WRFH/Radio Free Hillsdale 101.7 FM - Delirium: Episode 1

Episode Date: February 7, 2025

On the desert island of Naxos, Ariadne and Dionysus exchange the stories of their lives. Ariadne reveals the tragic fall of the Minotaur and the tyranny of her father, while Dionysus tells her of his tenuous connection to the gods and his quest to understand love as mortals do. Ariadne finds herself falling in love with her wayfaring god quite against her will, and time will only tell whether she finds the courage to accept his love.With Katrin Surkan as Ariadne, Noah Abrudeanu as Dionysus, Erika Kyba as Narrator, and Dr. Dutton Kearney as Daedalus. Written and produced by Erika Kyba.

You're listening to Delirium in audio drama brought to you by Radio Free Hillsdale 101.7 FM. Ariadne feels herself becoming drunk on the heady scent of campfire smoke. She does not like it, this detachment from her own body. She presses her palms into the sand, scraping the harsh grains against her skin, hoping this will ground her. It does not. She has not touched the wine that her wayfaring god, has offered her, but she feels light and dizzy all the same. She blames the smoke. She blames the night. She blames the God that has disturbed the delicate balance of her days.

Dionysus sits across from her, the god of wine himself. He stops on the island of Noxos when he tires of upsetting kings and setting his Maynads loose on unsuspecting cities. It is a peaceful island, uncultivated and untroubled. Dianysus visits every night now that he knows Ariadne lives here. He looks much more human than Ariadne would have expected a god to look. He doesn't glow with divine light or carry himself with authority. He sprawls on the ground across from Ariadne, propping his chin up on one hand as he speaks. He lets his hair grow wildly, an untended garden of dark curls spilling onto his shoulders.

He has always been glib, never serious. He is not one to demand worship. No, he does not look exactly like a god, and yet she could never mistake him for a mortal man. Every now and then, the golden flecks in his eyes flashed like lightning. And then there are the proportions of his face, far too perfect, as if crafted by a temple sculptor to inspire adoration in his raving manads. Ariadne bites her lip at the thought of the menace.

lip at the thought of the Maynads. It is their irrationality, their wanton rampages that bother her, she tells herself. She does not like the way he has a hold over them, and she tells him as much. He shrugs. I don't enslave the Mayanads. I set them free. Do you think they'd rage the way they do if they had nothing to rage against? Rage is a cruel master. Believe me, I've seen men fall prey to it. Tell me more. Ariadne's eyes are beginning to water from smoke and from the glare of the firelight. She looks away. She breaks off a twig from the pile of branches next to her and flicks it into the fire aimlessly, just to make something happen. It crackles and yields to the blaze. What is there to tell? Dionysus walks around to her side

of the fire and sits down next to her. Ariadne shifts away. They have developed a ritual. Dionysus sits across from her each night and tells her tales. He is not to ask her questions. He is not to draw closer to her. She thought this was understood. You're a shipwrecked princess who has seen men fall prey to rage. I want to know more. How did you know I was a princess?

Dionysus nods to the rucksack by her side, and Ariadne sees the faint glint of her crown within it. That's a diadem, isn't it? Yes. Ariadne wishes she had the courage to cast her crown into the sea, to let the tide decide its resting place. But she cannot bring herself to do it. It is her anchor to the world of men, the world she came from, the world that ground her between its jaws and spat her out. Her diadem reminds her of all the pain and sacrifice she would rather forget.

But she knows that forgetting what she faced means forgetting who she is. She reaches for her crown, turning it over in her hands, watching the light that hits it scatter into tiny jewels across the sand. Dionysus waits. Ariadne considers him, tilting the crowns so that the freckles of light dance across his face. He has visited her every night, for many weeks now. He has livened her nights with his stories, has been a companion. She could tell him the truth.

She should not tell him the truth. She is telling him the truth. I wish I had no origin apart from Naxos. I wish I had sprung from its soil without a mother or a father. I wish I was raised by the nymphs that roam the island. If I let my mind run free, I can almost let myself believe that these fantasies are true. but crown

tethers me the truth and the truth is I am Ariadne of Crete The lost princess Dionysus is fascinated with this discovery

He looks at her the way Ariadne has seen people look at singers weaving tales about gods and heroes The world thinks you're dead I don't blame them Theseus Left me here to die Theseus

The name is Akrid on her tongue. She says it slowly, contemptuously. There had been a time when she'd whispered that name like a prayer, but now she hisses it like a curse. He's told the world that you took your life after he abandoned you. The liar! Why would he do such a thing? Hang me if I know the minds of such men. All I know is that he lets the story spread

by planting its seeds in a confidential tone, lowering his voice, pretending regret. It's a tale he tells over many glasses of mead. He tells it to his old war companions, and from there the tale becomes whispered, and Theseus becomes a hero with a shadow, not altogether altruistic. They begin to fear him,

and from fear, respect grows in tandem. Ariadne shakes her head fiercely as he goes on. She has tried to bury the image of her treacherous lover in her mind, allowing the pain to cool, to deaden like a stifled flame. But to think that, He lives, that he tells lies about her fate, that the world will think her story ended with him.

