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?

It clarified his decision.

It was too much to ask for a friend. He had to stay away. Away from Fuku, away from everyone. He was nothing but a monster.

“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 pronounced he no longer recognized the land.

‘Shall I simply return to the Labyrinth? Take up my duties there?’ he pondered as the wagon wheels creaked closer. 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.

The reason? The Keiyaku. The word echoed in his mind. Fuku is somehow using the pact.

He had forgotten. When he ran, he hadn’t thought about the bond at all—only his 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. 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 being so far away from the Labyrinth, yet still known—like a cramp which threatens to return, then finally strikes again. He hadn’t felt it since leaving the Labyrinth. Even when sneaking past guards at the city gates, it had lain dormant.

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

‘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 had—the Keiyaku—it wasn’t simply a vow, or a power source, nor was it truly a tether. When Fuku was close, it dulled the flames, soothed the fury. Its energy kept his true curse at bay. It was an anchor.

But at a distance… the calming effect vanished.

And yet now the pact was attempting to drag him into a situation where the curse would be engaged.

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 crooked smile echoed in his memory, softening the edges of the storm. And he remembered his 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, to kill, to drag the corpse back to that wretched place, to feed the vine.

“ROAR!”

He bellowed, his thunderous voice echoing through the valley.

“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: it held concern for the passerby’s life, but also for his own desperate need to choose. 

So he did. He made his 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 man Benakrios. He refused to be the Minotaur, the monster. He was just Ben. He wasn’t sure who Ben was yet. He’d spent seven hundred years without the ability to find himself, so now he looked forward to being able to find out.

And besides… he had already promised to stand by Fuku’s side. 

He had been a fool to let his fear cloud him from seeing what was right in front of him.

He had a friend. A goal. Someone to care for, and who cared for him. What more could he want?

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.

It took everything he had. But at last the sound faded, the wagon 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.

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. He stared out over the landscape below: a world of tall, tan grass, with small green dots where trees broke the sea of brown. There were several small, silver-blue threads running across the vista—small streams winding their way through the pastoral area.

He wasn’t exactly paying attention to his surroundings, though. He was scouting, keeping a close eye out for any large brown figures trudging his way. He would occasionally turn to look in the opposite direction, but he was fairly certain he knew from which direction Ben would come. He guessed he’d somehow flown over him without seeing him, so he kept his gaze predominantly in that area.

This place was much different from his home. There were similar areas, but nothing nearly as vast. He reminisced about the forests of his island, the mountains in the north, the large, towering volcano in the south, and the sea with its miles of coast. 

He hadn’t returned for over a century now, seeking and searching for a way to return the pathways to their normal state. He had traveled and studied, listened to myths and legends, spoken with ancient beings, even run into a god or two.

It was his life’s work: to find a way home. And he was fairly certain he had finally found it. Piecing together all the stories from different cultures, learning of their gods and the different ways they treated mortals, he’d determined that the solution wasn't about raw power. Even the new gods didn’t have the ability to shift the ley lines back; it was about the little things. The pieces that didn’t fit.

The carrion vine from the Labyrinth was a perfect example. The Minotaur was the "end boss," so why have a magical vine there? It didn’t fit into the narrative; it wasn’t mentioned in the stories. Therefore, it was an oddity.

Fuku firmly believed that if he could bring enough oddities together—little pieces of the past, things that had power but old power, before magic was a tangible force—he’d be able to use them to fracture the ley lines which now locked him on this plane, and open a way home.

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—old 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.

So, what better way to break something than by using broken magic?

He sat and pondered his plans, retrieving the piece of vine from his tail again and twirling it in his small fingers. He could sense the magical energy within but knew it was nowhere near enough.

He had learned from the shopkeeper in Phylios that, in his youth, he had heard of a dungeon near Riverforge which was supposedly the home of some ancient gods who liked to make monster babies. Kid-na and Tie-fun, or something like that. He was sure Ben would know more about them.

But he hadn’t even told Ben where they were heading next. He was so scatterbrained around him. He couldn’t help it, though. How could he focus when a huge hunk of Minotaur stood naked nearby? 

‘That swinging sausage would distract anyone, and I love a good sausage’ he thought with a wry, guilty smile.

The smile faded quickly though, ‘Ugh… I just don’t get why he ran away. He’s putting us both in danger.’ 

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.