LA01. The Crown of Zeus

by Christine Norris

  Rachel stood on tip-toe, her back to the cliff, and shaded her eyes with one hand. “I see something over there.” She pointed to something in the distance. “A village maybe?”

  “Let’s go.” Megan charged off in the direction Rachel indicated. She needed to concentrate on something, and looking for people was as good as anything. This situation was so bizarre she didn’t want to think about it. Could they really be in Ancient Greece? Did the book really send them back in time? The thought made her head spin. Of course it didn’t. That’s not even possible. I must have hit my head.

  The others followed, Harriet muttering “I told you we shouldn’t have” and “never listen to me” under her breath.

  Megan, to herself, agreed; they shouldn’t have messed with something they didn’t know anything about. She did not have a good feeling about this at all. She would fix this. She was still the hostess, after all. It was her house and her library (okay, so it wasn’t her library, but it was in her house) so it was her responsibility to put everything right.

  Together they traipsed across the meadow. Every few steps, one of them would trip over their long skirts and go head over heels in the long grass.

  After picking herself up for the fourth time, Megan had enough. She grabbed a handful of fabric and stuffed it into the waist of the dress, so that the hem hung just below her knees. “That’s better.”

  Rachel and Claire did the same; Harriet chose to hold the skirt of her dress up—“like a lady should.”

  A cluster of small huts came into view. A tendril of smoke wound its way skyward between them. Closer, and there was a flock of sheep grazing on the edge of the meadow. A young boy, no more than seven or eight years old, stood nearby watching the sheep. When he saw the girls, he waved to them. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted.

  “What did he say?” Megan said. “I didn’t understand a word.”

  “I have no clue,” Rachel replied. Her mouth dropped open. “The way things are going, I’ll bet he only speaks Greek or something. Claire, please tell me you know Greek.”

  Claire shook her head. “Sorry, no. I do exceptionally well with Latin, but that won’t help. Greek is a totally different language; the alphabet isn’t even the same.”

  Harriet moaned. “Great, now what do we do?”

  Megan tried to find the bright side. “He’s waving at us, and he’s smiling. That’s a good sign. Let’s go to him and see what happens.”

  “I don’t want to go,” Harriet said. “We have no idea if this place is friendly or not.”

  “I don’t see that we have much choice,” Rachel said. “We’re stuck here until we figure out how to get home. If he doesn’t know how we do that, he might know someone who can tell us.” She grabbed Harriet’s hand and pulled her toward the boy. “Besides, he’s just a kid. You can’t tell me you’re afraid of a little kid?”

  The huts were made of an off-white, rough-looking material that looked like stucco, and had straw roofs. Besides the sheep, there were other farm animals—chickens and ducks walked freely in the yard, a pair of goats stood inside a pen. The smoke came from a fire in the middle of the compound. Behind the little farm rose a tall, grassy hill.

  The girls approached the boy, who was dressed as they were, in a short, white chiton. His curly brown hair blew around his head in the breeze.

  “Hello,” he said. “How are you this fine day?”

  Megan blinked. “You speak English?”

  “I speak the language of the book.” His face was well-tanned, his teeth straight and white in his bright smile, and his brown eyes sparkled. “If that is called English, then yes, I guess I do.”

  “That’s a relief,” Harriet said. “It’s about time something went our way.” She sat on a nearby rock, took off one of her sandals, and shook some small pebbles onto the grass.

  Language of the book? Megan thought she must have heard him wrong.

  “What’s your name?” Claire asked.

  “I am called Homer. I tend the sheep for my father. His name is Iorgas, and this is our farm.”

  “Hello, Homer. My name is Megan. And these are my friends, Rachel, Claire, and Harriet.”

  The boy nodded to each of them. “What strange names you have. Did you come from outside the book?”

  “Uh, well,” Claire said, “We come from—”

  “What do you mean, ‘from outside the book’?” Rachel interrupted.

  Homer gave a mysterious look. “The answers you seek are up there.” He pointed to the top of the hill. “Follow the path.”

