Jason and the Gorgon's Blood (13 page)

He tried to dig in his heels, but still he skidded downward, unable to stop. His feet shot off the edge, and with a final despairing cry he was flung out into empty space. Below him a sheer drop plunged all the way down to the foot of the mountain.

Then—from out of nowhere—someone grabbed his arm.

A horrid wrench jolted Jason's shoulder. Numb from shock, he hung there, helpless as a fish on a line. Looking up, he saw Acastus staring down at him.

There was a ledge jutting out from the mountainside about five feet below the cliff's edge. Acastus had taken refuge here ahead of him. Now the prince had one hand jammed into a tight crevice to hold himself in place. With the other hand he had a firm hold on Jason's left arm.

A cataract of stones burst over the cliff edge and scattered through the air, peppering Jason like pecking birds.

“Pull me up!” Jason yelled. “Pull me up!”

Acastus kept his grip but left Jason hanging. The veins bulged on his outstretched arm, and his face was flushed with the effort.

“What's the matter with you?” Jason demanded, his voice sounding shrill in his own ears.

“I know who you are, Jason,” Acastus said in a dull voice.

“What?” Jason thought for a dreadful moment the prince had gone mad.

“You're Aeson's son. I overheard Chiron saying so.”

A cold chill ran down Jason's back. “I swear I knew nothing about it till that moment,” he said hoarsely. “I always thought I was an orphan.”

“Well, now you know differently.” Acastus sounded cold and determined.

More rocks came spilling over the edge. Acastus was sheltered by the overhang, but Jason took a knock to his leg.

“It doesn't matter, Acastus,” Jason pleaded. “Not to me.”

Gritting his teeth against the strain of supporting Jason's weight, Acastus cried, “It matters to
me
! If my father had known about you, he would have killed you years ago.”

Jason's insides turned to water. He understood now why Acastus had held a sword to his throat. And now, if the prince let him fall to his death, no one would ever know. They would all assume he'd been swept away by the rock slide.

Through the red haze of panic, Jason tried to think clearly, to keep his voice calm. “We've helped each other this far. All the dangers we've come through together—does that mean nothing to you?”

Acastus' mouth twisted. “I can't think about that now. I have to think about what comes after. I've been raised from birth to be a king, to rule Iolcus. That is my birthright, and your existence threatens it, Goat Boy.”

Jason looked down, saw the terrible drop, saw the jagged rocks waiting below, sharp as harpies' teeth. And still he dangled.
Why? Why?

For all his ruthless talk, Acastus had not yet summoned the nerve to kill him in cold blood. That was the only hopeful sign.

But cold blood or hot, all Acastus had to do was loosen his grip by a fraction. And if he didn't do it on purpose, fatigue would soon do it for him.

The peacock feather was a flame against Jason's skin. He could hear Hera's mocking laughter in the rumble of the landslide. It seemed she'd been right after all. He should have killed Acastus when he'd had the chance.

J
ASON SQUEEZED HIS EYES
tight shut and fought to keep his voice steady, ignoring the pain in his arm, the heat of the feather at his breast. “If we don't catch up with the centaurs,” he said slowly, clearly, “there will be no birthright. Not for you, not for anyone.”

“What are you talking about?” Acastus said. “What's so important about those jars?”

Jason had no choice now but to tell the whole truth.

“The jars contain Gorgon's blood. One of them—the red jar—holds a poison deadly enough to kill every man, woman, and child in Iolcus, maybe even in the whole of Thessaly.”

He could feel Acastus tense up, the fingers digging into his flesh.

“I've heard that tale,” the prince said. “Perseus and the blood of Medusa. Do you mean to tell me that the deadliest poison in all the world is now in the hands of those undisciplined brutes?”

“Yes.”

Acastus took a deep breath. “By the gods …” The hand holding Jason shook.

Jason was careful in what he said next. It was, he figured, the only chance he would get. “Acastus, isn't stopping the centaurs more important than arguing over who should sit on the throne?”

“You're right, Jason. I have to stop them.” Acastus sounded thoughtful. “It's my duty.
My
duty, not yours.” His fingers started to loosen.