No, it will not be so. The campfire smoke overwhelms her senses, making her head light. And the night is so black all around them, so anonymous and inviting. She feels that she can say whatever she likes, can speak the words that she has choked on for months. Someone will listen. will know the truth. Let me tell you about the rage that enslaves.

Let me tell you about my brother. The Minotaur? They say he was the cruelest of creatures. He was not always cruel. Ariadne wraps her arms around her legs, resting her chin on top of her knees. He was a baby once. Imagine that.

I remember the day he was born, an infant, with the head of a calf? I was the one who held him. His own mother felt sick at the sight of him. Ariadne remembers it well, the soft fuzz of his head underneath her fingers. She had smoothed it down as he lowed softly, and she had giggled. How strange. A baby that was half bull and half boy.

No one else was quite as delighted with the infant. Minos was in another room, and they could hear his agitated pacing. Pasifay's dark hair hung around her face and sweaty, clumped strands. She buried her face in her hands and moaned. Ariadne did not understand the shame that was engulfing her mother in that moment, but one day she would. Shame, revilement, the chastisement of the gods, this was the lot that she inherited from Pasifay.

They say she was cursed by Poseidon, your mother. Ariadne nods once, feeling slightly, ill herself. They say there was a bowl that should have been sacrificed, but wasn't. Yes. Yes, you gods must have your sacrifices. It doesn't matter who has to pay in the end. You generalize, darling. My uncle is one of the most demanding Olympians, but do go on about the Minotaur. Darling, why does he call her darling? And why does this word make her face glow with a not unpleasant warmth? She will not dwell on it. He was of my blood.

He was my brother. No matter what scandal brought him into the world. You were raised with him? Ha, no. Minos kept him far away from the city, reared him in the pastures. His own children he kept shut up in the castle. Far away from the dangers and temptations of the outside world. Far away from anything that could tempt us to disobey him.

Minos always liked to have control. I believe that began to drive my mother mad, long before Poseidon cursed her. Then what made you cherish the minotaur as your brother, if you were not allowed to see him? I would escape the castle, every so often. I was never so easily restrained as my sister or brothers. You'd have made a good man, Ed. You're going to make light of this? I wouldn't dream of it.

He holds up his hands, still grinning. I speak in earnest. I can sense anger. A desire for freedom? I won't say another word if you keep implying that I am a mean ad. Ariadne wants to be irritated. She hides her smile in the sleeve of her dress. No, don't deprive me of the story. Tell me more of your great escapes.

Well, I didn't escape to go to revels or festivals, although I suppose a part of me wanted to. I escaped to see my brother in the fields. I played with him when we were small. I talked to him. I believe I was his sanity. A man, a woman too, goes mad without someone to talk to. Am I your sanity then? His voice is smooth like fine wine.

Ariadne imbibes it without thinking, closing her eyes and lowering her guard. You may well be. They are quiet for a few moments. Dionysus tosses. another stick into the fire, sending up a shower of sparks. Sometimes Ariadne wonders if she has imagined him all this time. Part of her hopes that she has. After all, a creature of her imagination cannot hurt her the way that men and gods have.

This is why she has never allowed Dionysus to touch her, has not so much as allowed their fingers to brush together. She needs the ambiguity. What would happen if she really, reached for him, only for him to vanish like a vapor. She is in a confessional mood now, a dangerous one. Was not very good at keeping my brother sane. Surely it wasn't your fault he went mad.

He was half animal after all. The animal is all the world ever saw when it looked at him, but I saw him before the rage. I saw the innocent boy that used to weave flower crowns for me. I saw the brother that hoisted me onto his shoulders and ran to the top of the highest hill so that I could see Crete in all its glory, the ships gliding into the harbor, the bustling markets. Then what became of this innocent boy? As he grew older, he grew more restless.