  Claire squinted at him. “But—”

  “Follow the path.”

  Megan gave him an incredulous look. “Okay, if you say so. Thanks, Homer. Come on,” she said to her companions. The girls waved goodbye to Homer.

  “What is happening?” Harriet said. “Does anyone know what that kid was going on about? Where are we going?”

  “I don’t really know, but we’re going to take his advice,” Rachel said. “Unless you have a better idea?”

  Harriet shook her head.

  They walked through the cluster of huts, past the animal pens and to the base of the hill.

  The path was easy to find. A short stone pillar stood on either side of the entrance. Stone owls topped each pillar. Something familiar at last, Megan thought. “Here it is. Any guesses as to what’s up there?”

  “Probably more trouble,” Harriet muttered.

  Megan, Rachel and Claire glared at her.

  “But, I suppose we should press on,” she finished with a forced smile.

  They walked between the pillars and up the path. It spiraled around the hill, leading them toward the top.

  “Are we almost there?” Rachel said. “I’m getting dizzy.”

  Megan laughed. “Are you sure you didn’t start out that way, Rache?” The sun on her face and the cool wind relaxed her a little. The hill could be any seaside resort; she almost forgot they were stranded someplace with no idea of how they got there.

  She was drawn out of her reverie. “Hey, we’re here.”

  The path ended at the edge of a clearing ringed with trees. The trees blocked the cool sea breeze and much of the sun, so the clearing was covered with soft, shifting shadows. In the center, beneath a single shaft of sunlight, stood a wooden lectern. It was the same type her teachers used to hold their books and notes while they droned on about whatever subject they were boring the students with.

  It was so quiet that Megan was almost afraid to speak. “I guess that’s what we’re looking for,” she whispered. All of a sudden she wasn’t sure she wanted to know where they were or how they had gotten there.

  They stepped into the clearing. The trees towered over them; sunlight peeked through the dense foliage and painted the grass in specks of gold.

  Megan reached the lectern first. The upper part of it, instead of being a plain flat board, was a carved wooden owl. The bird sat on the post, wings spread wide. On the wings was a book. Megan ran her fingers over the wooden feathers. “It’s so pretty.”

  “And what does this have to do with us being here?” Harriet said.

  Megan stepped behind the lectern. “I guess we look in the book.” Like the book in the library, this one had a blue cover. A crown was stamped on the front in faded gold leaf. There was no title.

  “Another bloody book.” Harriet crossed her arms over her chest. “Wonderful.”

  “Harriet,” Rachel said in a low voice. “You know I love you like a sister. But will you please. Shut. Up?”

  Harriet turned a deep shade of red, but said nothing more.

  Rachel and Claire stepped up next to Megan. Megan grabbed the edge and opened it to first page. Straight rows of familiar writing covered the cream paper. She read aloud: “Greetings, traveler! Welcome to the Ancient Greece of my mind. The book you opened has transported you inside its pages.”

  “That explains a lot,” Rachel said. “You said the book brought us here, Megan. You were right.”
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  “Ah-hem,” Claire said. “I think I said we were in Ancient Greece. I deserve some credit, don’t I?”

  “But we’re not actually in Ancient Greece, now are we?” Rachel retorted.

  Megan didn’t want to think about how ridiculous the idea was that they were inside a book. She just wanted to figure out how to get home. “You two quit bickering. There’s more. ‘You are now in pursuit of the Crown of Zeus, a magical object of great power. The road you now follow is perilous and the dangers many. Beware!’”

  “Fabulous,” Harriet muttered. Rachel gave her a warning look.

  Megan continued. “‘You, traveler, must find the clues that will lead you on your journey. Solve them to discover what tasks you must perform in order to get the next clue. Knowing what you are supposed to do will help you. If that sounds vague, well, then, I do apologize.

  “‘You will not be released from the book until you have recovered the crown. So find it, dear traveler, or be trapped forever. Good luck.’”

