The Great Founding Labyrinth within the Tower of London

“Tomorrow morning,” said Jane to Weyland that evening as they sat at supper, “Noah and I must leave you for the day. It is time she began her training.”

His gaze was hooded and watchful. “Very well. That was part of the bargain I made with Noah. If she lay by my side at night,” those eyes slid Noah’s way for a brief moment, “then she and you had your freedom to do what you needed. Tell me, where do you go?”

“You do not need to know,” Jane said. “It is a matter which concerns only Noah and myself.”

Weyland looked intently at Jane for a moment, but eventually he nodded. “I am pleased you do this, Jane.”

“Are you not in the smallest bit concerned at what I might teach Noah?”

Weyland laughed. “You forget I know you, Jane. I know every piece of you, every thought you’ve ever entertained, every ounce of power you think to wield. I know what you are capable of, and what you are not. So, no, I am not in the least concerned. You can do no harm.”

An hour later, he took Noah by the hand and led her upstairs to his Idyll. Jane looked carefully at Noah the next morning, but saw nothing in her face save some excitement intermixed with apprehension. Having breakfasted—Noah eating very little—they departed, walking down Idol Lane to Thames Street and then turning left towards the Tower.

“Where will we meet Ariadne?” said Noah as they approached the Tower. The vaguely square-shaped complex loomed before them, the original Norman keep, now known as the White Tower, rising in the centre from amid a motley collection of roofs. Ill-repaired walls, sprouting shrubs here and there throughout their height and punctuated at intervals by gloomy bastions, surrounded the complex. A stinking, stagnant moat lay beyond the walls.

“She said she would wait for us by the Lion Gate,” Jane said, referring to the medieval gate and towers that guarded the bridge over the moat, which gave access to the Tower.

As she spoke they turned the final corner, walked up the incline leading to Tower Hill, and saw the Lion Gate directly.

A woman and a man stood there, arm in arm, the woman of a dark exotic beauty and clothed in red silk (the gown of contemporary English design rather than ancient Minoan), the man dressed in the uniform of an Officer of the Tower.

Ariadne, and her lover, the Gentleman of the Ordnance.

“What’s he doing here?” Noah said as they approached.

“Presumably she needs him to get us inside,” said Jane.

“But why—” Noah said, and then could say no more, for they stood before the Lion Gate, and Ariadne and her gentleman advanced towards them.

“My friends!” Ariadne said, and taking first Noah’s, then Jane’s, face between her hands kissed them soundly on both cheeks. “I am so glad you could come!” Then, almost without drawing breath, she said to Jane. “Thank you for bringing Noah, Jane. You may return towards dusk to collect her again.”

Almost panicked, Noah said, “You cannot go home, Jane! Weyland thinks that you—” she stopped, looking at Ariadne’s lover, who was regarding the women before him with amused blue eyes.

“I am not that silly,” Jane said. “I shall spend my day about Tower Fields, gathering flowers.” And with that she was off, striding briskly along the western perimeter of the Tower complex towards Tower Fields.

Ariadne put her arm through Noah’s, and turned her towards the waiting man. “Noah, may I introduce my protector, Frederick Warneke, who is the Gentleman Officer of the Ordnance.”

Noah dipped her head slightly at the man. “Gentleman Officer, I am most pleased to meet you. An unusual name, and most certainly not English.” She raised an eyebrow.

“My father was a German merchant,” Warneke said. “He settled here many years ago.”

“Ah,” said Noah. “Did he prefer London to his home, then?”

“Very much so,” said Warneke. “He liked to say it was his spiritual birthplace.”

Noah laughed, liking the man. He was plain of aspect, with thinning fair hair and a luxuriant ginger moustache, but with such lively, humorous blue eyes that they lifted his presence from the ordinary to the attractive.

Warneke led Ariadne and Noah through the Lion Gate and then across the bridge towards Bell Tower and into the Inner Ward. The Tower complex was filled with many buildings: the ancient Norman keep, the White Tower, which dominated the entire site; medieval halls and residences; more recent armouries and storehouses; barracks for troops; galleries and chapels; and a few large open spaces consisting of stretches of green and squares of gravel. Warneke nodded at a long building to their left. “My quarters,” he said, “where you may refresh yourself if desired.”

Noah hesitated, looking to Ariadne for guidance.

“Noah and I have much to talk about,” she said. “We shall walk a while in the grounds, and once we feel the pangs of hunger and thirst we shall sup with you.”

