[2015] Dance of the Minotaur

by TC Calligari

  Theseus smiled and it was this smile that Calathena knew won many. “We have our daggers and there are a few rocks around here. It is enough for me to slay the monster. But to survive we must stay together.”

  A man with a strong curved nose and dark eyes cleared his throat. “But what if the Minotaur sneaks up and kills one of us silently? Our defenses will be breached.”

  “I will check throughout the night. Now, eat frugally. We could be here for awhile. Then get some sleep. In the morning we will search out the beast, if it doesn’t find us first.”

  Calathena waited until the quietest part of night. Theseus and his people had not noticed the cleverly hidden fifth doorway off one of the others. A trick of the light hid the entrance well. He was propped against the dais, lightly dozing. She hoped that his high-born arrogance had kept him from ever getting too friendly with the other thirteen sacrifices.

  “Theseus,” she whispered, and when he started, she held her finger to her lips. “Shh, there’s no point in waking the others. I have something to show you.”

  He followed as she led him to the hidden doorway. She stopped and turned in the moonlight filtering down. “I found a hidden entrance. It could come in handy.” She pulled him around the corner so that what light there was fell across the low dip of her chiton, and revealed the curve of her breasts. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, making sure her breasts pressed into his arm and chest. “We can use this but there’s something you don’t know. There’s a prophecy that says he who spills the blood of the Minotaur is doomed to a short life and being remembered as a coward. I think we can get around this if you are strong enough to use your hands. I saw where the Minotaur keeps his lair.”

  His hands grasped both her arms and he peered into the dark at her face. “How do you know this?”

  “I heard it from one of the guards while you were having your way with the little Cretan princess.” Sarcastically, she added, “Can you make love too or can you only fuck as you did with her?”

  Anger flared in his eyes and his hands gripped tighter on her arms. “I’ll show you what I can do and then you can decide.” His mouth clamped on hers before she could comment and his hands roamed along her body. One hand shot up between her legs, making her gasp. She could have called the Minotaur now but in truth, she wanted to know what a man would be like before she committed herself completely to the Minotaur.

  Theseus pushed her to the ground, falling on top of her. The Minotaur had been moody the last couple of nights because of the coming of the Greeks. So there was a need that burned within her, making her flesh hot to the touch. She was hungry for the sex and Theseus mounted her in seconds, taking very little more time than he had with Ariadne. Calathena’s wet folds pulled him into the hot darkness of her flesh. He was rough where the Minotaur was gentle, inexperienced where the Minotaur knew the maze of her body. Theseus squeezed her breasts too hard and thrust hard against her. “I’ll show you,” he grunted and thrashed as she wrapped her strong thighs about his waist, pulling him deeper in. She bucked back, trying to pull more feeling from the thinness of his prick. But in seconds he came, leaving her gasping like a fish out of water, trying to grasp what had been almost in her reach. But it did not matter as he pushed off her and said, “In the morning, you’ll show us the way.” She knew now who the true beast was.

  She stood, hiding the knife she had taken from his belt. “I will. As dawn first rises, come back here. Let the others sleep for too many will warn the Minotaur. His hearing is very acute.”

  Chapter 6

  If the mist of morning could have crept down into the labyrinth’s gloom, it would have found good company. Calathena shivered in dread anticipation, afraid that of the many aspects that could go wrong with their simple plan. The Minotaur hid far from the main chamber, through many twists and turns. Theseus unwound his yarn, just in case, as they moved quietly through the corridors.

  Calathena had left the Minotaur a short while before, after speaking her love and reassurance to him and cloaking her doubts. As she walked now beside the proud Theseus, she reminded him of the prophecy. She counted on his arrogance to not question certain aspects. Still, he was a hero and wanted the sport to himself. She and the Minotaur had worked hard over the last few days to find what few stones there were in the labyrinth, those that had broken out of the walls over the years, and they had placed them strategically near.

  Theseus flexed his hands. “Where is this Minotaur?”

