Chapter 12

Damian

"Emjay's stronger than I am." ~ Damian

Emjay's grip tightens around my hand when we step into the heart of the labyrinth. Her vision scans the desolate scene before us, a far cry from the paradise of my home.

My stomach churns from the sight in front of me. Emjay's silence speaks volumes. Pain and determination are etched into her face.

I squeeze her hand, offering silent support as we move deeper into the labyrinth.

Emjay's hand in mine is the most comfort she's allowed me to give her since the night we met.

The center of any labyrinth should be a paradise, a haven bursting with life, trees, flowers, ponds, and bustling houses. Instead, Emjay leads us into a stark and desolate scene.

The smell of smoke and unwashed bodies fills the air.

The tents, some barely standing, appear patched with whatever scraps of fabric the women could find.

Fire pits outside the tents appear to serve as rudimentary kitchens, with plumes of smoke rising into the air. The women huddle around the crackle of small, weak flames while stirring something in battered pots.

Children with dirt-smudged faces and matted hair play listlessly nearby, their bare feet shuffling in the dust.

In the distance, a heifer carries buckets of water in her hands from a well. Cruelly positioned away from the camp, the well symbolizes their suffering.

Emjay's face twists in anger and sadness as she takes it all in.

A partially constructed barndominium hovers over the poor excuses for shelter.

While I'm relieved to not see an adult male in sight, I am shocked to see boys among the children. All milling about wearing tattered, worn-out clothes. Bare feet move on a ground void of nature's life. Matted and tangled hair adds to the reminder that these women have suffered under harsh living conditions void of proper hygiene.

Did their captors provide nothing for the women forced to serve them in all capacities?

Among the crowd, there is a young woman with a scar running down her chest, holding a baby in her arms. Her stare is wary but curious.

An older woman with gray streaks in her hair tends to a dying, small vegetable garden. Her hands move with practiced efficiency despite the harsh conditions.

Each woman carries a story of survival, etched into their faces and the way they move.

Busy with the bustle of preparing a community meal, they failed to notice our arrival until we were nearly upon them, telling me no one trained them to tune into their senses.

Confused faces look upon our small entourage.

Emjay's gaze roams around as if searching for a familiar face.

The heifer tending the garden who looks to have lived close to fifty years steps forward. "Desdemona?"

Desdemona. Is that the name she left behind?

"Georgia?" Emjay lets go of my hand to cling to the woman who falls into her arms.

As Emjay reunites with Georgia, I see the struggle in her expression. I smell her joy at seeing an old friend, but it's combined with the guilt of leaving her behind.

Georgia's initial warmth quickly turns to anger and confusion and she shoves Emjay away. I can feel Emjay's heart breaking all over again. My own emotions mirror hers—relief that Basil was dead, sorrow for the lives lost, and a burning anger at the injustice these women have endured.

"Why did you come back, Des? You were free?" She looks behind Emjay at the rest of us before taking a step back. She gasps. "And you brought your daughters? Go! Before Basil returns."

"He's dead. We no longer have to fear him."

"The others?"

"All but three, and Helios banished them. They can't ever find this place."

The women move closer because of Emjay's declaration.

A murmur of fear ripples through the crowd, growing louder and more frantic with each passing second. Faces twist in anxiety, eyes dart nervously as whispers of dread spread like wildfire. The group assembled is on the edge of unraveling, a palpable tension gripping everyone present.

"What if the banished ones return?" the woman with the scar on her chest shouts above the noise, clutching her child closer. Her tone brings the others to heel, as they clearly want to hear the answer.

Emjay takes a deep breath, her voice steady. "They won't. Helios himself banished them. But we must be vigilant. We will protect each other. Together, we are stronger than they ever were."

"Is that why we hear ticking?" One of the young women questions.

Georgia turns. "Ticking. Who hears ticking?"

Every adult heifer raises her hand, except Georgia.

"Why didn't any of you tell me?"

"We didn't tell anyone. I thought I was crazy. What is that sound? Why am I desperate to run out of here since I started hearing it?" one asks.

Heads nod, reiterating the female's response. Eager faces gape at Georgia and Emjay.

Georgia turns to Emjay with shock in her words. "The mating call is real?"

"What's a matting call?" a very pregnant female inquires.

"We have much to discuss. Is everyone here?" Emjay asks.

Georgia glances around before nodding.

"I don't recognize anyone. Are you really the only one left?" Emjay grills Georgia.

"It's just me," she responds with sadness.

I imagine Emjay will have more questions for her friend later. Her scent tells me she shares the same biological father as Priscilla and Shay.

"Sisters, this is Desdemona. She belonged to Basil when I was a child. She escaped and has returned to us. Please, let's hear what she has to say," Georgia insists.

"Thank you. I changed my name to Emjay." I can't wait to hear the story behind the name she speaks with pride.

"It's true. The men who've hurt you and kept you prisoners all your lives are either dead or banished by our creator, Helios.

"You don't need to know my history, other than that I was born here too. I escaped when I was pregnant with my girls. I'd been assigned to feed the witch imprisoned in the cave. She helped me."

My mate continues the story with all eyes glued to her. Including the children old enough to understand.

She tells them about our Minotaur history and the gifts Helios and the Fates ordained. Including the ceremony, long abandoned until we invited their men to take part.

As the women listen to Emjay's story, their fear slowly turns to desires kept buried.

The children, sensing the change, smile and play more freely.

Emjay's transformation from a scared girl who escaped to a leader determined to save her people is evident in every word she speaks.

I watch in awe, my heart swelling with pride and love for this woman. Yes, I already love her more than I ever loved the others.

With each time she tells the story, both of her daughters' faces soften as if understanding and compassion for their mitéra grows in their hearts.

She finishes with informing the women of the mates outside, anxious to come inside with their permission. Many faces turn from fear to relief when Emjay assures them that the men cannot enter unless their mate grants them access.

Three of the women grab their children, and without looking back, run for the entrance, including the pregnant one who'd asked about the mating call.

I expected all of them to shy away from a man claiming them. Relief washes over me. There's hope for the men outside and these ladies. The fates wouldn't have ordained it any other way.

If I'm right, the number of men waiting outside equals the women in here. Minus Georgia.