Jason and the Gorgon's Blood

by Robert J. Harris

  After his heart had stopped thudding, he got up and went over to examine the two swords. They had shifted, but downward, to a more stable position. So it hadn’t been his imagination after all.

  Pushing the grapple down even more securely, he took a grip on the rope. “Come on!” he called to the others. “We don’t have all day!”

  Admetus had been pushed into third place back at the ledge, but now he was quick to seize hold of the rope before Acastus could edge past him, almost as if he needed to take his turn while his courage still served him. Hooking his legs onto the line, he started shuffling out over the chasm. But his first rush of boldness soon deserted him, and he slowed down not even halfway across.

  Jason saw Admetus’ head hanging to one side, could see him shuddering, his arms and legs wrapped about the rope, like a baby clinging to its mother.

  “What’s the matter, Admetus?” Acastus called. “Did you forget something? Maybe you’d best come back for it.” He was about to say something more, but Lynceus punched him hard on the arm.

  “Shut up. Shut up.” Lynceus’ voice was low, his anger scarcely contained. “What if we did that to you?”

  Admetus didn’t move.

  “Come on, Admetus,” Jason called out, as calmly as he could. “You’re most of the way here.” Though in fact Admetus wasn’t even a third of the way across.

  “It’s too far down,” Admetus cried in a hoarse whisper. “I don’t want to die, Jason.”

  “No, you don’t,” Jason agreed evenly. “That’s why you’ve got to move before you get too tired to hang on.”

  “If I try to move I might fall.” Admetus moaned. It sounded like the wind through a chasm.

  “You’re only in danger if you don’t move,” said Jason. “Don’t look down. Close your eyes and listen to me.”

  Admetus closed his eyes. It seemed to cost him a lot of effort.

  “Now come toward my voice. Just follow the thread of it,” Jason said. “One hand. That’s it. Now the other. Good. Good.”

  Admetus inched forward.

  “Keep coming. See. I’m pulling you along. It’s not just you on the rope. It’s both of us. One hand. Now the other. Now the legs. You have it!”

  Gradually Admetus forced himself forward, and every inch of the way Jason coaxed him along. When he reached the far side, Jason took hold of his arm and helped him up.

  Admetus’ lip quivered, more from shame than fear. “I wasn’t very brave, was I?”

  “Neither was I,” said Jason. “It’s just that nobody was on the other side to notice.”

  Acastus was next, sliding himself over in a series of swift, determined tugs. When he joined the other two, he was pale and his arms were shaking.

  “It’s not so bad really, is it?” he declared with an unconvincing smile.

  From the other side of the chasm they could hear Lynceus and Idas arguing.

  “Look, I’m smaller and lighter than you,” Lynceus was saying, “so I should go last. When the rope is tied to that sapling, there’s more chance it will support me than you.”

  His brother disagreed. “I’d still rather trust myself to that scrawny plant than to your puny muscles. Now get going—before I knock you senseless and throw you across.

  Lynceus raised a finger and looked ready to argue. Then Idas glowered at him as if he really might knock his brother over the head and fling him over the chasm. So Lynceus shook his head and wrapped himself around the rope. The nimblest of all of the boys, he wriggled quickly along its length like a beetle scuttling across a dirt floor and reached the far side with seeming ease.

  Once his brother was safely across, Idas wasted no time looping the rope around the sapling and tying it tightly.

  Even from the other side of the chasm, Jason could see that—with the line at full stretch—there was barely enough rope to make a proper knot. He bit his lip. Will it hold?

  Idas alone did not seem worried. He clambered onto the rope and started tugging himself across, his muscles bulging as he moved forward.

  “Not so hard, Idas!” Lynceus cautioned him. “Easy does it.”

  Idas paid no attention, jerking at the line with all his might. The rope bowed beneath his weight and shook with the force of his exertions.

  “He’s putting an awful strain on it,” said Acastus, tightening his hold on the rope.

  Jason watched as the sapling bent and quivered.

  The knot! The knot began sliding upward, ripping off strips of dry bark.

