Chapter 11

  Ben had managed to make it several miles away before he spotted a cloud of dust kicking up ahead. Being seen was the last thing he needed, so he dove into the rows of grain, careful not to damage too much of the crop.

  He lay on the ground, his body flattened as much as possible. The soil beneath him was still cold. The grain rustled in the breeze, pollen drifted through the air, and the sharp scent of rye and wheat filled his nose. His heart beat loud in his chest. Salt from his dried tears matted the fur along his muzzle.

  ‘Have I done the right thing?’

  Now that he had stopped, with his head cleared, the nightmare’s lingering grip no longer clouded his judgment.

  But then the image of Fuku returned—those small, wise eyes staring at him. He remembered fear there, or at least… thought he did. His thrashing had hurled the Tanuki aside. Fuku could have been injured, thrown into the fire, or over the cliff. Then what would he do?

  His decision had made so much sense—had felt so painfully clear. Fuku was in danger just by being near him. The nightmares, the rage, the loss of control… it was too much to risk. He had to stay away.

  Away from Fuku.

  Away from everyone.

  He couldn’t be part of this world—his purpose was to bring death, to suffer alone.

  “I can’t allow myself to be human. I am no longer human. I am a beast. A monster. A killer—nothing more,” he whispered to the soil, a spasm twisting his chest as he fought against the sobs pressing to break free.

  He lay still, listening as a wagon rumbled down the dirt path he had ended up following. He didn’t know where it led. He had grown up on this island, lived his life here—yet the changes were so profound he no longer recognized the land.

  ‘Shall I simply return to the Labyrinth? Take up my duties there?’ he pondered as the wagon wheels shook against the packed earth. The driver was humming a cheerful tune, one that spoke of warm days and lazy nights. Ben had never heard the song before, but it was strangely catchy.

  His ears flicked—partly at a fly intent on exploring them, partly at the sound of the driver adding words to his ditty.

  A farmer once built him a rig,

  Four wheels and a boiler so big.

  It plowed up the grain,

  Through sunshine and rain,

  But he slept every night with his pig.

  ‘Cause he polished those cogs day and night,

  ‘Til his missus gave up on the sight.

  She packed up her bag,

  Left a note on a rag—

  Now the pig is his only delight.

  The song carried on, but Ben’s attention was pulled elsewhere. A sensation. A tug. As if a cord had cinched around his waist and was now dragging him sideways through the grain.

  “No…” he whispered, hooves digging in.

  The pull grew stronger, insistent, clawing at his very core, compelling him to move.

  “I’ll be seen,” he hissed, hands sinking into the soil as he fought to stay down.

  He strained against it, heart pounding, terrified of what would happen if he let the force drag him into the open. If he was exposed, then he would have to—

  Kill this man.

  The thought cut through him like steel. A cold shiver ran up his spine.

  He knew… he knew what was doing this: the Keiyaku. The word echoed in his mind. The pact, the oath he’d spoken—he was bound by it.

  He had forgotten. When he ran, he hadn’t thought about the bond at all—his only thought had been the desperate need to escape, to keep Fuku safe. But now… now he saw the flaw in his plan.

  He couldn’t leave. Not if Fuku pulled him back. Not if Fuku refused to see the monster for what it truly was.

  He was trapped. Forced to confront his own rage, and somehow make his friend understand what he really was.

  But all that was secondary to the danger here and now. The force yanked harder, sliding him farther through the grain.

  “Whoa… is someone there?” the driver called, wagon slowing.

  ‘No! You need to flee, not stop!’ Ben’s mind screamed. He dug deeper, gouging trenches in the soil with his hooves and fingers as his midsection lifted against his will.

  He could feel the old, familiar rage rising within him. It was surprising, in a way—being so far from the Labyrinth, yet still feeling it claw at his mind, pushing his consciousness aside. Like a cramp that threatens to return… and then finally strikes.

  He hadn’t felt it since leaving the Labyrinth. Even when sneaking past the guards at the city gates, it had lain dormant.

  But now it squirmed at the back of his mind—the same sense of impending ejection that always came when the walls began to shift… when he knew another victim was near.

  The animal pulling the cart snorted, possibly catching Ben’s scent. Like the farmer’s dog earlier, if it saw him, he’d end up killing it too.

  ‘What can I do? I can’t let him see me. If that happens, I’ll…’ He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to. Even if this farmer were the most honest man alive, swearing never to tell a soul he’d seen the Minotaur—it wouldn’t matter. The rage would take over, wrench him out of himself, and he would kill—it was inevitable.

  This clueless man—farmer, merchant, whoever—would die.

  And all because Ben had impulsively run. He’d left behind the one being who he could trust, who was looking out for him—who could help him, and protect him, even when the protection he needed most… was from himself.