Warneke gave a small bow. “Then I shall return to my duties,” he said, and without further ado walked briskly across the Inner Ward towards a long line of armoury buildings set against the northern wall of the Tower.

“For all the gods’ sakes,” said Noah once Warneke was out of hearing range. “What—”

“He thinks only that you are my kinswoman who has a great curiosity about the Tower. Generously, for he is a generous man, Frederick has agreed that I may show you about the complex from time to time, so long as we stay away from the supply and ordnance stores.”

“And what does he think that you are?”

Ariadne smirked. “A fine woman, who contributes more to his life than ever he thought possible.”

Her arm tightened about Noah’s. “Now, come with me, and walk the pathways towards the Great Founding Labyrinth. As you take your first step, accept that you will never, never be able to go back. You will either succeed on this quest, Noah, or you will die.”

Jane walked across Tower Fields until she came to the scaffold. She paused by the rotten posts, resting her hand on one of them, looking about.

Would the Lord of the Faerie remember?

“Of course, Jane. I have been waiting for this day.”

Jane spun about, and saw the Lord of the Faerie emerge from the other side of the scaffold, a small smile on his face.

“Noah has gone to Ariadne?” the Lord of the Faerie asked.

“Yes. Why did you want me here?” Jane was not particularly surprised to discover he knew about Ariadne.

“Because you need to decide where you will go, Jane.”

You need to decide where you will go. Jane decided she had never heard a more weighty, doomladen statement.

“What are my choices?” she asked.

“Come with me,” the Lord of the Faerie said, extending his hand to her, “and walk a while.”

Jane reluctantly slid her hand within his.

His fingers entwined with hers. They were surprisingly warm and soft. Jane had been expecting something else. Something hard, perhaps.

She sighed, and allowed the Lord of the Faerie to lead her forwards.

Within a moment she gasped, for Tower Fields abruptly vanished, and she found herself walking among the wild, ancient forests of Llangarlia. The Lord of the Faerie’s hand tightened about hers, but he said nothing, merely leading her further along the forest path.

They walked for some time before Jane became aware that there were creatures darting between the trees, whispering, always keeping themselves just out of sight.

She tensed, and came to an abrupt halt, pulling her hand from that of the Lord of the Faerie. “There is something else in the forest,” she said.

“Aye,” said the Lord of the Faerie, “there are other things in the forest.”

“What are they?” Jane said, looking about her.

“Your choices,” said the Lord of the Faerie quietly.

Jane went still, hardly able to breathe. Suddenly she felt very, very afraid. “What do you mean? What choices?”

“Jane, do you want to live, or do you want to die?”

Jane opened her mouth, then closed it slowly, staring at the Lord of the Faerie. “I want to live,” she said, her voice low.

“Do you want to live free of your past, Jane?”

“I cannot,” she said. “I am trapped, as are we all.”

The Lord of the Faerie shook his head slowly, smiling. “No. It is your choice. Do you want to live, free of your past, and free of all the ambitions that have trapped you?”

Yes! Jane wanted to scream at him, frightened by the terrible intensity of her emotions.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“There is a price.”

Jane felt her old familiar rage rise within her.

And then, suddenly, strangely, the rage died, leaving her feeling empty and ill. “I have always known there would be a price,” she said.

Again the Lord of the Faerie gave a gentle smile. Once more he took her hand.

“Are you willing to pay the price?” he said.

Jane did not speak for a long time. She was not hesitating as such, merely absorbing all the implications of the conversation, and thinking that not so very far away Noah was engaged in her own transformation, and Jane did not envy her one whit. She realised that this moment was a gift; one she thought she’d never receive.

“I am willing,” she said.

Somewhere, deep within the forest, something terrible screamed.

“The Great Founding Labyrinth?” Noah said. “But that was on Knossos, and was destroyed when—” She stopped suddenly.

“Really?” said Ariadne softly, and looked very deliberately at the White Tower which rose a little distance away.

Noah gasped in shock. As she had looked, so the White Tower had vanished, replaced by something dark and winding, and so monstrous, so frightening, that she had to look away again immediately.

“The Great Founding Labyrinth can be recreated anywhere, at any time, in any convenient structure,” said Ariadne. “All trained Mistresses of the Labyrinth can do it. It is how the arts of the labyrinth spread so far about the ancient world, for not all Mistresses could be trained on Knossos. When it came time to teach my daughter-heir, my second daughter, in Llangarlia, then I used the Meeting Hall on Thorney Island to recreate the Great Founding Labyrinth. Genvissa was taught by her mother in the same manner. Now, the White Tower, which sits directly atop the ancient God Well, serves my purpose better.”