“Think, Acastus!” Jason urged him. “Are you so certain you can beat those creatures without me that you would risk the lives of all your people?”

There was a pause that seemed to last an eternity. Pain was running down Jason's arm like threads of fire. A rock the size of his head clipped the edge of the cliff and flew off into space, horribly close.

Then Acastus gave a strenuous heave and hauled Jason up. Hooking his foot over the ledge, Jason scrambled up beside the prince and lay there gasping for breath. He wondered if his left arm would ever work again.

“Five of us are few enough as it is,” Acastus said grimly. “You have shown courage.”

Jason used his other arm to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Whatever your father might think, Acastus, we don't have to be enemies.”

“Yes, we do.” Acastus' voice was flat. “It's our destiny. As our fathers were enemies, so are we. Once those jars are recovered, then we will settle this matter honorably, warrior against warrior, sword against sword.” As he spoke, his fingers drifted to the gold amulet about his neck.

“Not
everything
needs to be settled with swords and with blood,” said Jason.

Acastus leaned back with his eyes closed, as though recovering from a terrible struggle. “The fact that you can say such a thing shows that you have no honor, Goat Boy. Courage, yes. But not honor. Without honor, you can't possibly be a king.”

Jason, too, closed his eyes. He tried to remember what Chiron had said about honor. But all he could think of was how thankful he was to be alive.

Gradually the rock slide subsided, a last stone rattling down the cliff face. Then there came a silence as vast as the sea.

Jason hardly dared to stir. The ledge was so narrow that a careless move could still send either one of them toppling to his death. He opened his eyes.

Acastus was now staring off into the distance, lost in his own thoughts. Jason wondered if he was relieved to have been given a reason not to commit murder, not to do the cruel thing his father would have chosen to do. There was no reading his face, though, and Jason leaned back against the cliff face.

“Hallo!” boomed a voice. “Hallo! Are any of you there?”

“Here!” Jason called back. “We're down here!”

He moved closer to Acastus and whispered, “Don't tell the others about my being Aeson's son.”

“Don't worry,” said Acastus. “This is just between the two of us.”

Idas' face appeared over the cliff edge above them. “What a pretty spot to build a nest.” He laughed.

Lynceus peeked over his brother's shoulder. “I was afraid we'd seen the last of you.”

Craning his neck, Acastus looked up. “How did you two escape that rock fall?”

“We managed to take refuge in a small stand of trees,” Lynceus said. “I don't know about Admetus, though. We haven't found him yet.”

Idas lay down on his belly and stretched out his arm. “Come on. Give me your hand.”

For a moment Jason hesitated. His left arm was still so sore, he doubted he could reach that high. So Acastus was pulled up first. But with all three boys helping, Jason was soon standing beside them.

Lynceus peered down at the dizzying drop. “I think we'd better find another way to get to the bottom.”

“First we need to look for Admetus,” said Jason.

Acastus shrugged. “Crushed to death? Or over the edge, like you, perhaps.”

“We
have
to look,” Jason insisted. Then he added, “Remember, even five is few enough.”

“Few enough for what?” Lynceus asked.

Acastus gave him an angry look, a warning to be quiet.

“Few enough to fight those centaurs, idiot,” Idas answered.

Smiling but silent, Jason turned away.

The four boys spread out over the mountainside shouting Admetus' name, no longer worried about the harpies. Minute after minute they called, to no answer.

Jason was beginning to suspect Acastus was right. They were lucky enough that four had managed to stay alive through that rock slide. Five would be a miracle.

He touched the top of his tunic, felt the peacock feather warm beneath his hand.

Just then he heard a call.

Raising a hand for silence, in case it was a harpy, he listened carefully.

There it was again: a long, drawn-out groan. Not a harpy, then.

“It's coming from over here,” cried Lynceus, darting to the spot.

The others gathered around a crack in the ground, about three feet wide, filled with dirt and rock. Something was stirring under the rubble.

Acastus drew his sword. “Watch out! This could be anything!”