  Something shifted within his mind. The darkness he’d been mired in split. The gears and chaos grinding in his mind broke free, shattering everything he’d been contemplating, and for the first time in as long as he could remember… he could see clearly.

  Because now he understood. He’d missed it before—too much had happened too quickly for him to pay attention—but now… the bond he and Fuku shared, the Keiyaku… it wasn’t simply a vow or a power source, nor was it merely a tether.

  When Fuku was close, it subdued the flames, caged the fury. Its energy kept the curse at bay. It was an anchor.

  But without him near… the calming effect vanished.

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  And now, even as the pact was trying to drag him back to where its influence could keep him steady, it was also unknowingly pulling him into a situation where the curse would take over.

  A dark thought entered his mind as he rearranged his point of view. The two compulsions warring inside him—the pit’s demand to drag his victims into its depths, and the pact’s pull to return to Fuku. Which would be stronger? A slow, mirthless chuckle echoed through his mind. ‘Would they rip me apart?’

  For a moment he wanted to surrender. To give in. What was one more body? Why not just get it over with and learn the results?

  But then—there was Fuku. His cocky smile echoed in his memory, softening the edges of the storm. And he remembered his companion’s eyes from earlier. He had seen fear in them, but there had been more. There had been genuine concern. Concern for him.

  Though even with his new clarity, crimson still clouded the edges of his vision as the Labyrinth’s curse clawed at him—urging him to kill, to drag the corpse back to that wretched place, to feed the vine.

  “RUN!”

  He roared, the scream ripping from his throat. His thunderous, ragged voice echoed over the fields—so loud and fierce the grain rippled around him.

  “By the gods!” the driver shrieked, followed by the sharp crack of reins on the wagon’s beast.

  Ben’s roar was a primal scream—born of frustration, of fear, of defiance against always being pulled one way or another. It was heartfelt: concern for the passerby’s life, yes, but also his own desperate need to choose.

  A life of familiarity—endless death, endless loneliness… or a strange, quirky, caring, fluffy companion who had openly admitted he hoped the two of them could be more than just friends.

  So he chose.

  It wasn’t difficult.

  In fact, there was only one real choice… and it was Fuku.

  He knew now that he would never be free of the Tanuki—but honestly, he didn’t mind. Between Fuku and the Labyrinth, Fuku would win every time.

  Because he was no longer the human Benakrios. He’d died the day he’d met the Minotaur—he and his brothers both. Yet he refused to be the monster the Minotaur represented. The curse could control his body, but it could not claim his spirit.

  He was free—ish. Tethered, yes, but no longer trapped by the Labyrinth’s rules. This was his chance to find out who he really was—again.

  And he would be him.

  Just—Ben.

  He wasn’t sure who “Ben” was yet. He’d spent seven hundred years without the chance to find himself, so now… he looked forward to being able to.

  And maybe—just maybe—finding himself would be easier with someone who cared enough to drag him back when he tried to run.

  Besides… he had already promised Fuku he’d stay at his side.

  He had been a fool to let fear blind him to what was right in front of him.

  He had an actual friend. A shared purpose. Someone to care for… and most importantly—someone who cared for him.

  What more could he possibly want?

  For centuries he’d been a slave—alone, trapped, and slowly going mad from the silence. Fuku had freed him, not just from the dome of the Labyrinth, but from that endless isolation.

  Ben had finally gained what he’d longed for… and he’d almost thrown it away.

  The wagon clattered frantically down the dirt road.

  Ben dug in, still fighting against the pull toward Fuku. He would not move until the wagon was out of danger. His legs sank past his ankles, fingers clawing the soil as he resisted the rage screaming for him to leap forward and slaughter—as well as the cord of freezing energy pulling at him from his core.

  It took everything he had. But at last the sound faded—he knew the wagon was gone—and the monster inside him subsided.

  And Ben let go.

  The Keiyaku seized him instantly. It ripped him free, flung him backward, and dragged him across the farmlands.

  Ben exhaled in a rush, realizing he had been holding his breath. Air tore from his lungs, then he drew in the first true breath he’d taken in minutes. He felt dizzy and weak… but relieved.

  The struggle was over. There was only one compulsion now. He was free—at least as long as Fuku would accept him. He knew he’d have some serious apologizing to do once they reunited, but he found himself looking forward to seeing his fuzzy companion again.

  With an exasperated sigh, “I can walk,” he muttered once his breathing steadied. He didn’t know if the pact—or Fuku—could hear him, but it was worth a try.

  His momentum did not slow.

  He slid on his back, tearing through the crops he’d tried so hard not to damage, his hide plastered with stems and leaves.

  “What a fool I was,” he growled after several moments, his backside burning with friction. His hide was tough, but not enough to endure miles of this.

  He twisted, tail bracing, trying to get his hooves beneath him. His path carried him straight through an anthill, bursting it apart against his crotch. The sting made him grunt through his teeth.

