The dog let out a whine from all three throats.
“Now stop that,” I said. “I’ll be back, I promise.”
Three slobbering tongues licked my face. I laughed.
“Heck, I ain’t owned a dog in a great long time. Maybe I’ll bring you home with me.” The tail, if it was even possible, waged even more frenetically. “Of course, you stick out quite a bit; we’ll have to see to that.”
Then all three heads barked and the dog changed right in front of me. The three heads became one and it shrank down until it was the size of a normal pit. The chain still held it to the wall somehow, so the change was more illusion than anything, but...
“That would certainly work,” I said, and laughed again. “You hold tight, I’ll be back soon. I promise.”
The dog, shifting back to its three headed form, sat to show me that it could wait patiently. I gave each head one last pet, then left, heading back into the labyrinth.
40
THE ARENA
AFTER I LEFT THE dog—maybe I’ll call her Trinity—the corridor I’d been following began to slope downward in a gradual way. I hadn’t noticed it at first. I’d run out of chemical lights and had been trying to map the path in my mind, something I have to admit that I was failing at. But eventually the slope became sharper and it was more difficult at that point not to notice.
The corridor then opened up into a dark room, so dark that I couldn’t tell the size. I could see, however, about fifty yards in, surrounded by a halo of light, what appeared to be a slab of stone with someone lying atop it.
Everything surrounding that one circle of light was complete blackness. I pulled my flashlight from the backpack and switched it on. The beam of light was unable to penetrate the darkness. That made me more than a little uneasy about stepping into the room. But the spell was pulling me forward, so with both pistols in hand I took a deep breath, and plunged in.
Nothing attacked me. No goblins, ogres, or giant slugs. Nary a cyclops to be seen. Just the circle of light ahead. As I drew closer I could see that the figure on the stone slab wasn’t merely laying atop it. They were tied to it.
I stepped closer and found that it was Maggie Keaton, bound spread eagle atop a stone altar that had been stained dark with the blood of countless sacrifices. They’d left her clothes on her, but the rips and bloodstains told me that she’d not made it easy for them. Good for her.
I holstered the pistols and pulled a switchblade from a coat pocket. I popped the blade and sawed at the ropes. There were four of them. One for each appendage. They went from ankle and wrist to four thick rings that had been set in the stone around the four corners of the altar. The rings were dark and old. These guys had been at this for a while.
Maggie woke as I worked. Her eyes widened with panic and she tried to pull back, away from me. She’d been tormented, possibly tortured. I may have to burn this place to the ground.
“Don’t worry, Maggie,” I said as she watched me work, her eyes showing the terror she’d been made to endure. “The name’s Norman Oklahoma. Anthony sent me to fetch you; he was getting mighty worried about your wellbeing.”
“Anthony?” she said. “They told me he was dead. That they k—” Her voice broke. “They told me that they had killed him.”
“He ain’t dead,” I said as the rope on her right wrist broke free. “But he may well wish he was if we can’t get you home to him in one piece.”
She started to cry.
“Is he really alive?” She said between sobs. “Promise me he’s really alive.”
“He’s alive,” I said. “I promise.”
She seemed to gain a bit of strength from hearing that.
“You know who it was that took you? What they want?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Nothing.”
Then she paused and collected herself. There was a strength in this girl that I respected at once. As long as I did my job, she’d get out of this just fine.
Her voice was steadier as she continued.
“Most of them don’t talk. Or at least not to me. Only one talked to me, I think he’s in charge. He kept his hood down so I couldn’t see his face. He’s the one who told me that Anthony was dead.”
“Well, he ain’t,” I said. “So don’t go thinking on it.”
The rope on her left wrist snapped free and I went to work on her left ankle.
“So,” I said, as casually as I could. “I’m told you work at the Happy Hamburger. They sure do make some good burgers.”
“I guess,” she said.
“You guess?”
“You tend to get sick of them after a while. You know, when you’re around them all the time.”
“You like working there?” I asked. I wanted to keep her mind focused, keep her head about her.
“It’s a job,” she said.
The rope on her left ankle broke and I went around the altar to work on the last. She was, by this time, sitting up and looking around.
“Where are we?” She asked.
“Somewhere we don’t want to be,” I said, setting to work on her last rope. “Beyond that, I’m not really sure.”
“It’s dark,” she said.
“It is at that.” Then I tried to change the subject. “If the Happy Hamburger is just a job, then what else does Maggie Keaton want to do?”
“I’m in school,” she said.
“Oh yeah?” I said as the final rope broke free. “School, huh? What are you studying?”
“Law,” she said, sliding off the altar. “I’m studying Law.”
She was a bit unsteady on her feet.
“You must be one of them big brains then,” I said.
She smiled and looked me over for the first time.
“Are you real?” she asked.
“I’m very real, girl,” I said. “And I’ll have you out of here in no time.”
“Why do you dress like that?”
I sighed. “I happen to like the way I dress,” I said.
“Oh yeah,” A voice said from behind. “You are the very peak of fashion, Norman Oklahoma.”
I spun, both pistols in hand. I’d been able to clear leather and thumb back both hammers before the speaker had finished their sentence.
