Michael and the Minotaurs

At first, Michael's mind went completely blank. He simply did not know how to process the fact that he was currently surrounded by strange minotaur-like creatures armed with spears and that he was definitely being threatened with them.

Then it made up for it's original blankness by kicking into high gear. He wondered fleetingly if he could just drop back down through the hole. But there was no way out of the hole besides this--the one he'd made. He doubted his destination would change no matter where he drew the circle. So instead, he raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender.

One of the creatures prodded him in the shoulder, and together they all herded him away from the hole and further into what seemed to be a large Colosseum. What? he thought, Jareth has a hippodrome now? Direct from ancient Rome. It was hardly an impossible thing to believe after the shock of the minotaurs, and they both took back seat to the incredulity at being in a labyrinth at all. Still, it wasn't pleasant to realize that he was standing inside the sandy center pit, instead of safely up in the spectator's rows.

And that is when Michael saw the large beast awaiting him in the center. It was being held down by multiple heavy-lookings chains looped over it's back, and a minotaur at each end, struggling to keep their grips on the chains. Michael stopped in his tracks and received a prod for his trouble.

"Look," said Michael desperately as he continued haltingly forward, sudden fear making his limbs not want to work correctly. "I won't be much of a show. If you put me near that thing it will all be over in a few seconds. I don't have much entertainment value. Perhaps I could do something else?" They ignored him. When he saw that talking wasn't going to do him any good, he shut his mouth in order to conserve the energy he might need in a few moments to run away very fast. He tried not to look at his up and coming doom too closely--but it was nearly impossible not to. For one thing, it took up a large part of his field of vision. For another, it was--well--interesting in a huge and horrible sort of way.

It had an elephant's trunk. But it's feet were large hooves, not flat-footed tree trunks of elephant variety. And the thing had shaggy yellow fur. Definitely quite ugly, and also seemingly very angry. Michael supposed he would be, too, if he were taken prisoner by some pesky little creatures that he should have been able to smash. Thoughts of smashing did not do Michael any good. He put them out of his head rather quickly.

The minotaurs seemed just as wary of it as Michael was. They advanced cautiously, prodding him in front of them. Then there was a moment when everyone seemed to be waiting for something. His captors stood still with their spears forming a sharp wall at his back, and the others struggled to hold the beast's chains. Something bumped softly against Michael's foot and he spared a glance down at it. It was a small glass globe. He wanted to bend down and pick it up, but he didn't think the minotaurs would let him. He risked a glance back. They weren't even looking at him--their attention was riveted on the struggling beast. With a quick duck down he scooped up the globe and hid it in his palm against his side. His movement had jerked the minotaurs back to guarding duty, but he didn't think they'd seen the globe.

Michael wasn't really letting himself acknowledge it either. He didn't know where it had come from, but all his suspicions pointed to something improbable. So he decided that whatever it was and wherever it came from, it could only help him now. At worst, he could pelt a guard in the head with it and make a desperate escape. At best--well--it might be more than it seemed, like everything else in this labyrinth, and help to get him out of this alive.

Then suddenly, the waiting was over. Horns blew from somewhere in the surrounding arena, echoing off of the walls. That was apparently what everyone had been waiting for. His guards gave him a parting prod in the back and he heard their quickly retreating footsteps behind him. A second later, the others that held the chains on the beast let go and quickly ran for the walls. And Michael found he was frozen with indecision.

His blood was pounding through him at double speed and he could feel sweat breaking out all over him. He couldn't think of what to do. Run? Sure and have the thing come charging after him now that he was free. Stand still? Slightly better, but that just meant he'd have to wait to be discovered on his own. What was he expected to do, anyway? Wrangle with a gigantic elephant-thing? He had no weapons--nothing that would harm even another human, and he knew their vulnerable points. What was he possibly going to do to this thing?

He shifted his grip on the globe, swallowing a small noise of fear firmly back down, and noticed that the globe was starting to get soft in his hands. At first he thought it was just sweat, making him think it was softer, but in fact, it was sort of half melting, half evaporating. Now what? When it was completely gone, there was a sudden loud voice that shouted into his ears.

"Damned beasts! They have no right! I shouldn't be here!" It took Michael a long and stunned moment to realize that the voice was coming from the beast. It came with each panting trumpet of the thing's elephant trunk. Licking his lips, Michael decided he had nothing to lose. If he could understand it, perhaps it would understand him, too.

"Um...Hello!" Michael called up to it, hating the wobbly uncertainty in his voice. "Can you understand me?" The trunk stopped flailing wildly, and the curses died down. He was being regarded with close scrutiny.

"You didn't, perchance, talk, did you?" the think trumpeted somewhat more softly, somehow conveying surprise.

"I did," said Michael. "I just started to understand you."

"How?"

"I don't know." He paused. "A magic globe, I guess. I found it on the ground."

"Those things don't just appear," said the thing, rather sharply. "You must have a few powerful friends."

"I don't," said Michael. "I'm just trying to get to the center of the labyrinth and these things captured me."

"Ah," It gave an approximation of a nod. "I don't suppose you want to be here anymore than I do, right?" It swiveled both eyes to peer at him sharply.

"No!" said Michael. "I climbed out of a hole in the ground and here I was." The thing appeared to be thinking.