  “Zeus’s beard, that hurt!” he cursed, but finally found his footing and broke into a jog, letting the pull of the Keiyaku guide him.

  ***

  Fuku sat at the top of a hill, staring out across the rolling valley below: tall tan grass waving like a field of whiskers, with little green dots where trees poked through the sea of brown, and thin silver-blue threads winding quietly through it all.

  He wasn’t really paying attention to any of it.

  He was scouting—eyes wandering over the horizon for a large, brown, grumpy-looking figure trudging his way. Every so often he turned to glance behind him, but he was pretty sure he knew which direction Ben would come from. Somehow he must have flown right over him earlier without noticing. So most of his focus stayed on that angle.

  This place… it was nothing like home. Sure, there were some open fields on his island, but not like this—nothing this endless and flat. He missed the forests of the east, the tiered paddies and their steps, the northern mountains, the massive volcano in the south, and of course the coast.

  He hadn’t seen the island’s shore in over a century.

  He plucked a tall dandelion, puffed out his cheeks, and blew the seeds into the wind.

  Over a hundred years of wandering, studying—playing—pestering humans, helping the Beast-kin, and even talking to the occasional god. All chasing his one goal, his one quest: finding a way back home. Learning how to reopen the pathways to the Yōkai realm that used to open so easily.

  And he was close. He could feel it.

  It wasn’t about brute force. Even the new gods didn’t understand—much less have the power to shift—what was now aligned. That was why he believed the key lay in the odd things. The pieces that didn’t fit.

  He tugged the carrion vine from his tail and twirled it in his paw, feeling the strange, stubborn magic inside it. This thing was a perfect example. The Minotaur was supposed to be the end boss of the Labyrinth. So why have a magical vine there? It didn’t belong. None of the stories ever mentioned it.

  Therefore: it was an oddity.

  And if he gathered enough oddities—enough scraps of the old, chaotic magic from Before—he believed he might be able to fracture the aligned ley lines trapping him here… and keeping the rest of the Yōkai from freely traveling between worlds.

  He shivered at the thought of the different Yōkai species being bored for two centuries—and what kind of trouble they must’ve gotten into by now.

  No one he’d told this theory to had ever understood, but to Fuku, it made perfect sense. The myths and stories were powered by the gods; those were the main events. But the weird things left on the periphery held their own magic, and not just any magic—wild magic. The new magic that flooded the world from the aligned ley lines was different, more pure. The magic from back then was broken, chaotic, and unpredictable.

  And what better way to break something than with something already broken?

  He spun the vine again, ears twitching for sounds as he stared out across the fields.

  The shopkeeper in Phylios had mentioned an old dungeon near Riverforge—supposedly once belonging to ancient gods who liked to make monster babies. Kid-na and Tie-fun… or something like that. Ben would probably know; he was from that time, so he would know all the old gods' names.

  Not that Fuku had actually told Ben they were going there next.

  He’d meant to. Really.

  But it was hard to focus when a huge hunk of Minotaur was walking around naked right beside him.

  ‘That swinging sausage would distract anyone. And I do love a good sausage,’ he admitted with a guilty little grin.

  The grin faded as his mind pictured Ben—his friend, his companion… or at least, someone he’d hoped would be.

  ‘Ugh… why did he run? He’s putting us both in danger. I hate that I had to use the Keiyaku. I never wanted it to come to that.’

  He sighed and stuffed the vine clipping back into his tail.

  His head snapped up as he saw a large brown form jogging his way.

  Fuku’s emotions began to run wild. Excitement mixed with apprehension. Anger dipped into anxiety and came out covered in joy. He was happy to see Ben was safe… but worried about how his friend would react to him using the pact to pull him back.

  He didn’t know how he should act, either. He wanted nothing more than to bounce into Ben’s arms, but this wasn’t the kind of reunion for that. Too many emotions, too many questions. He just hoped Ben wasn’t too angry about the Keiyaku.

  Long moments passed as Ben approached. Fuku bounced nervously the whole time, grabbing his tail more than once to keep it from swishing wildly.

  As Ben drew nearer, Fuku saw the exhaustion in his stride, the huffing breaths, and the look in his eyes: Ben was not happy.

  The final yards were slow. The pact’s power ebbed as he neared, leaving him to finish the climb on his own. At the top of the hill he collapsed, drenched in sweat, panting hard.

  The Keiyaku had drained him more than he’d realized. Each step had pulled more energy from him, until he was running on sheer instinct. Fuku could see it plainly—Ben wasn’t just tired. He was emptied.

  Fuku froze. Ben raised a single finger—silent command for him to wait. So he waited, stretching his small allowance of patience to its very limit.

  He could smell the sour sweat, see clumps of soil clinging to Ben’s hide. He had questions—so many questions—but the sight of his friend emptied and exhausted held him still.

  So he waited, silent, and stared.