There was an energy in him that could not be released by long walks and conversations with his sister. He needed a sparring partner, an obstacle. Something to fight and overcome. He rough-housed with bulls and shepherds. Minos began to see him as a nuisance. You always call him Minos, never Father. There was a time when I did call him Father, before the sacrifices started.

O gods, the sacrifices, the labyrinth, that alley of skulls with its blood-spattered walls. The ships coming in from, Athens, filled with young men and women, their eyes bright and their destinies dark. And her father, his eyes blazing with revenge and bloodlust, a man she did not recognize, and the smoke all around her, blurring all the memories together, until all her life was one long day. The day she was cast off by both her father and the man who had sworn to marry her. Again.

Minos was a tyrant. She raises her voice little, feeling it break at the last word. Something familiar and odious stirs inside her. Say it louder. She curls her fingernails into her palms, feeling the rage build up inside her, a rage that has perhaps been present from the beginning. There are those that eulogize him, a good king who did as necessity required, cursed with a faithless wife and daughter.

It's a lie! He was a blood of innocence! Her words seemed to charge the air around them. Ariadne feels a tremor sweep her body. When she lifts up her hand, it is shaking. And tears are dropping onto the fabric of her dress, forming cool patches against her knee. She does not remember when she started crying.

So you see, Dionysus, This is how rage enslaves. Perhaps I'm not so different from my brother. Rage demands expiation. It's the cry for justice. If you never allow the cry to pierce through the world, your rage will cloy into resentment, and it will consume you entirely.

She knows that he is right. She feels lighter now, free from a burden that she had not been aware of before. But rage will not dry my tears. Then, allow me? He raises his hand to wipe the tears from her face. His fingers hover, so close that she can feel the heat from them. She wants to say yes, yes, he can touch her.

He can come as close as he likes. But she shakes her head, lifting up a corner of her dress to daub her own eyes. She has let him close enough for one night already. You should rest. Let the night carry all these evil things. carry all these evil things away. Let it carry them down to Hades. I haven't told you everything yet. I know. You can tell me tomorrow. She expects him to get up and leave, but he doesn't move. Let me stay with you?

You don't mean... No, I don't mean like that. I only mean, let me stay on the island. This way, if you wake in the night and you need someone, I will be right here. Can a god sleep? Do you have need of it? I do not need to, but I can decide to. I can close the gates of my mind, the way mortals do, and just rest. It's quite pleasant. I don't believe you. You don't?

Well, watch this. He stretches out on the ground, folding his hands under his head. He closes his eyes, and suddenly he is asleep. It is unmistakable. His limbs relax. His breath evens out. Ariadne watches him for a moment. When Dionysus first found her, she had been asleep.

He later told her that in that moment, he felt as though the fates had brought them together, that he was destined to protect the sleeping maiden of Naxos. She had told him that she needed no protector, and he had laughed. He decided to befriend her, despite her protests. It is strange, seeing a god so vulnerable. He does not know she is watching him. If the world came crashing down around them, he would be none the wiser. His dark curls sprawl against the sand.

His lips curve into a small smile. Ariadne wonders what he is dreaming. She turns away, her face aflame. This is the moment that she realizes what has been happening in her own heart, which she is powerless to resist. She can blame the allure of the smoke and the night all she likes. She knows what she has wanted all along, and it is much more than telling old stories. The night breeze ripples against her skin, and she shivers.

There is desire in her heart, and there is also horror. The horror of the unknown, of giving herself away again only to be broken into pieces. Would Dionysus treat her as Theseus did? always the risk. She lays down beside her wayfaring God, closing her eyes. All the sweetest and most bitter sensations meet in her mind, provoking confusion, provoking delirium. She prays for the night to sweep this fever into Hades, knowing full well that she will wake to a heart still at war with itself. Ariadne has not dreamt of weddings for a long time. That night, however, the The vision flickers across her mind, the one that haunted her the first few days of her isolation

on Noxos. She dreams of a pale, yellow veil that obscures her features. A hand that closes around hers and leads her, she knows not where. It had always been the same nightmare. The groom would lead her to his chambers, releasing her hand softly. She would wait in vain for him to lift the veil from her face. She would see nothing but the soft yellow fabric of the veil. She would breathe in nothing but the stifling hot air between her face and the cloth.

In some versions of the dream, she would rip the veil off herself, only to find herself in a labyrinth, looking around at the unforgiving maze of stone walls that surrounded her. There was no groom in sight. This dream is different. She has hardened to the disappointment this time. She has learned to live with the disappearing lover. But just as he lets go of her and she steals herself for his flight, she feels her veil swept away by a sure hand.