  She put a hand to his chest and quieted him. “Wait here a moment. I believe he’s just ahead, if he’s still there.” She crept ahead and motioned him forward after she had peered around the corner. Theseus followed the direction of her finger. As he rounded the corner she followed. It would have been satisfying to kill him but then there may have been no escape. The other key was that Ariadne waited at the end.

  Theseus strode up as the Minotaur groggily awoke. “It is time to meet your gods, beast,” and he threw himself at the Minotaur, bringing his strongly muscled arms around his neck. The Minotaur roared and arose, the Greek dangling a foot from the ground. Valiantly he tried to throttle the thick bull neck. The Minotaur bellowed again and grabbed those arms, tossing Theseus over his head onto the ground. Landing with an “oomph,” Theseus rolled quickly to one side and scrambled to his feet. The two god-touched beings circled each other, their arms out.

  The Minotaur snorted and charged, catching Theseus around the middle. He twirled him twice and slammed him into a wall. By this time, Calathena could hear the running of feet. The Athenians all showed up but she held her arms up to keep them from passing and they knew this was a fight for a hero, one on one. In all the chaos and excitement, no one noticed that there were fifteen people present.

  Theseus managed to recover and kick the feet out from the Minotaur. The Minotaur fell with another bellow and rolled to his hands and feet, trying to get up. Theseus grabbed a large hand sized stone and brought it down on the back of the Minotaur’s thick skull. Breath huffed from the Minotaur and a small trickle of blood showed on his tawny skin. Theseus raised the stone high above his head and brought it down with a mighty thump. The Minotaur dropped, face down to the ground and did not move.

  Everyone stood as statues for what seemed an eternity. And then they surged forward cheering and patting Theseus on the back. Not wanting to miss the moment, he raised a fist to the air and said, “Thus ends the tyranny of Minos over the Greeks. Now let us leave this abysmal place.”

  In all the excitement no one noticed as Calathena slipped back into the shadows while Theseus wound out the skein of wool and the Greeks trooped after him, traveling out of the maze.

  Afraid that the hero had indeed vanquished her gentle Minotaur, Calathena crept forward and knelt by the mighty brown head. Her hand trembled as she reached out, tentatively touching the white tip of his horn and moving slowly down the widening curve to the back of his skull. Her fingers shakily touched the raised welt on the back of his skull and tears slipped from her eyes, falling hot as lava upon his head.

  He groaned then and rolled over, clutching her to his chest. Then Calathena let the tears pour. “I’m so sorry, my Minotaur. So sorry that had to happen. I’m sorry I ever doubted your beauty. I let him take me, to know if there was a difference between you and a man. And I am sorry I doubted. You are the most noble, the gentlest being I have met. I love you and will stay with you, if you will have me.”

  There was a stillness in him and she thought maybe he had died for sure. Afraid to move, she just lay with her head and hand pressed to his chest. Then slowly he sat up, holding her at arm’s length. When she would look him in the eye he pointed to her and then cupped his hand over his heart. He pointed to both of them and twined his fingers together.

  “Yes,” she said and laughed, then sniffled. “Yes, I will stay with you forever.”

  Together they stood and followed the yarn out of the labyrinth.

  THE END

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  Deception in the Highlands

  Lady Catríona, sole surviving heir to Clan Sutharlainn, is crossing the Scottish highlands in disguise to complete a mission that she has been plotting for the last ten years: avenge the death of her beloved father.

  Cat must infiltrate the most dreaded and isolated of clans—the MacConaills. She knows that the Laird and his sons had a hand in poisoning her father, and Catríona intends to inflict upon them the same terrible death.

  Can she complete her task and survive to tell the tale, or will she find that there is more to the MacConaills than meets the eye?

  And when sparks fly with the sultry son of the enemy Laird, will Lady Catríona be forced to decide between avenging her father, or following her heart? And is it possible that she can do both?

