This duty is directly related to my favorite prisoner, or, really, my only prisoner. He is multiple prisoners, he is one prisoner. He has the ability of bilocation. He can be in two places at once. He can be in several places at once. He wears time like others wear clothing. Space folds and unfolds like an origami bird.

This year, the youths arrive, as usual, on time. They appear in the space outside of the prison, as if dropped there by the hand of a god.

I would say they arrived on the doorstep, but there are no doors. There are no windows. There are no bars, no locks, no keys. No stairs, no ceilings.

Asterion, on these occasions, waits in the center of the prison. His house. He is sometimes eager to show the youths around this impossible compound. He reads books on philosophy, books on various types of propositions, possible and impossible. Books of logic and the real and the unreal. The actual and the fictional.

Though he has the head of a bull, no flies worry Asterion about the face and ears. This is fortunate because unlike whole bulls, he has no long tail with which to swish away irritations. He has hands, beautifully formed, and a thickly muscled neck holding up his strong, velvet-furred head. The rest of his body is also nobly made, and white as marble or mother’s milk. He has no need of clothes. Or weapons.

I greet the youths at the entrance. One is crying silently, tears trickling down his smooth cheek. Others show fear on their faces. Still others have a distant look. One begins singing a folk song as I lead them through one of the many passages. Once a person reaches the inner section of the labyrinth, there is no return. The way back is impossible without guidance. None have escaped. Asterion has long ceased looking for an exit. Oh, the first many months there was so much anguish, always walking the halls and paths, keeping the flame of hope kindled. Each week he spent fewer hours wandering the identical passages. Rubbing his beautifully colored horns against the hard walls, even to the point of breaking them. At last he accepted his fate. He is the master of his house.

The nine youths are drawn inexorably toward the center. Though the labyrinth is flat, we are like water running downstream and there is no possible reversal. Gravity itself is drawing the nine to their shared destiny. In this, together, they have a fortune denied Asterion. Asterion, the only creature of his kind. His mother’s love could not save him, just as the youths’ mothers’ love cannot rescue them.