The Maze The Lost Labyrinth - By Jason Brannon Page 0,30
serving a slightly different purpose. ”
“Shouldn’t he be getting back to his post? All of the souls might escape.”
The minotaur didn’t laugh. “I only meant that he’s an expert on death. The Greeks feared him tremendously, as should you.”
“What is it with this place and mythology? If I had known I’d be coming here, I would have read up on my history a little more, maybe even watched a few episodes of Xena: Warrior Princess.”
“There are hints of truth everywhere if only you know where to look. The Greeks and Romans knew this as well as anyone.”
“Good for them,” I said. “That’s why they’ve done so well over the years.”
“Cerberus waits to devour you.”
“I’m sure I’ll give him a stomachache.”
“You may view this creature in one of two ways. At the very least, he is a vicious creature who thirsts for your blood and will not hesitate to rip out your throat at the first opportunity.”
“I think I’ll take what’s behind door number two instead. That first option doesn’t sound too appealing.”
“Cerberus is also a figurehead of sorts. A representation of your life.”
Out of all the things the minotaur could have told me, this was one thing I wasn’t prepared to hear. “Explain yourself.”
“All I will say is this. No man can serve two masters---or in this case three.”
“Thanks, Yoda.”
“That’s all I’m prepared to say.”
I sighed. “Fine. I guess I’ll have to face the flesh-and-blood version of this beast and figure out the rest later. Somehow, I‘m pretty sure that representation over there is ready to eat me for lunch.”
“Choose your weapon,” Asterion urged. “The time is at hand.”
“What should I pick?” I asked Midnight.
“You should understand him better than me.”
The dog looked at me with sympathy and picked the recorder off of the table with his teeth.
“Seriously?” I sighed. “Maybe I’ll bore him to death by playing some old Jethro Tull.”
The dog offered the flute to me again. I had read about Cerberus before and knew why the recorder was significant. In one of the stories from mythology, Cerberus had been put to sleep by the music of a flute. There was no way I was going to try that approach. Number one, I wasn’t a flute player. Number two, I was sure Cerberus would rip me limb from limb before I could even get the instrument to my lips.
“Is that your choice?”
“That’s Midnight’s choice.” I tried to bend the situation to my advantage. “I still haven’t chosen yet.”
Asterion glared at me. “The dog does not get a choice.”
“Technically I’m facing three opponents here. You only said that I would face one. So I think letting us keep the flute isn’t really that much of a concession.”
Asterion thought this over for a minute and finally spoke. “Choose your weapon.”
Figuring that it wouldn’t make that much difference anyway, I chose a battle axe that looked like it had severed its fair share of heads. I ran my thumb over the blade, drawing blood immediately. “This one feels good.”
Asterion looked even meaner if that were possible. “Let the fight begin!”
Chapter 15
Asterion took his seat upon the throne of bones, preparing to watch the battle like one of the old bloodthirsty Roman emperors. I wondered if the bones he sat on belonged to the losers of these tournaments. I wondered if I might be a part of that throne before long.
All that was missing at that point were thousands of spectators, eager to see a disembowelment or a beheading. No doubt this place had seen its fair share of blood before.
Cerberus assumed its role as the star of this show and strained to free itself from the tether. Surely this was the kind of animal Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had envisioned when writing The Hound of the Baskervilles. Just looking at it sent chills down my spine. I was expected to kill this beast. Me, a mild-mannered insurance salesman with nothing more substantial to defend myself with than an axe.
All three of the dog’s mouths barked, snarled, and foamed in anger and frustration. From the looks of things, it would be loose in a matter of seconds. Its muscles tensed and flexed, and the chain stretched a little. The links wouldn’t endure that kind of pressure very long. I cast a nervous glance in Midnight’s direction, unsure of what we should do to prepare. The dog still clutched the wooden flute in its mouth, but he growled and glared at the three-headed animal with a look of blind fury.
I held the axe