  Deception in the Highlands

  Catríona Sutharlainn crouched in the undergrowth on a rocky ledge at the edge of the forest. The small village surrounding Castle MacConaill appeared functional and quiet to her critical eye. She could not say specifically what she had expected, but the quaint community and lively townsfolk were much too friendly for Catríona’s nerves. Perhaps it was an act, she thought, meant to draw in unsuspecting visitors. Perhaps, in their homeland, the MacConaills were not as ruthless and brutal as their reputation with the other highland clans foretold.

  She seethed as the knowledge of this clan’s depravity collided with the reality that was before her. Catríona could not imagine how men brutal enough to murder a Laird in his own castle could return home to live such peaceful and… if she were being perfectly honest, natural lives. Maybe, she thought, the true evil was housed within the castle, and these poor townsfolk were also subject to the whims and torments of the Laird and his family.

  Ten years ago, in the summer of her eleventh year, Clan Sutharlainn had hosted a gathering with all the clans of their alliance. The gathering had included Clan MacConaill. At the time, the Sutharlainns were the only clan who maintained a peace with the MacConaills, a risky move for any clan, her uncle Donnal later informed her. Catríona’s mother had been the only child of the war chief of the unpopular clan. Her loving marriage to the Laird of Clan Sutharlainn had sealed the treaty between the two clans.

  When her mother had died in childbirth, the alliance had remained intact, despite the displeasure of certain neighboring clans. That all changed upon the death of her father. Laird Sutharlainn had trusted the MacConaills, against his brother’s counsel, thinking that the memory of his wife would be enough to maintain their loyalty. Catríona doubted that the Laird MacConaill and his beastly sons had ever been truly loyal to the family of an unrelated daughter who had married away.

  At the first opportunity, the MacConaill men, particularly the sons, had gathered around her father as his guests of honor. She vaguely remembered sitting beside the eldest MacConaill son, who was six years her senior, and thinking that he would grow to be a fine man. The teenage boy had been the epitome of propriety, a trick she now recognized as the deception they had used to lure her father into complacency. She had been distracted that night, awaiting the gift that her father had promised to bestow at the end of the feast. A gift that she had never received.

  The traitors had shared his food, his drink, his entertainment… and paid him back with a poison so foul that his face had turned purple and his eyes had bulged from his head right there at the long table. Murder, in cold blood. There was no better description for the death of her father, Laird of Clan Sutharlainn.

  She remembered being pulled away from her father’s body by her kind uncle, his eyes filled with tears for his lost kin. He had extricated her from the midst of the MacConaill men and protected her from their treacherous grasps. Yet, here she was today, about to enter the very den of the beasts.

  Catríona would never forget that day. She could never forgive these brutal men for the death of her beloved father, the only parent she had even known. From that day on she had been called Lady Sutharlainn. And from that day she had vowed revenge, and revenge she would have.

  Catríona had slipped away from her guards and advisors a fortnight ago. She wore the bedraggled garment of a chambermaid and carried nothing of her own except for a small dagger that was tied around her ankle. She slipped her hand under the edge of her skirts to feel the comfort of the cold metal against her skin, reassuring herself that it was still there.

  Up the road, to the left, she could see the approaching caravan of traders with whom she had been traveling these past six nights. It would not be long before they expected her to rejoin their group before entering the city. She would need the cover of their ranks to disguise her as the traveling seamstress that she claimed to be.

  Catríona slipped down the hillside and circled the caravan from behind. She jogged up from behind, adjusting her long skirts as if she had merely taken the opportunity to relieve herself.

  “Catlin!” snapped a wrinkled old crone who sat, wrapped in shawls, atop a wooden cart. She used the false name that Catríona had given them. “I told you, lass. You cannot be wandering the woods on these MacConaill lands. There’s dark magic and creatures that roam these forests.”

  “Oh, Ainsley,” She laughed, walking beside the slow moving cart, “I’m sure your magic and creatures are nothing more than ruffians and thieves.” When the woman did not look convinced, she continued. “Aye, these are dangerous lands and I shouldn’t have wandered off. Though, I think we approach a place much more dangerous than the wood.”

