Erinos the Fugitive

Meanwhile as Ben strummed the long neck instrument about his knees, he told a tale.

Despite being a little girl, in my uncle's homestead, I had heard the story of Erinos the Wicked and his tragic flight to the mazes beyond, a place of despair.

The angels–was he speaking of my pixies?–of the High King came to bring Erinos home after death.

He looked down at his body and into the eyes of the angel, and he dropped everything. He ran as far and as long as he might.

In time he came to a hole in the ground, like those where the cave urgans flee from the Dragon's justice.

In the mazes he found no respite, no ground to rest. Every wall spoke of his life, painted large for anyone to see. Behind each corner the angry minotaur's footsteps echoed with his own.

For forgiveness and for forgetting, he prayed. He prayed to find a safe place to sleep.

For a thousand years he fled all those who came for him. He fled in fear of their wrath. He fled in fear of the justice he must pay. And more than anything, he fled in fear of the look on the face of the High King when he came to the gates.

He fled without sleep or water or rest.

Until at last came the man he knew best. "Ah, Medregor, my foolish friend. How could you have trusted me so?"

"I have come for you."

"I cannot run. Not any more. Of all people you most deserve your recompense."

"Oh, my foolish brother, can you believe those ledgers still stand? He brought him in for a hug. "Those are for the living. For fools. They were never important."

"So I can go home?"

"We cannot bear another day without you." Medregor lifted Erinos and carried him back to the gates.

Since I had been found wandering in the forest--muddied, but not bleeding--the story had a new meaning. Ben's question echoed louder than if he had spoken it: "Little girl, your family surely loves you. Whatever you have done, it cannot be so bad . Why do you not go home?"

For the story in which Sigrun hears this, "The People of Glass "