the left, through a corridor of stainless steel and we arrived back in the Roman tile room with the fountain.

However, we weren't alone this time.

° ° °

Janus is the Roman god of doorways. For some reason, that meant he has to have two faces. (I guess it's because he's also the metaphor for being two-faced. Like, literally). Either way, it was weird to look at. I didn't know what to focus my gaze on. The left face, or the right face. Was I being rude to only look at one? Did I have to stare at the mirror-image sideburns?

Janus dressed like a New York City doorman: a long black overcoat, shiny shoes and a black top hat that managed to stay on his huge double-wide head. But I'm guessing the gods must have special tailors, at least. There's a god of tailors, yeah? There must be, there's a god of everything. There's probably a god of feet.

Imagine being the child of the god of feet—okay, now I'm getting off track—

"Well, Annabeth?" said Janus' left face. "Hurry up!"

"Don't mind him," said the right face. "He's terribly rude. Right this way, miss."

Annabeth's jaw dropped. "Uh ... I don't ..."

Tyson frowned. "That funny man has two faces."

"The funny man has ears, you know!" the left face scolded. "Now, come along, miss."

"No, no," the right face said. "This way, miss. Talk to me, please."

Janus regarded Annabeth as best as he could out of the corner of his eyes. Behind him, were two exits, blocked by wooden doors with huge iron locks. They hadn't been there the first time we went through this room. Behind us, the doorway we had come through had disappeared entirely, and was replaced with more mosaics.

"The exits are closed," Annabeth said.

"Duh!" the left face rolled his eyes.

"Where do they lead?"

"One probably leads the way you wish to go," the right face said encouragingly. "The other leads to certain death."

"That's comforting," muttered Cain.

"I-I know who you are," said Annabeth.

"Oh, you're a smart one!" the left face sneered. "But do you know which way to choose? I don't have all day."

"Why are you trying to confuse me?" Annabeth frowned.

Janus's right face smiled. "You're in charge now, my dear. All the decisions are on your shoulders. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"I—"

"We know you, Annabeth," said the left face. "We know what you wrestle with every day. We know you're indecision. You will have to make your choice sooner or later. And the choice may kill you."

I shared a nervous glance with Percy and Cain. I didn't know what Janus was taking about, but it sounded like it was something way bigger than a choice between two doors. The colour drained out of Annabeth's face. "No ... I don't—"

"Leave her alone," Percy snapped. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm your best friend," said the right face.

"I'm your worst enemy," and the left.

"It's Janus," I explained to Percy. "The Roman god of Doorways, beginnings, endings, choices ... he's literally the embodiment of being two-faced."

"Roman, eh?" Janus's left face smiled crookedly. "I know a Roman. Do you know a Roman?"

His right face snapped at me, "Don't listen to him, Child of Apollo!"

This was confusing. "Uh?"

"Don't worry, Child of Light," the heads spoke in unison, "you're decision will come soon enough."

I frowned, "What decision?"

His right face laughed, "You will find out! But for now it's Annabeth's turn. Such fun!"

"Shut up!" the left face scolded. "This is serious. One bad choice can ruin your whole life. It can kill you and all your friends. But no pressure, Annabeth. Choose!"

"Don't do it," said Percy.

"I'm afraid she has to," the right face said cheerfully.

Annabeth pursed her lips. She gave a nervous glance back at me. "I—uh—I choose—"

Before she could point to a door, light flooded the room. We turned away, and Janus raised his hands on either side of his head to cover his eyes. When the light died, a woman was standing at the fountain.

I recognised Hera easily. She was tall and graceful, with long hair the colour of rich chocolate that was braided in plaits with gold ribbons. She wore a simple white dress, but when she moved, the fabric shimmered with colours like oil on water.

"Janus," she said, and even her voice seemed to run like ichor. "Are we causing trouble again?"

"N-no, milady!" Janus's right face stammered.

"Yes!" cried the left.

"Shut up!"

"Excuse me?!"

"Not you milady! I was talking to myself."

"I see," Hera glared down at the minor god. "You know very well your visit is premature. The girl's time has not yet come. So I give you a choice: leave these heroes to me, or I shall turn you into a door and break you down."

"What kind of door?" asked the left face.

"Shut up!" cried the right in frustration.

"Because French doors are nice," the left face mused. "Lots of natural light."

"Shut up! Not you milady! Of course I'll leave. I was just having a bit of fun. Doing my job. Offering choices."

"Causing indecision," Hera corrected coolly. "Now, begone!"

The left face muttered, "Party pooper," then he raised his silver key, inserted it into the air, turned it before disappearing.

Hera turned to us. I stepped closer to Percy. I never liked Hera—she always scared me. Her eyes shone with dangerous power. She was the Queen of the gods, and out of all of them, she had the most uncontrollable wrath.

She smiled. "You must be hungry," she said. "Sit with me and talk."

She waved her hand and the old Roman fountain began to flow. Jets of clear water sprayed into the air. A marble table appeared, filled with platters of sandwiches and pitchers of lemonade.

"Who are you?" asked Cain.

"I am Hera," she smiled. "Queen of Heaven."

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a/n: cainabeth. cainabeth. caINaBETh. cAINAbETH. CAINABETH.