  Lynceus saw the danger at the same time and gasped, “He’s too heavy!”

  “The rope is coming loose!” Admetus cried.

  “Hurry! Hurry!” shouted Jason. “Not far to go, but hurry!”

  “Come on, brother!” Lynceus urged.

  Now the rope had caught against a thin branch, and the pressure on the inadequate knot was intense. The sapling bent over so far, some of its thin roots were starting to pull out of the dry ground.

  Idas kept dragging himself on with every ounce of strength he had. He was only a few feet from safety when the knot suddenly burst apart.

  “Idas!” Lynceus’ panic-stricken cry echoed off the chasm walls as the rope came loose and Idas plunged downward. He slid down several hands’ breadths, then stopped, gripping the rope as hard as he could right before he collided with the cliff wall.

  The four boys on the cliff held tight to their end of the rope, and for a long moment no one spoke.

  Under the jarring force of the impact, Idas grunted aloud but did not let go. Then, hand over hand, he dragged himself up the rope, a feat that Jason knew he could never have done himself.

  While Acastus and Admetus continued to hold the line, Jason and Lynceus seized Idas by the arms and hauled him up beside them.

  As soon as they were all on their feet, Lynceus punched his brother on the chest.

  “You great dope!” he exclaimed. “I warned you, but you wouldn’t listen!”

  Idas ruffled the smaller boy’s hair unconcernedly, then gave him a shove that laid him out flat on his back. “Stop making such a fuss,” he grumbled. “You sound like Mother.”

  They all laughed, a sound that was more relief than humor.

  Meanwhile, Admetus had pulled up the rest of the rope and wound it into a coil.

  Acastus was already making his way uphill. “There’s scarcely any light left,” he said. “We’d better find a place to make camp. Goat Boy can take the first watch if he thinks it necessary. As for me, I’m ready for a meal.”

  It took them only a few minutes to find a flat stretch of ground sheltered by a rocky overhang. At this point Jason was too exhausted to challenge Acastus for the leadership. He just followed the prince’s orders. Something to eat, somewhere to sleep sounded good to him. He doubted they needed to set a guard.

  After a meager supper of bread, goat cheese, and water, they settled themselves down as best they could. They were so weary from the long journey, none of them cared about the lack of bedding.

  Acastus’ jibes were still stinging Jason, even as he curled into sleep. He thought that if he could only march into Iolcus as rightful king, carried in triumph into the palace, then no one would dare call him a goat boy!

  For a brief moment he indulged in a fantasy in which, seated on a golden throne, he issued commands to servants and princes alike. But, he thought, suddenly aware of Chiron’s voice in his head, if all you want is power and obedience, how are you any better than the tyrant Pelias?

  Drifting into a heavy sleep, Jason began to dream. In one dream that was both vivid and startling, he saw a woman, her black hair streaked with gray, on her knees before the altar of a dimly lit temple. Her rich robes were disordered and torn, as if she had been fleeing through a forest of thorns. She clutched the altar with both hands like a drowning man with a piece of driftwood. Tears spilled from her eyes.

  Suddenly the door to the temple flew open, and in strode a squat, muscular young man, his left cheek stained with a purple mark in the shape
of a hoof. In his right hand was a sword that glittered in the light of the many torches lining the walls.

  Seizing the weeping woman by the hair, he struck a single blow that left her at the foot of the altar, a pool of blood spreading out beneath her.

  As the killer turned to go, behind the altar a strange light flickered. A stone statue of a goddess—twelve feet tall with offerings laid at its feet—opened its stone eyes. The pale, white brow knotted in anger. The stone hand twitched into life, and the goddess stretched out an arm.

  Jason realized to his horror that she was not reaching for the killer, but for him.

  He tried to turn and run, but he was fixed to the spot by those glaring stone eyes. The long, cold fingers closed around him, and as he tried to wriggle free, he shook himself awake.

  Standing over him was a tall, thin woman, her hair fluttering in the breeze, her thin face shrouded in shadow. He threw up an arm to protect himself, and in that instant she vanished.