  Ainsley nodded. “We’ve never traded with Clan MacConaill before, but it’s been rumored they have a surplus crop this year and we cannot miss an opportunity like that. My son says we’ll only stay a week at most.” She turned her glassy blue eyes on Catríona. “Will you be travelling with us again?”

  Catríona shrugged. “I’m hoping to find more permanent employment, if they have need of it. I can’t say for sure yet.” The truth was, she might need to make a quick escape with the caravan in a week’s time. She only doubted that a week would be enough time to infiltrate their ranks and execute a plan. No, Catríona guessed that she would need to stay longer, though how she might escape at that time she had no idea.

  Ainsley grunted her disapproval. Catríona heard the old woman mumble something under her breath that sounded very much like… work for the McKinnons before I’d stay here.

  When they entered the small town Catríona noticed that they were met with wary, but not unfriendly looks. It was immediately clear that visitors were uncommon in these parts, especially a caravan of thirty or more. They must have been spotted a long way off because Ainsley’s son, and the other men grouped at the front of the caravan, were met by a formidable line of MacConaill men waiting at the gates to the castle. They must have been given permission to set up camp on the edge of the town because it was not long after that the cart began to move again and the tradesmen began to unpack their wares.

  Catríona did not wait around to help the others, she would only have been in their way. Instead, she scooped up her bundle and went in search of the apothecary or priest, whichever she might find first. Both, in her experience were central hubs of the gossip mill in any community. They were bound to know if her services would be welcomed in any household. Catríona knew that she would need to become engrained in the community before she would ever get near enough to the Laird and his sons to slip them the ruthless poison that rested in a small vial in her pack.

  She happened upon the priest in the muddy town square. He was counseling an anxious group of townsfolk about the arrival of the caravan. She heard only a small bit of the conversation when, upon her arrival, the crowd dropped silent. Catríona’s heart beat painfully in her chest. Had they been planning an attack on the caravan? They did not look aggressive, merely frightened themselves.

  “Excuse me, Father, I did not mean to interrupt.” She began. Catríona reminded herself that she would need to be careful to disguise her highborn upbringing. Sh
e relaxed her shoulders into a gentle slouch and lowered her eyes to the ground in a way she had been taught never to do.

  “Go on, child.” The priest approached with his arms spread wide. “Speak openly and show the women of our town that you’ll be no stranger.” Stranger? Catríona thought. They were worried of the danger of a group of strangers, when their clan was feared above all others?

  “I’ll be no stranger, Father. It’s only… I’m here in search of employ.” Catríona struggled against the urge to raise her gaze. She must appear meek and in need. Pity would be her ally here. “I’ve a fair hand at cleaning a house and I can mend and sew just fine. The gypsies allowed me the protection of travelling with them but I’ve no desire to continue any further. If it’s all the same, and if there is work for me, I’m looking to stay on after they leave.”

  There was a murmur of surprise that drifted through the crowd.

  “Why would a young lass, such as yourself, want to remain behind? Surely you could do better with another clan along the way.” Catríona had expected this argument. In fact, she agreed that a seamstress would do better anywhere else than holed up with this reclusive clan. So, she had prepared what she hoped would be a suitable explanation, one that would perhaps, due to its sensitive nature, encourage the townsfolk to avoid raising additional questions. Her traveling companions had accepted it with ease and she could only hope that this situation would be no different.

  “To be honest, Father,” She began her speech with a false tremor in her voice, “I came here to escape a matter most personal. I discovered that I was to be married, against my will, to a violent drunkard who had already had two wives pass under suspicious circumstances. I ran, in fear for my life, but had nowhere to go. Where could I hide that I couldn’t be followed? Every day I moved on, fearful that he would come after me.” The women in the crowd were making sympathetic noises and Catríona knew that she had struck their hearts. “I’m tired of running, Father.” She allowed her voice to crack with emotion. “I want a home again. I want to stay in once place without fear of being found out. This is the only place where I can think to do so.”