"Well, look," it said at last. "I can knock down the guards if you can figure out how to open the gate. I'm not made to manipulate that kind of thing. Hands are the only thing that work for human made gates."

"I'll try," said Michael. "It might be locked or something. I'm not exactly from around here."

"Well, we've got to do something soon. They're starting to notice that this isn't going correctly." The trunk gestured to the groups of minotaurs that had ran so quickly away a short time ago. Michael saw that they were muttering urgently together, and that didn't bode well for either of the prisoners.

"Al right," said Michael. "Which gate?"

"The one behind me. I don't think it's very hard to open. The minotaurs didn't do much to it. You run for it and I'll keep them off of your tail."

"Ok." He looked around the beast's body, sighted the gate and started running. Behind him he could hear shouts and the sound of regular feet. But they were cut off. More feet sounded, and Michael could hear the clinking of chains. He put his head down and ran faster. The arena was big. He ran full speed up to the giant doors, and quickly scanned their surface for knobs, handles, bars, anything. Down at the bottom he finally located one of the sliding floor locks that people used in stores, only these ones were much bigger. He yanked one up and then the other. Then he leaned into the doors, and felt them give a little. They were unlocked, but incredibly heavy. Michael didn't think he'd be able to move them enough to escape through.

The commotion started to head his way, and he looked around to see the beast come charging for the doors, shedding minotaurs on it's way.

"Move!" it trumpeted at him. "I'll shove it open!"

Michael leapt hurriedly out of the way and watched as the beast flung both doors open wide with its shear size alone.

"Come ON!" he heard through the doorway, and with a last glance back at the prostrate minotaurs littering the sandy floor of the arena, he dashed through the open gates into freedom. Well, not precisely freedom, he amended. But certainly better than a sacrificed prisoner.

As soon as he was out the door, a yellow-furred trunk swooped down and picked him up. He was deposited in more yellow fur on the thing's back and then forced to hold on to it rather quickly when the beast set off at a swift run. Michael crouched low over its back and tried to duck tree branches and other assaults from the foliage.

After an undetermined amount of time spend running, Michael's companion slowed and then stopped. Michael slid off and stood up shakily on his own two feet. They faced each other.

"What are you?" They both asked the same question at the same time, and then stared at each other in surprise.

"I'm a human. My name is Michael," he volunteered.

"Oh. You're smaller than I thought humans would be. I'm a sand elk." It paused. "My name is Mooreland."

"Thanks for the lift, Mooreland," said Michael. "I'd never have been able to out run them."

"Well, I wouldn't have been free at all if you hadn't unlocked the gates. It was only fair." Silence descended, and for a brief panicked moment, Michael thought that the melting globe had worn off and that they wouldn't be able to understand each other any more. But then Mooreland spoke.

"What are you doing inside the labyrinth?" it asked.

"I'm trying to save my sister. I wished her away accidentally. I've probably only got eight or so hours left." Michael tried not to show how afraid he was that he wouldn't get there.

"I have to get to the center myself," said Mooreland. "The only way out is through, and after those minotaurs captured me out on the sands, I knew I'd have to get through the Labyrinth to get home. Isn't there a king there that grants wishes to anyone who gets through?"

"I don't know about wishes. The book we have--me and my sister--says that I have to get to the castle of the Goblin King within thirteen hours or my sister turns into a goblin. She doesn't want to be a goblin."

"Well," said Mooreland. "We might as well travel together. I'll need your help for any other doors we might encounter, and you'll need my help in case we have to run or trample a few minotaurs again. How about it?"

"Yes!" said Michael, enthusiastic about trampling future minotaurs. "Great idea. Which way should we go first?"

They both looked around. The forest than they had been crashing through was still obviously part of the Labyrinth. It didn't so much have proper walls like the first part had had, but the trees banded together and grew so close that there was still a definite path. All they could really do was follow it. And from where they were it went three ways. The trees were too tall to see over and get their bearings anyway, and Michael doubted if seeing the castle would help very much. Direction hadn't been a very big help so far.

"Not back the way we came," said Mooreland. "So right or left?" They looked from one to the other. One was broad and clean and easy-looking. Like a walk up main street. The other looked dis-used, dirty, and dark. Michael could see definite thorns and it would probably be uncomfortable for Mooreland more than him. It was obviously the less-pleasant one, but Michael recalled a poem that was one of Mireia's favorites. It had definite opinions of roads like these.

"See you not yon narrow road
So thick beset with thorns and briars?
That is the path of righteousness,
Though after it few enquire.

And see you not yon broad, broad road
Away across the lily leaven?
That is the path of wickedness
Though some call it the road to heaven." Michael quoted.

Mooreland swung his massive head to look at him. "Is that the way it goes?" he asked, rhetorically. "It makes sense. They wouldn't just give us a straight and even road to walk along. It must be a trap. So we take the narrow road." The both looked at it in distaste. It looked nastier by the second. If Michael concentrated he thought he could see many spider's webs strung across the middle of the path. And thorns--the poem was right--there were definite thorns.

"I guess we'll have to," sighed Michael. "I'll lead." He looked around for a stick and started into the tangle, sweeping webs out of they way with his stick as they went. He found it funny that Mireia probably wouldn't have picked this road. She hated spiders.