  Jason sat up and rubbed his eyes, conscious of the dawn. Around him were the sleeping forms of his companions. Idas snored long and low, like a bull grumbling in its sleep. There was no one else to be seen. Nothing unusual except … perhaps … Jason thought … the faintest trace of a smell like rotten meat that was soon carried off by the night breeze.

  Had he just imagined the intruder before coming fully awake? There didn’t appear to be any danger. Had he been frightened by a nightmare, like a child? And this after managing a real fright, the hand-over-hand trip across the chasm. His fright gave way to fatigue, and he sank back into sleep.

  Moments later, he awoke to an uproar.

  “Thief!” Acastus was yelling. “One of you is a thief!”

  CHAPTER 10

  THE HAUNTED PEAKS

  “ONE OF YOU STOLE my food pack while I was sleeping.” Acastus eyed each of them in turn, his face puffy from anger and sleep.

  Idas was leaning on his elbow, bleary-eyed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Was it you?” Acastus demanded. “You’re the biggest, so you would be the hungriest.”

  Lynceus was on his feet, taking a swallow from his water skin. “I wouldn’t recommend riling Idas before he’s had breakfast.”

  Acastus rounded angrily on the smaller boy. “Was it you, then? You’re always sneaking around.”

  “Why do you think somebody stole your food pack?” Jason asked, trying to sound conciliatory.

  “Because it’s gone, obviously!” Acastus snapped back. “It was right beside me and now it’s gone.”

  “An animal could have stolen it,” Jason suggested.

  Acastus waved his arm at the barren mountainside. “What animal?”

  “A bird?” said Lynceus.

  “Large enough to fly off with my pack? I don’t think so.”

  “Well, it’s more likely than one of us stealing it,” said Idas, rising slowly to his feet and indulging in a long, satisfying stretch. “Your food pack would have nothing in it that I or Lynceus or any of the others would want.”

  “Look around if you like,” said Jason. “You won’t find the pack on any of us.”

  “You could have eaten the food, then hidden the pack,” Acastus insisted.

  Jason suddenly noticed that Admetus had not said anything. Normally he would have been enjoying Acastus’ annoyance. “You look like there’s something on your mind, Admetus.”

  Admetus shuffled his feet. “Well, I stirred in the night and thought I heard something moving around.”

  “You mean someone,” Acastus corrected him.

  “No, it was a scraping noise. And there was a funny, rancid smell.”

  Suddenly Jason remembered the woman bending over him. Surely that had been part of his dream. But the smell … He wondered if he should say anything.

  Admetus was shaking his head. “I wasn’t certain if I was just dreaming, but if something’s been stolen …” He hesitated and put a hand up to his eyes, scrubbing the sleep from them.

  While chewing, Idas said, “We’ve enough between us to feed Acastus for the rest of our trek. As long as he behaves himself.”

  Acastus scowled at the joke, but accepted the bread Idas passed to him. The others also contributed to the prince’s breakfast—some cheese, some olives. But their gifts did nothing to improve his mood. He was still eyeing them all suspiciously when they set out on the next stage of their journey.

  Was there something prowling around our camp? Jason wondered. But it seemed unlikely, that far up the mountainside. And soon he was too busy climbing to think about it any longer.

  They were clambering up a series of escarpments that formed a colossal stairway up the mountain slope. Their fingers were raw from clutching at the rough stone, and their arms and legs were scratched and bruised. The sun beating down on their unprotected heads made them dizzy with heat.

  They were all too tired even to argue.

  That, at least, Jason thought, is a relief.

  An eerie screech echoed in the distance.

  “Did you hear that?” asked Admetus. He stopped and cocked his head to one side.

  “It’s just a bird,” said Jason. “A hawk of some kind.”

  “It didn’t sound like any hawk I’ve ever heard,” said Lynceus.

  “Then it was just the wind whistling through the rocks,” Acastus said scornfully. He climbed swiftly ahead to prove he was undaunted by the sound.