  Rachel looked over Megan’s shoulder at the inscription. “That’s the same handwriting as the poem. Sir Gregory wrote this.”

  “We’re stuck inside a book?” Harriet squeaked. “How can we be inside a book? Books are just words on paper!”

  “This must be the ‘ancient magic’ he was talking about in his journal,” Megan said. “I mean, I know it’s unbelievable, but stick with me a moment. He talked about that book that showed him The Art, or whatever. The Crown of Zeus sounds like a sacred treasure—it must be one of the things he was trying to hide. He hid them in those books in that room, and the only way to get them, and out of the book, is to find the clues and play the game.”

  “Trapped you shall be.” Claire ran a hand through her short hair. “The last part of the poem. I guess we know what that means now.”

  “I wonder if, we’re, you know, really in the book,” Harriet said. “Or if this isn’t some kind of mind game, and we’re really all just laying on the library floor, drugged or something.”

  Rachel pinched Harriet’s arm. Harriet yelled. “What’d you do that for?”

  “To make a point. You’re really here, or else that wouldn’t have hurt. Okay, so we find this crown-thing and we’re out of here. Sounds simple enough.”

  “Do any of you know what the Crown of Zeus is?” Megan said. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  Rachel turned to the next page of the book. “Here it is.” She pointed to a passage. “‘The Crown of Zeus. The crown worn by Zeus, king of the Olympian gods. A source of incredible power, the crown is the source of all knowledge. Whoever wears it upon their head will be all-knowing.’”

  “That’s it?” Claire said. She peered over the back of the lectern. “No description, no picture? How are we supposed to know what it is when we find it if we don’t know what it looks like?”

  “One thing at a time,” Megan said. As crazy as it sounded, at least they had some direction. She was willing to go on a little faith. Sir Gregory hadn’t let her down yet. “Right now, we have to figure out what the first task is.”

  Harriet stepped up beside Rachel. “What’s the first clue?”

  “You want to do this?” Rachel said. “What happened to ‘I told you so’?”

  Harriet bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry about that, all right? And we have to go along with it now, don’t we? If we ever want to get out of this place and back home. So let’s get on with it already.”

  Megan smiled. “Good. The first clue must be here somewhere.” She turned the page. It was covered in strange symbols. So were the next, and the next, and the next. “What is this?” She flipped through the book.

  Harriet peered over Megan’s shoulder. “It’s Greek.”

  Claire, mouth open and one eyebrow cocked, stared at her. “How do you know that?”

  “Because, my father went to college in America,” Harriet said. “He spent a year at Harvard, on exchange from Cambridge. While he was there, he pledged a fraternity. I’ve seen his pin, and I recognize some of the letters.”

  “There’s nothing else in there but pages of Greek?” Rachel took the book from Megan and rifled through it. “How are we supposed to figure out the first clue if we can’t even read it?”

  “Maybe this isn’t the clue,” Claire said. “It doesn’t make sense that Archibald would have the people here speak English, write the greeting in English, and then write the clue in Greek. Nobody would be able to figure it out. Unless, of course, they could read Greek.”

  “What if that’s the point?” Harriet said. She looked in danger of hyperventilating. “So that no one can get to the crown? We’re going to be trapped here, I know it.”

  Rachel slammed the book shut. “If the clue is here, I can’t read it.”

  “I can’t believe we’re going to be stuck here,” Megan said. Everything was starting to catch up to her—her eyes were heavy, her muscles ached. There was a desperate hope that she was still at home in her own bed and this was just a bad dream. She put her chin in her hand and stared across the clearing.

  “There it is.”

  “Where?” Harriet said.

  Megan pointed across the clearing. “There.”

  The girls followed Megan’s finger. Set among the trees was a weather-beaten rock. Something was carved into one side. Megan rounded the podium and went to look.

  On a lonely island your path begins; the hero’s heart is the one who will win. The quest of Perseus is now your own; be careful or you will turn to stone.