He eased out from the dark like stepping out from under a waterfall. He wore a set of long sleeved robes, hooded and blood red that were belted at the waist by a length of rope. Two other men stood to either side of him; both dressed the same, only in brown.
I put myself between Maggie and the three monks.
“You must be the Brotherhood,” I said. “It just the three of you?” I asked, gesturing at the three men with one of my pistols. “I gotta say son, your religion ain’t got the reach like it used to.”
“The Brotherhood is doing just fine,” the man said, smiling. “And tonight will prove that. You will be a part of that, Norman. May I call you Norman?”
I popped off a quick shot. It should have taken him in the forehead. Instead the slug slammed into some sort of invisible wall about an inch from the man and then turned into powder.
“Come now, Norman,” the man said. “Is that the way for a guest to act. After all the trouble I went to invite you here.”
“Invite?” I said, replacing my spent shell. “You wanted me here?”
Maggie stood behind me, a hand on my shoulder. I could feel her trembling.
“Of course, Norman,” the man said. “Why, you are the star of the show.”
“That’s funny,” I said. “On my end, it feels like you’ve been doing everything you can to keep me away. I mean, I can assume you’re the fella who set those goblins on me and my friends.”
“Keep you away? Why, Norman. I’ve been doing everything but. I’ve studied you, see. I know what makes you tick. What motivates you. Yes, that was me in the smoke in your friend’s pathetic excuse for a laboratory. See, I knew that the more obstacles I put in your way, the more it would drive you forward.”
“You accomplished t
hat just by taking the girl, idiot. You put other lives in danger trying to get me to a place I was already going. All you’ve managed to do with all this is give me more of a reason to end your life.”
I tried to pop off another shot, but like before, the bullet dissolved into powder and blew away.
The man laughed. A sickly green glow oozed out from under his hood. Suddenly I found my arms moving on their own. Before I could stop them, they had holstered both pistols. My arms then hung at my sides and try as I might, I couldn’t move them. In fact, I couldn’t move my legs either. I was stuck.
“It matters not how you arrived, Norman, or why. All that matters is that you are here.”
He threw his hands up and like a clap of thunder the lights came on and a cacophony of sound slammed into me. We stood in the center of an ancient, indoor arena. The stands were filled to capacity with thousands of cheering monks. I almost expected to see chariots, gladiators, and Christians being fed to lions.
“Welcome, Brothers of Minos!” The man pulled his hood back to reveal a bald head covered in glowing rune tattoos. His voice echoed out as if from a state of the art P.A. system.
“I, Cleon, High Priest of the Brotherhood and Voice of the Bull God come to you with tidings of joy as we begin this time of ritual!”
The crowd quieted.
“We come together tonight to ask Mighty Asterion for his blessings upon the coming year. To honor him with sacrifice so that he may bestow upon us the power to topple our enemies.”
“THE BROTHERHOOD OR NONE,” the crowd said in one voice.
“Oh boy,” I said.
“What’s happening?” Maggie asked. She’d moved to stand beside me.
“Nothing but a great big bunch of crazy,” I said.
“Only I, the High Priest, knows the heart of the Bull God. Asterion is no longer satisfied with mere sacrifice. Asterion has too long hidden away from the world of men. He longs for the time of war. He yearns for the days of battle and blood.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. I had a bad feeling that I knew where this was heading.
“Look,” I said to Maggie. “I think things are about to get really bad really quick. When they come for you, resist. Fight them as much as you can. They aren’t going to hurt you, not until the proper time anyway.”
“What about you?” Maggie said. “What’s going to happen?”
“The Great Asterion yearns for the call of battle, to wash in the blood of his enemies,” Cleon called out. “And for that I bring you his opponent, Norman Oklahoma!”
The crowd booed. It didn’t make me feel very well.
“If Norman Oklahoma can defeat the Might Asterion,” Cleon paused while the monks laughed. “Yes, yes,” he said, laughing as well. “As ridiculous as it sounds, if Norman Oklahoma can best Mighty Asterion, he is free to leave unharmed with the sacrifice.”
More boos.
“Norman Oklahoma,” Cleon said, turning to me. “You are being shown a great honor. Kneel before the Bull God!”
I fell to me knees. I didn’t want to, but I was no longer in control. The roar of the crowed pounded at my ears as a figure emerged from an archway under the stands.
It was seven feet tall, at least, with wide, broad shoulders. It was all muscle too, like a comic book exaggeration of a body builder. It dressed in simple sandals that laced up to the knees, a leather kilt studded with metal plates, and a belt that crisscrossed its massive chest. The thing’s skin was a dark red like leather.
But what made it truly stand out from the crowd was what was perched atop its shoulders. The creature had the body of a man, but the head of a bull.
“What is that?” Maggie asked.
“That,” I told her. “Is Mike.”
41
THE BULL GOD
MAGGIE WAS ABOUT TO lose it.
I didn’t blame her. I was about to lose it too.
But then whatever magic Cleon had used to force me to kneel had let go. I jumped to my feet.
“Get behind me,” I told Maggie.