  Admetus drew up beside Jason and tilted his head in the direction of the northern peaks. “Jason, in my country of Pherae, my people tell tales of these mountains. They call them the Haunted Peaks. Ghosts are supposed to live up here, and sometimes they come down to the valleys and plateaus to steal cattle, sheep, even children.”

  “I know those stories,” Jason admitted. “They tell them to the east of the mountains, too, in Meliboea.”

  “Do you think any are true?”

  Jason laughed. “What would ghosts want with cattle?”

  Admetus leaned in close. “To suck the blood out of them. It’s the only kind of food they can eat.” His voice actually trembled.

  “Ghosts!” Idas had overheard and snorted his amusement. “Everybody knows the shades of the dead are in the Underworld, beneath the ground, not up in the mountaintops.”

  “And we aren’t cattle,” Jason said. “Or sheep.”

  “Or children,” Acastus added witheringly, “the only ones foolish enough to believe such tales.”

  It was late in the day when they reached the highest point of their journey so far. The snowy cap of Mount Pelion was visible behind them, while in the sky overhead dark clouds were gathering, making the air heavy with unshed rain.

  “Let’s stop here and rest a moment,” said Jason, dropping to his haunches and catching his breath.

  The others all gratefully halted except for Lynceus. “I’m not going to wait around here to get rained on,” he said, scrambling on up the slope. “I’ll take a look over that next rise and see if there’s any shelter.”

  Jason suddenly became aware of someone breathing at his back. He turned quickly and saw Acastus leaning on his javelin.

  “Jason,” the prince said quietly, “if you took my food, tell me, and we can settle it now without involving the others.”

  “I thought we were finished with that, Acastus.”

  “You and I are not finished with anything.”

  “Why would I take your pack?”

  Acastus narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps to test me, to find out how easy it would be to steal something even more valuable from me.”

  Jason felt a warning prickle run over his skin. “I don’t understand what—”

  Suddenly Lynceus’ voice rang out above them. “Come and see this! You won’t believe it!”

  The excitement in his voice was enough to put a fresh spring in their feet. They clambered up to join him at the top of the rise. Looking down the other side, they saw what it was that had made him cry out.

  It was a bowl-shaped hollow about thirty
yards across, littered with mounds of crushed branches and dry leaves. Bones—some intact, others cracked open—lay scattered on the ground.

  “Look at the skulls!” Lynceus cried, pointing.

  Jason was sure he recognized the bones of ox and deer and cattle, as well as skulls of sheep of various sizes. There were horns and antlers and discolored shreds of animal hide.

  They descended into the hollow, and Lynceus picked up a broken thighbone. “This has been snapped in two and the marrow sucked out.”

  “I don’t like this …” Admetus said.

  Jason crouched and picked up the top of a small skull. Broken as it was, it still looked disturbingly human.

  “What is this place?” Idas wondered. “It looks like a beast’s lair, but no bears or wildcats live this high up.”

  “Or make this big a mess,” said Lynceus.

  “Or eat this much,” added Jason.

  “Then it’s something else,” said Admetus. “Something a lot more dangerous.”

  “Don’t be such a coward,” Acastus drawled. “There’s nothing to threaten us up here.”

  “I suppose some kind of bird might nest in the peaks,” Jason suggested. “Something very …”

  “Large?” suggested Idas.

  “In that case, why are there no feathers around?” Lynceus objected.

  Acastus bent and picked up a length of silver chain that he let dangle from his fingers. Attached to it was a pendant. “It looks like this is the lair of a thief,” he declared, “not a bird.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Admetus with a nervous shake of his head. “I think this creature, whatever it is, cares only about food. That was probably hanging from the neck of one of its victims.”

  There was a heartbeat’s silence, while they took in the horror of what this implied. Then Lynceus said, “Well, at least one mystery is solved.” He was holding up the remains of Acastus’ pack. It had been savagely ripped apart but was still recognizable.

  “I think Acastus owes us all an apology,” said Idas.

  Acastus lowered his eyes sullenly. “My suspicions were reasonable under the circumstances,” he said stubbornly. “And we still don’t know how the pack got up here.”