“I cannot look at it,” Noah said softly.

“Not yet, no,” said Ariadne, “for to gaze upon it for any length of time will kill you. But rest easy, Noah, for I shall not call it back until much deeper into your training. Eventually, of course, we shall enter it, and it shall be the site of your Great Ordeal.”

“Great Ordeal?”

“Your final test, my dear, to determine whether or not you have the strength and the courage to become a Mistress.”

Noah dared glance towards the White Tower again, visibly relaxing when she saw that it had resumed its normal aspect. “Others cannot see what you just did?” she said.

Ariadne shook her head. “What you and I do within the Tower complex shall be for our eyes only.” They were walking about the green grassed area to the west of the White Tower, moving towards the chapel. “Now, we can waste no more time, for there is much to be accomplished today. Tell me, if you dare, what you know of the labyrinth.”

“It is a protective enchantment,” Noah said after a moment’s thought. “A magical form which traps evil at its heart, thereby lending protection to the city it is created to safeguard.” She glanced once more to the White Tower.

Ariadne raised her eyebrows. “A perfect textbook explanation,” she said, “if bland and lustreless. Noah, you were literally bred within the labyrinth—at least, your ancient foremother was and you carry her blood in full measure—so now tell me what your heart, your bowels, your soul, tell you about the labyrinth.”

She stopped, pulling Noah to a halt, and rested one of her hands flat against Noah’s chest, the touch of her long elegant fingers burning down through the material of Noah’s bodice to her skin.

Noah flinched, but the touch freed something within her. “The labyrinth is powerful and alive and it throbs,” she said. “It…it is my body!”

Her eyes widened as she said this, and Ariadne laughed, less in amusement than in genuine respect and some measure of relief. Yes, she had it within her. A potential so vast that Noah would eventually—not even in some distant future, but soon—wield so much power that…well, that the earth would stop its spinning if she so chose to command it.

Jane felt more than heard it. Thousands of creatures, converging towards her.

The shrubs beneath the trees quivered, then whipped from side to side, and before Jane could draw a single, shocked breath, she found herself surrounded by tens of thousands of creatures.

Faerie folk, all gazing at her with flat hatred.

“Their recompense is your price, Jane,” said the Lord of the Faerie. “For two lives you have conspired against them, against the land, against the goddess of the waters, and planned and all but executed Og’s murder. You have caused Eaving countless miseries through two lives. You have been a dark, malignant presence in this land, Genvissa-Swanne-Jane, and for this you must pay recompense.”

Suddenly his hand tightened about Jane’s. “Are you still willing to pay the price?” he asked.

No! she wanted to scream.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

His hand loosened. “I had not thought you would agree,” the Lord of the Faerie said, and Jane looked at him, moved by the tone of wonder in his voice.

“I am sick of myself,” Jane said.

“That is a terrible thing,” said the Lord of the Faerie. Then he looked up, looked about at all the faerie folk there gathered, and said, “Shall we convene?”

The forest vanished about them.

“Tell me,” said Ariadne as they stood in the centre of Tower Green, just to the west of the White Tower. “Where do you think the labyrinth lives when it does not loom dark and malevolent before us?”

Noah frowned. She looked away, as if staring at the distant chapel, but Ariadne knew she did not see stone and mortar, but the spaces deep within her own psyche.

“It lives all around us,” Noah eventually said.

“How do you know that?” Come on, girl. Tell me the ultimate secret!

“The labyrinth is life,” Noah said. “The labyrinth is creation.”

Ariadne’s eyes filled with tears. It had taken her weeks to fathom that secret, weeks of training and meditation and damned, terrifying ordeals.

And here Noah had won it from the thin air, without even stepping inside the Great Founding Labyrinth.

She had been born to this.

Ariadne again hooked her arm through Noah’s, turning her to walk once more across the green towards the chapel.

“The labyrinth is creation, yes,” she said. The women’s hips rubbed now and again as they walked, and Ariadne revelled in it, the touching and the closeness. Oh, to have bred such a daughter-heir! “The labyrinth is the result of the marriage of the stars and the globe, this earth, and of life itself. The labyrinth is reflected in the twistings of our brains and bowels, in the secret passages of our veins, the flow of our blood through our bodies. It mirrors the dance of the stars through the heavens, and the twistings of our own earth through the strange night skies.”