I fired two quick shots, one from each gun, and the slugs found their target, center mass on the big bull. But a minotaur’s skin is thick like a Kevlar vest and the bullets did no real harm. I’d known this as I fired. But sometimes the crashing sound of gunfire and the impact of the shots can distract something as bulletproof as a minotaur long enough for me to enact the next piece of my brilliant plan.
So, the moment after I’d squeezed the triggers I turned to Maggie. I pointed to where I’d come into the arena.
“Run!” I shouted.
And so we ran, followed by a raucous chorus of boos from the stands.
It always feels wrong to me to run from a fight. But priority one here was to get Maggie home with all her limbs. Besides, a minotaur is not something I like to tussle with unless I have no other option. The bullet proof skin is one reason. The other factor is that they are immensely strong, which Mike showed to be true when the massive stone altar dropped out of the sky in front of us.
The stands erupted in cheers and I toyed with the idea of emptying both guns into them. But only for just the tiniest of moments.
Maggie and I reached the exit to find it barred. Literally. A gate made from thick, vertical iron bars had evidently shut behind me when I’d entered earlier. Maggie and I were now trapped in the arena with a minotaur, a dark wizard, and a thousand or so screaming monks with their blood lust up.
Not one of my better days.
We turned to find Mike bearing down on us like a charging bull. Which, of course, he was.
I’ve always made it a rule in my life to avoid coming into contact with a minotaur unless people were in danger. Luckily, there ain’t that many left alive. I know of one in California, I’ve been told that a set of twins live in South Dakota, there are rumors of a family of them in Main, and of course there’s that village in Greece. And then locally, there’s Mike.
I’ve never had any trouble before from Mike. He’d been living under Kansas City for as long as I can remember—which is a good long time—and as far as I know he’s never so much as hurt anyone. Mike’s always been one of those monsters that liked to be left alone. In fact, I don’t even like to think of Mike as a monster. I mean, technically, that’s what he is, but the few times I’ve dealt with him in the past he has shown more compassion and selflessness than most humans I know.
So what was he doing here?
I thought maybe I should ask him.
“Mike!” I shouted. “Talk to me. This ain’t like you.”
Mike, however, didn’t feel like talking. He kept coming at me. I stepped to the side at the last moment, and the big bull slammed headlong into the gate that had Maggie and I trapped.
As a testament to the builder, the gate didn’t fall. Which was too bad, I was kinda hoping Mike would inadvertently set us free. Instead, his horns got caught among the bars and for the moment Maggie and I didn’t have certain death crashing down on us.
“What do we do?” Maggie asked.
Mike bellowed as he thrashed and pulled.
“Well,” I said. “I think reasoning with the beast is out of the question.”
“You called it Mike,” Maggie said as we backed away. The monks in the stands called out their displeasure at the lull. “Do you know that thing?”
“Mike is a minotaur,” I said.
“I kinda worked that one out for myself.”
“Okay,” I said. “Anyway, he’s usually kept to himself. He’s worked hard over the centuries to avoid human contact. In fact, the Mike I know would find the idea of being worshiped ridiculous and frankly, I think he’d be more than a little aggravated.”
“Then why—”
Whatever she’d meant to say, she didn’t finish as Mike freed himself from the iron gate. He turned to us and I noticed that his eyes were dull, like those of a cow grazing in a field.
Make whatever jokes you want, but the few times I’ve crossed paths with Mike, his eyes had looked a
nything but dull. These were the eyes of an automaton, not an intelligent creature like Mike.
“This ain’t you, Mike,” I said again as the big bull took a step toward us.
But Mike only snorted, lowered his head, and charged once more.
Maggie and I jumped out of the way and Mike sailed past us.
The monks were not happy. So far their hopes of an exciting battle had been dashed by nothing more than a few missed passes by an angry bull.
“Follow me,” I called and ran to the stands.
The wall between the arena floor and the crowd was only about three feet high, and as Maggie and I arrived I helped her up onto the top of it. But it’s as far and she was going to go.
“There’s something here,” she said, standing on the wall and pounding on nothing. It won’t let me through!”
A magical barrier.
Then Mike was there. I pushed Maggie out of the way as the bull took hold of me, lifted me up over his head, and then tossed me like a doll into the middle of the arena.
I hit the ground in a heap, landing on my right shoulder. I felt it pop out its socket and I screamed through the pain.
Mike threw his head back and bellowed.
The crowd cheered their approval.
Over it all I could hear the sound of laughing.
I looked up into the stands and had no trouble locating the source. Sitting in his own private box, like the emperor himself, was Cleon, his head tattoos glowing like a black light poster in a stoner’s basement.
Maggie ran to me and knelt at my side as Mike continued to bellow.
“Kill him!” Someone called from the stands.
Others took up the cry and soon the crowd was chanting.
“KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!”
Mike turned and took a step toward us, then stopped. He shook his head as if trying to clear it of cobwebs and for a moment, the dullness left his eyes.
“What—” Mike said before the blank expression returned and he took another step toward us. His movements suddenly jerky and forced.
“He’s controlling him,” Maggie said.
“What?” I said.
“Cleon. Look at his tattoos.”
The Adventures of Norman Oklahoma Volume One Page 23