  “That’s rather depressing, isn’t it?” Harriet said. “Who wants to be turned to stone?”

  “It’s brilliant,” Claire said. “Bloody brilliant. Knowing what you are supposed to do. ‘Those tales of old will be your key. If unversed you are’—I get it.”

  Megan knelt in front of the stone and repeated the clue. “What the heck does it mean? I don’t have any idea.”

  “The quest of Perseus,” Rachel said.

  “Mind cluing us in?” Harriet said. “Who in the world is Perseus?”

  “We read it in the Lit book, back in Megan’s room. Perseus was the son of Zeus and Danae,” Rachel said. “Danae was locked in a tower, because there was a prophecy that her son would kill her husband. While she was locked up, Zeus came to her in a shower of gold, and baby Perseus was the result.”

  “How romantic,” Harriet said.

  “The king threw Danae and Perseus into the sea, but they were rescued. When Perseus grew up, his quest, well, one of them anyway, was to find Medusa and chop off her head.”

  “Ugh, gross,” Megan said. She felt stupid; she vaguely remembered the story now. She never would have gotten that clue in a million years. Rachel may have been more interested in hockey than history, but she had a good memory.

  “And why would he want to chop off some poor woman’s head?” Harriet asked.

  Claire jumped in. “I remember that part. Medusa was a Gorgon. The only human of three sisters. She was once very beautiful, but she angered Athena when she defiled her temple. So Athena turned her into a hideous beast, with boar’s tusks and serpents for hair. She was so ugly that her gaze could turn a person to stone, and her blood became poison.”

  Harriet wrinkled her nose. “Ewww, disgusting. If that’s the answer, it seems a rather easy clue. Are you sure that’s what it means?”

  Rachel nodded. “Pretty sure. It wouldn’t be an easy clue for someone who didn’t know the story.”

  “And I’m sure the actual task won’t be simple,” Claire said. “I guess we have to go and find Medusa.”

  Harriet grimaced. “And cut off her head. Without getting turned to stone. Lovely.”

  “Good job, Rachel,” Megan said. She was glad, if she had to be stuck in a book, Rachel was with her. She never lost her cool.

  “That’s what Sir Gregory meant,” Claire said. “About knowing what we are supposed to do. We know the story, so we know the task. It also explains the line in the poem. If we were unversed in Greek mythology, or
tales of old if you will, we wouldn’t know how to get the next clue, and we’d be trapped here.”

  “Wonderful,” Harriet said. “This just gets better and better.”

  The other three ignored her.

  “Where do we start looking?” Rachel said. “Where is this ‘lonely island’?”

  Claire crossed her arms over her chest. “Greece is a series of islands. I don’t know if the clue means this island or another one.”

  “This one’s not exactly lonely,” Rachel said. “We know there’s at least one other person on it.”

  Megan walked through the trees to the edge of the hilltop. The land lay below her like a green blanket between the hilltop and the strip of white beach that bordered the sea.

  She bit her lip. “Maybe we should go back down the hill and ask Homer—he might know.” She really didn’t think so, but she had no other ideas; her mind struggled with the idea that this was all real. They were inside a book, with cover, pages, and words. Like thousands of other books.

  Not to mention her only friends in England were now trapped in said book with her. This was not a good way to impress people. At all.

  Harriet pointed at something to the left. “How about there?” Not far from the shore was a tiny island. Harriet shaded her eyes with her hand. “I can see something out there. A house, maybe?”

  Megan squinted against the bright sunshine. “A lonely island is where we begin. Way to go, Harriet. Let’s get down there.”

  “How do we get to it?” Rachel asked.

  “If that’s where we’re supposed to go, then I would think there would be a way to get to it,” Claire said.

  Megan led the way down the hill, considering what she was going to do next. They retraced their steps along the path, around and around. Megan watched the little island get bigger each time they came to that side of the hill, and wondered why she hadn’t noticed it on the way up. She supposed she hadn’t been paying attention. The girls walked between the pillars and turned to the shore.