“And the Mistress of the Labyrinth?” Noah said. “How does she manipulate this? How does she gain ascendency over this power? How does she use it?”

“Dancing the labyrinth recreates the harmonies of life, Noah. The harmonies of the movement of the stars, the earth on which we live, the recurring patterns of the seasons and the tides, the twistings of rivers and streams and of the breath through all living things—all of these harmonies thrum through every living being. The ultimate Mistress of the Labyrinth dances the labyrinth, and in so doing, controls all these separate yet entwined harmonies. In controlling them, she manipulates them.”

Ariadne stopped in the shadow of the chapel and eyed Noah carefully. “The greatest Mistress of all, my dear, controls the power of the earth and the stars, of the sun and the moon, of the seasons and tides and the breath and purpose of every living thing. Do you think yourself capable of that?”

Noah responded with her own question. “And you, Ariadne? How much of this did you control?”

“A fraction, Noah, but enough to effect the Catastrophe.”

“And Genvissa?”

“A fraction of what I managed.”

Noah took a deep breath, and Ariadne knew that she was thinking through the possibilities…and the responsibilities.

“Am I capable, Ariadne?” she said.

“You are born of both myself, the greatest Mistress of the Labyrinth hitherto, and of the creature who lived at the dark heart of the labyrinth. You are, separately, also the goddess of the waters whose very beating heart dictates the cycles of the seasons. I do not think that coincidence. Of all women who have aspired to be the highest among the Mistresses of the Labyrinth, you have the greatest potential. Whether or not you attain that potential is up to your own courage and determination.”

“What does my training consist of, Ariadne?”

“Of learning the dance. Of learning to manipulate the power of the labyrinth, of creation, without allowing it to rope out of control, or to manipulate or control you.”

“And the Game? What part does this play in the power of the labyrinth?”

“The Game is the single way the ancients found to use the power. The original Mistresses and Kingmen learned to use the power of the labyrinth to create the protective enchantment you know as the Game. In your case, the Troy Game.”

“Is the Game only capable of protection and safeguarding?” Noah said.

“No. The Game is as capable of great evil as it is of great good. The Troy Game, which Genvissa and Brutus left unfinished, has roped out of control. It is all of that power I have spoken of, and it is out of control.”

“Gods,” Noah whispered.

“Yes,” Ariadne said, “gods, indeed. There is very little else now that can stop it.”

“We’re back at The Naked!” Jane said.

Indeed they were. Jane looked about as she stood at the Lord of the Faerie’s side, astounded at the stunning view of rolling, wooded hills. When she’d been here previously, when Louis had been told of his destiny, she’d not thought to look about at the landscape.

A movement caught her eye, and she looked down.

All the creatures which had surrounded her within the forest were walking slowly up the sides of the hill. A host of faerie creatures that Jane had only ever glimpsed as Genvissa, and then only at the height of some of the most powerful rites that she and Gormagog had conducted.

This was stunning—and terrifying—for every one of the faerie creatures had flat, hateful eyes, and every one of them was trained on Jane.

She took an automatic step backwards.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” the Lord of the Faerie said, his hands catching at her shoulders and holding her still. “Are you so very, very sure that you want to face their judgement in return for your freedom?”

Jane was not sure at all, but she couldn’t back down now. Not in front of Coel and what he had become.

“I am sure,” she said, sure only that her “freedom” actually meant “death”.

“Then stand on your own,” he snapped, letting go her shoulders, and taking a step back from her.

Summoning all of her courage, Jane stood as upright as she could, straightening her back and shoulders in a flash of her old arrogance.

The next ten minutes, as the bleak-eyed creatures slowly ascended the hill, were the slowest in her life. The faerie folk drew close, their first rank standing only two paces away from Jane, almost completely encircling her save for a passage they left clear through to where the Lord of the Faerie had sat on his throne on the eastern edge of the summit.

“My faerie folk,” the Lord of the Faerie said once they had all come to a halt, “here stands before you a woman you know well. She has been a MagaLlan, a Darkwitch, a wife, a whore, and through all her lives she has sought to do the Faerie as much damage and death as possible. Yet here she stands, willing to pay recompense to you so that she might live in freedom. What say you? Will you accept her recompense?”