She gasps sharply as the cool night air meets her skin, as she takes in her husband's face. It is Dionysus, arrayed in a way that she has never seen him. Rich red wedding robes have replaced to the leopard's skin that he always wears. But the hair is the same, those untamable curls brushing against her cheek as he leans in towards her.

And then there are the eyes which meet hers without straying for a moment, which have lightning inside them. Ariadne has forgotten any scruple she had in waking life, any silent vow to herself not to let a man touch her again. She leans into him and he smells faintly of wine,

smoke, insanity. She gently winds her arms around his shoulders and she feels his hand at the base of her neck, pulling her closer. The warmth of his touch is vivid, so vivid that Ariadne questions whether she truly dreams. She does not know how long she has slept, but she wakes long before the dawn shows herself.

Her skin is all aflame. She does not dare to look at Dionysus, does not even turn her head in his direction. She can hear his steady breathing, and this is enough. She pushes herself off the ground, shaking the sand from her hair. The fire has cooled to its embers,

but Ariadne still feels as though the atmosphere is intolerably warm. She turns to the forest, letting her steps carry her down a path she knows well. Ariadne has come to understand the forest intuitively, its groves of spiny trees, the trails of soft earth that weave throughout. She does not need more than the pale moonlight filtering through the leaves to guide her to the heart of the forest, to the oasis. At the center of Naxos lies a spring. It bubbles forth from the rocks, gathers in a quiet pool,

flows forth from there into rivulets. Ariadne comes here often. She slips into the cool waters, feels her hair lifting off her shoulders, feels herself becoming weightless. She closes her eyes. All she can hear is the trickle of the spring. At least, at first. A strange hour for a mortal to be awake. Agnes!

Agnes sits on a rock just beside the water. She is a naiad, clothed and glittering blue. Her hair is the color of the sea. She watches Ariadne closely. Something troubles you. Is it that god of yours? It's rare enough for nymphs to show their faces to mortals, the way they do to Ariadne.

It's rarer still for them to speak. Agnes has a way of appearing when Ariadne needs her most, but only then. I believe he's courting me? Would you have him? Agnes swings her legs over the side of the rock, submerging them in the water, kicking them back and forth. Ariadne pushes the wedding dream from her mind.

I would not have another Theseus. You're afraid, then? I want things to be as they were. He had become a friend, and now... Now he wants more than I'm prepared to give. That's not all. Now he means more to you. Ariadne is becoming irritated with Agnes's insinuations, the way she speaks and seems to know more than she lets on.

Are you here to torment me? I'm here to warn you. Aphrodite always has her way. With that, Agnes pushes herself off the rock, submerging herself completely. Her form disappears like a mist, becomes one with the water. Ariadne stares at where Agnes has just been, ill at ease. Aphrodite always has her way. Can she never escape the machinations of the gods? Is there no peace?

Ariadne calls to mind the day that Theseus left her on the island. She recalls every detail from the sharp spray of the sea against her face to the outline of his ship in the mist. She remembers the grief that seemed as though it would cleave her heart in two, but she also remembers a different emotion, one that spoke to her heart so quietly that she barely perceived it. It was relief. She had nothing left to desire, and nothing left to hurt her.

There was no tyrant father, betraying brother, conniving lover. There was only Ariadne, cut off from the men, the women, and even the gods who had destroyed her life. This is where I find my peace, she told herself. On an island untouched by man's ravaging fingers, I can content myself with the slow roll of the waves, the coolness of the sea, the lushness of the forest. Everything I need is here.

So long as I desire nothing else, I will be happy. I will. Now Ariadne feels her heart slipping from her fingers and into the hands of the wayfaring God, the last person she can trust, to stay forever. Dionysus is awake when Ariadne returns to the shore. The dawn's graceful touch streaks the sky with a rosy orange, and Dionysus sits facing the view. Ariadne inhales sharply.

She hadn't expected him to be awake already. She has decided that if Aphrodite and the Fates want to be, to have their way with her heart, it will be on her terms. She is still wary of love. She has not yet decided to surrender to it. But she has decided that she will not run from it. She makes her way over to Dionysus's side and sits down. He glances at her, smiling.

She sees one of the golden flecks in his eyes illuminate suddenly. I've never seen a lovelier sunrise. Beautiful, isn't it? Ariadne watches as the orange grows brighter, blazing across the sky. May I ask you something? Of course. Do all gods have eyes like yours? You mean eyes that flash?