A hand thrust up from the fissure.

“Admetus!” Jason exclaimed.

“You can't know that,” Acastus warned.

But the others ignored him and began digging away the rocks as Jason grabbed the hand. When enough rubble was cleared away, he dragged the young prince out of the hole.

Admetus stood shakily, coughing and blinking, still holding his spear, which—miraculously—was whole.

“I fell in,” he explained, rubbing the grime from his face. “I suppose the bigger rocks bounced over me.”

Idas gave a hearty laugh and clapped Admetus on the back. “The favor of the gods must be with you, Admetus.”

“You don't suppose it was the harpies that started that rock slide,” Lynceus wondered aloud, “you know—to get back at us.”

“I don't think they're that devious,” said Acastus. “Most likely it was caused by the heavy rain loosening the earth.”

“That's probably it,” Jason agreed. But he couldn't help remembering Hera's feather, hot under his fingers, and he wondered if the rock slide had been a sign of her displeasure.

As soon as Admetus had had a long drink of water, they set off again, quickly reaching the lower slopes. Here trees and plants grew thickly, some well thorned, others with velvety leaves. The boys could hear small animals scurrying through the undergrowth.

Jason drew in a deep breath. The air was sweeter here.

Finding some berries, Admetus shared them around. Washed down with a swallow of water, the berries restored all their spirits, but Idas was still complaining of hunger.

“My stomach tells me that my throat has felt the knife,” he said.

“Shhh!” cautioned Lynceus. “Something's coming.”

On the slope below, a wild goat, white with little nubbins for horns, suddenly appeared and began cropping the shrubs.

“Now that's more like it,” whispered Idas, licking his lips.

Admetus stood slowly and raised his spear. He was still battered and weary, and his arm trembled.

“Leave this to me,” said Idas, taking the spear from him.

He fixed a keen eye on his target and drew back his arm. The spear flew straight and fast, piercing the little goat right through the middle. With a whoop, the boys ran down to where their prize lay, and Idas finished the animal off with a stroke of his sword.

They had all been trained by Chiron in how to gut a kill and strip away the beast's hide. They were well adept at starting a fire with kindling and flints. Soon they were feasting on roasted goat meat. It was juicy, and though the beast was small, there was still plenty of meat to go around.

Idas sighed and rubbed his stomach. Then he belched.

“Loud enough,” Lynceus said, “to summon the gods!”

“This reminds me of my father's last victory feast,” said Acastus, wiping some grease from his chin. “I ate so much I thought I would burst.”

Admetus grinned. “If you burst here, you can clean up the mess yourself!”

“You're one to talk, Admetus,” said Lynceus. “You still look like something that just crawled out of a grave.”

Admetus held up his hands and waggled his fingers. “I am the ghostly prince of the mountains. Look on my remains and tremble.”

Everybody laughed.

Admetus flung a bare bone at them, and Lynceus ducked with a chuckle.

Jason couldn't remember when he had last tasted anything as good as the goat's meat. Even their plain water seemed suddenly as intoxicating as wine.

They were all reclining on the ground, almost stupefied by the meal, when Acastus looked to the west, where the sun was beginning to sink. “We need to keep moving while we still have the light,” he said, suddenly serious. “The longer we delay, the more time the centaurs have to plan their mischief.”

“Couldn't we just digest a little longer?” Idas pleaded, sprawling on the grass.

“Acastus is right,” said Admetus. “Who knows what those brutes are up to?”

Acastus and Jason exchanged a quick, secretive glance.

“I agree,” Jason said. “We've fed well. Now we need to eat up the miles.” He stood, and the two princes stood with him.

Lynceus jumped up and gave his brother a kick. “Come on, greedy guts! Your belly can do its work while you walk.”

Descending through the darkening air into the valley of Hecla, they scouted for a place to camp. Suddenly Lynceus let out a low whistle and signaled the others to be quiet.

“There,” he said, “just past those trees.”

Jason peered through the branches. “What is it?”

“Men. Six of them.”

Idas crept up to look as well. “They're lying on the ground. Are they asleep?”