“Aye!” shouted the great throng, and Jane winced, not so much at the sound, but at the hatred she felt washing over her. Gods, why had she agreed to this?

“And your price?” said the Lord of the Faerie, his low voice carrying clearly across the entire summit. “The price you demand of this Darkwitch whore?”

A water sprite stepped forth. “I speak for all,” he said, staring at Jane.

“Yes?” said the Lord of the Faerie. “Name the price.”

The water sprite held his flat, hateful stare at Jane for a long moment, then suddenly, he grinned, and held out one of his spindly arms.

A magpie fluttered down from the sky, coming to roost on the water sprite’s arm.

“We want you to learn to carol,” the magpie said. “We yearn to hear once more the Ancient Carol of the dawn and the dusk.”

“That shall be enough for the day,” said Ariadne. “You have done far better than I’d dreamed.”

Noah blinked, looking about. Somehow most of the day had passed, and now late afternoon shadows stretched across Tower Green.

“You need to go back to your house in Idol Lane,” said Ariadne, “and think about what you’re doing.”

“What do you mean, ‘What I am doing’?”

Ariadne lifted her hand once more to Noah’s chest. “I can feel it within you,” she said, her voice soft, her eyes hard. “Asterion’s seed. You lay with him, Noah. Why did you do that?”

“The same reason you did,” Noah replied, flatly enough that Ariadne knew she was lying. “Because he felt good to me.”

“He is a good lover, is he not?”

“Aye, he is a good lover.”

“He was desperate when first I had him,” said Ariadne. “I was his first. I imagine, however, that he’s gained some experience since then.”

“In coupling, yes,” said Noah, “but not in love. Of that he has never had experience.”

Ariadne hissed. “Be wary where you tread, girl! Couple with him if you must, for whatever reason you wish. But, gods, girl, do not speak of love in connection with the Minotaur!”

Noah remained silent.

Ariadne drew in a deep breath. “There are few people who would accept this with the same equanimity that I have, Noah. It is dangerous.”

“Really? But am I not a product of such ‘danger’?”

Ariadne laughed. “Oh, yes, you are a product of my own lustful cuddlings with the Minotaur. Aye. I can see what a daughter of mine you truly are.” She sobered. “Be careful. Use him, do not allow him to use you. And think also, do you not have this Stag God lover awaiting you? Your Kingman? Why jeopardise that with an affair with Asterion?”

“I do not have to justify this to you, Ariadne.”

Ariadne’s eyes narrowed, and she nodded to herself very slightly. Oh, gods…

Jane gaped, unable to believe what she had heard. Behind her the Lord of the Faerie laughed merrily. All about her the faerie folk were laughing, and she thought that perhaps this was a great jest on their part. That at any moment their laughter would reveal it for what it truly was—malicious retribution.

“We want you to carol,” said the Lord of the Faerie, and Jane jumped, for suddenly he was standing at her side. “We want you to carol in the dawn and the dusk, and lighten all our hearts. You shall spend an eternity paying your recompense, Jane, but I think you will do very well at it.”

Jane stared at him. Her eyes had filled with tears, and the Lord of the Faerie had become nothing but a misty blur, and the great crowd of faerie folk were little more than an undulating ocean surrounding her.

“I can’t sing very well,” she finally whispered.

The Lord of the Faerie bent his head down, and kissed her, and it was for Jane the greatest kiss she could ever have imagined for it was full of nothing but laughter and mercy.

“Then we shall teach you,” he said, lifting his mouth away from hers.

Noah and Ariadne drank an ale with Warneke in his chambers before he escorted them back to the Lion Gate. Jane waited for the two women there, standing patiently a few paces away in the shadow of the wall.

“Have you been bored, sweeting?” Ariadne said. She did not move from beneath the Lion Gate.

“Deeply,” Jane said, walking over and looking at Noah. “You’re still alive, then?”

“Deeply,” said Noah, and Jane’s mouth twitched, and then smiled.

Charles sat in the most inner and private of his chambers in Whitehall, Eaving’s Sisters gathered about him.

“Well?” asked Marguerite.

Charles smiled, soft and warm. “She is learning the ways of the labyrinth,” he said.

“And Jane teaches her?” said Catharine, her tone incredulous.

Charles looked at her, then raised a hand and twisted a finger about one of her dark curls which had escaped a pin. “Of course,” he said. “Who else?”

At the window, unbeknown to any in the room, the little girl smiled, and then stepped back from the window and faded away.