Yes. Only children of Zeus. He looks away. And Zeus himself. Diabni is watching him carefully now. She has never seen him when he is not utterly in command of himself. And now his face betrays discomfort of some kind. What are the families of God's like?

Strange. We do not know tenderness as the mortals know it. We had none to teach us of it. Is that why you spend all your days with mortals? In part. I was never bred to have a place on Olympus, not like the others. Zeus sent me to live with the Thiods as a boy. He says it was to protect me from Harrow's jealous.

Perhaps that's true, but I don't believe he has the taste for fatherhood. They say he rescued you after the death of Semmelite, that he knit you up within his thigh until he were ready to be born. Mercy, to be sure, but I have no memory of it. All I remember is that my mother was stolen from me because of a goddess's jealousy and that my father abandoned me to the hills of Nysa, leaving me to the care of woodland nymphs. Did you come to love the nymphs that raised you?

Yes, I did. But raised by many, you never come to know the love of a single mother and father. And raised by immortal creatures, you never come to know the fierceness that mortals love with. Mortals have such a peculiar way of loving. I believe it comes from how fragile they are. Always two steps away from death. You come to realize how precious life is. Have you learned to love as we do?

do by dwelling with us? Perhaps. Perhaps. A vague word, cloaking the implications that his eyes reveal. Ariadne turns her gaze to the sea, blushing. Tell me, Dionysus, what do you hope for? Other than learning to love, I mean. Diodysus reaches for a handful of sand as he considers her question,

letting it run through his fingers. I hope to rescue my mother someday. I will travel to the underworld and deliver her from it. I will give her a place on Mount Olympus. An unexpected rush of affection surges through Ariadne. She is not used to this side of him, the softness in his voice, the earnestness. He does not hope for a future of infinite revelry and carousing. He hopes to do something truly noble.

He hopes to rescue his mother. And then, will you live with her on Mount Olympus for eternity? No, I'm not made for such glory, and I have no desire to live amongst most of the Olympians. Then what will you do? He closes his eyes, as if calling a vision to mind. I dream of conquering new lands. I want to be the founder of a city, a lawgiver. A lawgiver? You?

No one would expect it. That is part of why I desire it. Would you ever... Would you ever take a wife? Dionysus glances at her in surprise. Ariadne is not sure what has made her so brazen, but she wishes to know his answer. She wishes for all of their implicit intentions to be spoken

in the clear morning air before they go any further down this path. I would like to. But there's only one woman I would ever think of marrying. of marrying. I do not know if she would have me. Only one woman. There are droves of Maynads that adore him. Perhaps many who wish to have him for themselves. But there is only one woman he desires. And you? Would you ever love again? Perhaps. To love and to trust after everything. It's a difficult thing. I understand. And yet? And yet, I would like to.

An errant wave cuts them off, crashing onto the shore and rushing up against their ankles. Both of them laugh, shocked out of seriousness. The water is deliciously cool. Ariadne reaches forward to dip her palms into it, as if trying to hold onto the tide as it rapidly receives. The night is falling now, and the sharp evening breeze begins invading the balmy. hot air. It is gustier tonight than usual. It takes Dionysus and Ariadne longer to coax the fire out of a heap of buried embers. Dionysus sits back when they are finished, looking pleased with the small fire

they have started. It begins to grow, enveloping the wood and the kindling that they have piled up. The fire casts Dionysus's smile in a warm glow. She sits down by his side tonight. She allows him to pour her a cup of wine. He does not push any farther into her space, allowing her to set the limits. This pleases her. I want to tell you the rest of the story. He spreads his arms out in a gesture of welcome. I am your ready witness. Ariadne closes her eyes, calling the memories back. The smell of smoke pervades her senses once again, and this time she willingly untethered from space and time. Past and present are one, and Dionysus is with her, back on Crete. Sometimes, two tragedies collide, resulting in even greater evils. One of my brothers was killed

in the Olympian Games in Athens while the other became bestial. My father nearly died with grief at the death of Androges, but rather than die, he turned his grief to fury, and lived, lived on the force of that. Rage demands expiation, Dionysus had told her last night. But where are the due boundaries of rage, Ariadne wonders? Every blow demands a counterblow. And man has made a sacrifice of his betrayer, his enemy, even his kin, to slake his own fury.

In so doing, he incurs the fury of others. What sacrifice can ever be in? enough to let the crooked race of man live in peace. Minos demanded that the Athenians send seven youths and seven maidens every ninth year. I'm sure you've heard the tale. I have. There were to be sacrifices to your brother. Ariadne nods.

