The Elementals by Morgan Llywelyn Page B

painted octopus curling its tentacles around the vessel.
    Meriones paused. The hound flopped down in the dusty road beside him and scratched behind one ear with an audible sigh of relief.

    A vendor carrying a wickerwork tray stepped out from behind the shrine. “An offering for the god of the shaking earth?” he suggested.
    Meriones considered. The sun was warm. The ground felt stable beneath his feet. The flower-bedecked shrine to Poseidon gave no hint of the unstable temper of the god. Still …
    â€œIt never hurts to be cautious,” the vendor urged. “Only last year, at Phaistos …”
    â€œYes, yes, I remember.” Meriones quickly selected a sprig of mint from the man’s tray and added his offering to the heap, though he was embarrassed to see how small one sprig looked amid the piles of gaudy, more expensive flowers. The vendor was looking at him with contempt, like Tulipa. He pressed a coin into the man’s hand, whistled to the dog, and hurried away.
    The sunbaked road broadened into the Royal Avenue as it led into the valley that sheltered the palace of The Minos from the greedy gaze of sea pirates. Not that there was any real danger of invasion, not anymore. For several centuries Crete had ruled secure and unchallenged at the heart of the world’s seaways.
    And sometimes the god who ruled those seas reminded man of his ultimate power by shaking the earth.
    With the white hound at his heels, Meriones crossed the stone bridge that spanned the stream east of the palace. The House of the Double Axes, called Labrys in the court language, spread out before him as if a bag of jewels had been spilled from a giant’s hand, tumbling down the valley in gay profusion.
    No huge perimeter wall protected Labrys. Its guardian was the power of the sea’s mightiest fleet, defending not only Knsos but the other cities of the Cretan sea kings. Instead of a fortress, the palace of The Minos consisted of a number of elegant villas surrounding a central core of chambers and halls. Some of these villas, which served as homes for the vast array of officials and functionaries required by The Minos, rivaled the king’s own quarters in splendor. But none could compete with the royal residence in terms of sheer size.
    â€œThere it is,” Meriones said to the dog. “I spend every day of my life there—except feast days, of course. The palace is a city in itself, you know. There’s a maze of passages and storerooms and
private chambers inside. It took me years to learn my way, but I did,” he added with shy pride.
    The dog wagged its tail and grinned up at Meriones.
    Labrys had been built from the heart outward, as a tree grows, until it sprawled in giant tiers like a child’s blocks. The heart itself was the Great Central Court through and around which all life flowed. Four main gates led into the complex. The westernmost, called the Bull Gate, was the ceremonial entryway, with a pillared portico fronting on a broad paved courtyard. The south gate was the Zeus Gate, facing the mountains. To the north was the Sea Gate. Meriones approached by the eastern Sun Gate, following a walkway through flowered gardens. He wove his way among increasing crowds of gaily dressed men and women in animated conversation, hands fluttering, voices trilling. In addition to the customary courtiers there was the usual scattering of long-haired folk from Boeotia and Attica and Euboea, travelers from Pylos and Lerna, even a few flint-eyed warriors from Mycenae and Tiryns.
    Everyone came to the House of the Double Axes.
    Meriones, like most citizens of Knsos, was fluent in several languages. He smiled from time to time at some overheard witticism, and translated for the dog’s benefit.
    As he climbed the broad stone steps that led to the Sun Gate itself, the giant Nubian warrior at the top of the stairs looked down at him. His usually impassive face cracked into a smile.
    â€œNot another