Odysseus in the Serpent Maze

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“ODYSSEUS! ODYSSEUS! WHERE ARE you?” Beads of sweat ran down the boy’s face as he called. His tunic—white when he had started the climb and now a moist grey—clung to his scrawny back. His padded linen leggings were scuffed and torn. He had lost his hat some time back.

Above him loomed the double peaks of Parnassus, a faint glint of snow visible on the heights. Just the glimpse of the snow made him feel cold, and he shivered. In the light of early dawn long, jagged shadows lanced out from rocks and trees. That too, made him tremble.

He was about to call again when he felt a tug at the hem of his tunic, then a yank, and suddenly he was pulled forward, off his feet, his face ground into the grass.

“Mentor,” came a harsh whisper, “if you can’t keep up, at least keep quiet!”

Spitting out a blade of grass, Mentor sat up and glared at Odysseus, who was crouching beside him, a long spear clutched in his hand.

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