She feels a peculiar hollowness, a chasm that seems to open up in the center of her body. She has experienced this disorseless. an orienting sense of incompleteness since her youth. She has tried to name it. Is it lost innocence? Is it guilt? But this sensation defies her attempts to define it. I never thought my brother would kill,

even though he had become more violent. Minos had Daedalus build the labyrinth to contain him, then left the inventor to die in his own creation along with his son. Minos wanted no one to learn the secret of the labyrinth, least of all the disobedient daughter who'd befriended the spring of his shame. But he underestimated the wiliness of the inventor, as well as the rage of a man who loses his son, he should have known better. I recall the story.

Deadlis and Icarus built wings to escape. Icarus flew above the middle flight, and Dedalus lost his son. Deadelus blamed Minos, and so Dedalus became my... ally against a common enemy, my father. How did this happen? I was 18 years of age when the first boat of Athenians arrived. 14 innocents. I watched as they were marched into the labyrinth.

My mother scolded me for weeping as I did. I threw myself at the altar of Athena, begging her to enlighten the youths to teach them the way out of the labyrinth. It was to no avail. Ariadne still feels somewhat responsible for their fate, though she'd had no power to stop it at the time. So much has come and gone in her life, the memories blurring together, but the faces of these youths stand in sharp relief to everything else. Someone ought to have protected them, but all stood aside and watched them walk the path to the labyrinth. They were not much older than Ariadne.

Reddy youths with shining eyes. They were the flowers of Athens. She knew, just looking at them, that they could have been great someday. She felt instinctively all that they could have done and made of themselves. Ariadne closes her eyes firmly against the hot tears threatening to spill.

What good will tears do? Tears are the fruit of weakness. Tears never moved Minos, that tyrant, that slayer of innocent, You're becoming angry. I thought rage was what you dealt in. Not like this, not as a mask for something else. Dionysus is not only the god of wine.

He is the god of masks, of theater, of personas. How then does he see through her pretended self so easily? Allow the tears to fall. Lough grief. Ariani turns to face the chasm inside her. The shattered innocence of watching the blameless go to the slaughter. The helplessness, as all appeals to Minos, failed. The cold realization that her own father was prepared to butcher young men and women like herself.

I called him Minos. Every day of my life after the first sacrifice. I dissociated his blood from mine in my own mind, but I must own my heritage after all this time. My blood comes from the twin springs of bloodlust and letchery. But after all, we're not merely what we come from. I should hope not. I did much to overcome the sins of my father.

I started by learning the secret of the labyrinth. It happened on a stroke of fortune. Years after the first sacrifice, Daedalus returned to the palace to seek revenge. Ariadne had escaped her chamber to walk in the soft summer air. She came upon a strange man approaching the palace, shrouded in a heavy cloak despite the heat. Ariadne leaned over the balcony.

What do you seek? Darkness and distance made her bold. But nothing could prepare her for the moment the stranger lowered his hood, revealing a wild white beard and crazed eyes that gleamed torch-like up at her. I seek retribution for the blood of my son. Dettalus had always been touched by the gods. Madness follows genius like a noontime shadow, and the ghost of insanity flamed in his eyes when he gave himself to his work.

This, however, was not the same. insanity. This was a man possessed with a single purpose, a devouring revenge. I realized something in that moment. Deadellus was half mad with a thirst for vengeance and he was bent on destruction, but this same thirst could be channeled, used for something good. I rushed down to meet him. Dedalus taught her the secrets of the labyrinth that night, tracing his finger against the chalky earth to draw a map. He made Ariadne reproduce the map several times until she had committed it to memory. When he was satisfied with her knowledge, he withdrew a ball of twine from his cloak.

Remember the way of the labyrinth, engrave it in your mind. But should, God's forbid, you forget, you must always use this to mark your path. He pressed the ball of twine into her hands. Thank you, Deadless. I'm in your debt. He turned away. not meeting her gaze. I am more in yours than you know. I never saw him again. Ariadne snaps off another twig, tosses it into the fire.

A momentary crackling of flame that soon burns itself out, much like one life, sparking revelation in another's, before disappearing for the last time. You've been listening to Episode 1 of Delirium, an audio drama on Radio Free Hillsdale, 101.7 FM. Tune in at 10 a.m. or 3 p.m. next Friday to hear episode two, the conclusion of Ariadne and Dionysus's tale.