The dry double chasms of the great valley fold back slightly, split confusedly into four or five lesser channels, and then abruptly terminate in a cliff-bound, sunken plain composed of patches of dune divided by gullies and small rocky outcroppings. There doesn't seem to be a name to that depression; for the moment (or until I learn its historic moniker) let us call it the Plain of the Knot, for that seems to be its role in ending the wanderings of the valley. To the north of the Knot the rocks rise to the inevitable badlands, here called (picturesquely enough) the Ditches of Fortune; to the south the plain joins the circular remains of a great crater and then the uplands of the Plain of Sinai.
To the west is (finally) the Labyrinth of the Night. In the mornings a white fog courses through the grabens of the Labyrinth; at certain times of year, under the right conditions, the mist will flow from the mouths of the labyrinth like the ghost of a catastrophic flood and fill the near sandy lowlands and arroyos of the Knot, leaving a rime of bright frost on the ridges of the dunes.
One might expect that there would be a limited number of entrances to the Labyrinth...say, three...and that some ominous distinction would be attached to each. But in fact, there is no such obvious set of choices; there are in fact at least six major passes into the maze, from fifteen to five miles wide, along with countless hidden paths through or over the western cliffs.
Exactly what choice should the weary traveler make then? Or is a choice to be made for him? For that matter, is he a pilgrim seeking or an exile under sentence? These distinctions have not been made clear at this point.
But surely there should be some monument to this cusp in his journey...and a vantage point for surveying the route or routes ahead towards whatever destiny he expects or which awaits him in the obscurity of the Labyrinth.
The Knot is larger than one might imagine it, much like all the terrain features in this region: 180 miles north to south, approximately 75 east to west. Near the center of this irregular oval there is a smaller plateau or natural terrace, approximately 900 feet higher than most of the surrounding basin of the Knot. Approximately 8 miles wide, it is shaped like a ginkgo leaf, with the "stem" pointing into the maze. Given the dearth of any comparably-distinctive areas, this small mesa will have to do. To the immediate west of the stem is an irregular pit or sinkhole, approximately 2300 feet deeper than the level of the plain of the Knot, that could potentially have some value.
I know, from the map, that the high point of the stem of the Leaf should be the best point for a vista of the western cliffs including the closest entrance to the Labyrinth. Unfortunately, what images I have from this vantage (I am not sure they should be referred to as photographs), while beguiling in the typical sort of way that views of deserts and mountains often are, do not seem to clearly indicate that one is looking at something more than just such a view, something as potentially arresting as a natural maze with inescapably Cthonic overtones. As with so much of the geography hereabouts, "from the ground" much of the potential significance of the vista seems lost...even on those rare occasions when the fog is said to pour from the Labyrinth into the Knot, no doubt breaking around the stem of the Leaf, it is doubtful that this overlook would measure up even to what Friedrich's frock-coated Wanderer Above the Mist sees from his less objectively sublime vantage.
Well, then: that should be at least part of the program. I must assist the pilgrim/exile/traveler in perceiving the almost-delirious idiosyncrasy of his situation.
A first thought is to double that Labyrinth: I shall make a symbol of a symbol of an old story that was a symbol of something else, perhaps. As the real Labyrinth cuts into the western plateau, let my Voodoo doll of a miniature Labyrinth cut into the mesa of the Leaf. The imposition of that network that meanders near-infinitely across the uplands on the finite surface of the bluff will no doubt create all sorts of unusual issues. Already I see how one spur...minor, south-pointing, and ending nowhere in the real Labyrinth...in the miniature cuts provocatively towards the high point of the Leaf, near the stem where I had already resolved to place some sort of significant programmatic element (a Tower, perhaps, already cloven and therefore requiring no thunderbolt). Coincidentally, the portion of the miniaturized Labyrinth that extends past the mesa to west then curves and sends a single path towards a high point or island in the fore-mentioned sinkhole (which deserves its own grotesquely-portentous name like the other geographic features I have taken the liberty of labeling: I shall henceforth refer to it as the Pit).
...a good place for a monument to minotaurs, if I have ever seen one.