Minotaur by Phillip W. Simpson

Author:Phillip W. Simpson [Simpson, Phillip W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: YA, fantasy, alternate history, educational, alternate biography, mythical creatures, myths, legends, greek and roman mythology, Ovid, minotaur
Publisher: Month9Books, LLC
Published: 2015-09-01T07:00:00+00:00

Ω

I awoke from a restless sleep filled with faces of the dead. My eyes opened slowly, resentfully. It was still dark, but the gray light of dawn was just starting to peak in through the single window. Time to start the last leg of our journey.

I tried to sit up and failed. It was only then that I realized something was wrong. I found that my hands and feet were securely bound to the posts of the bed. I looked over at Theseus. He was still asleep but was tied in the same way.

“Theseus,” I hissed. “Theseus, wake up!”

Theseus slowly roused, gradually becoming aware of our predicament. His eyes widened in horrified realization. We were trapped. Procrustes must have drugged our wine. Our confidence in our superiority had been our downfall.

Before we could begin to struggle free, Procrustes shuffled into the room.

“Ah, young warriors. I see you’re awake.”

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Theseus. “Free us immediately!”

Procrustes shook his head and smiled sadly. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I have promised my beds new victims and new victims they must have.”

He was clearly mad. Not that I’m an expert but anyone who wants to sacrifice you to a bed can’t be completely sane.

“You are probably wondering about the magical properties of these beds,” he said, insanity sparkling in his eyes. “Their length does indeed exactly match those who lie upon them. Of course, that’s only with some adjustment.”

He looked from me to Theseus. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully when he saw that my feet dangled over the end of the bed. “I think we’ll start with you,” he said, eyeing up Theseus. “Your large friend here presents more of a challenge. Not to mention a mess.”

He retrieved a bronze bar from a darkened recess of the room and inserted it under Theseus’s bed. He then began to wind, singing softly to himself. Procrustes may have been mad but he meant what he said. The bonds on Theseus wrists and ankles began to tighten, trying to stretch Theseus so that he fitted the bed.

Theseus thrashed about wildly, struggling against the inexorable pull of his bonds. It was useless. Procrustes had tied both of us securely. I suspected this wasn’t the first time he’d had visitors. Theseus began to scream as the rack took up the slack. It was muscle, sinew, and flesh against metal. The result was inevitable.

Procrustes was paying me no attention whatsoever. He was grunting and singing with his back to me as he slowly wound.

Desperately, I assessed my situation. I had to save Theseus. Not only that, but I had to save myself. Once Procrustes was finished with Theseus, he would turn his attention on me. I suspected that his solution to my size would be rather simple, hence his reference to mess. In order to make me fit the bed, he would chop off my feet.

During our drugged sleep, Procrustes must have taken off my helm, obviously thinking that my horns would provide me with a weapon during my struggles.

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