Jason and the Gorgon's Blood (22 page)

“What matters,” Acastus said, “is that you never stopped fighting. From now on we are comrades in arms, whatever happens in the future.”

For a moment Jason could not think what to say. He wondered if Hera had guided his shot or if she'd abandoned him to his fate long before. Either way, with Acastus offering himself as a friend, Jason knew he could never help the goddess in her scheme for revenge. If ever he returned to Iolcus, it would not be with an army, but alone and unarmed.

“I can't guess what the future holds for us, Acastus,” he told the prince, “but I promise you this: If ever I come for my throne, I will do no harm either to you or your father.”

“And I promise no harm will come to you, either. Let the gods decide the rest.” Acastus put a hand on Jason's shoulder.

“In the meantime,” Jason said, “my mother and father are still living in Iolcus ….”

“You will find them safe and well when you come,” Acastus promised. “I will see to it.”

He offered his hand, and Jason clasped it firmly.

The other boys gathered around them.

“I can't pretend to understand what's going on, Jason,” said Admetus, “but I suppose if you don't want anyone to know about your part in all of this, we'll go along with that.”

“Thank you,” said Jason. “One day everything will be made clear.”

“When that day comes, Jason,” said Lynceus, “if you should need a sharp pair of eyes—”

“Or a strong arm,” Idas put in.

They spoke together, “Just send for us.”

“Me, too,” said Admetus. “If you should ever need somebody who can … well, somebody who's willing to help, I will come.”

“I will remember all of you,” Jason assured them. “And I hope that one day we will all travel together again.”

“In that case I hope it's an easier journey than this one!” said Admetus.

“Easier?” Idas laughed. “Why, this was just a warm-up!”

And they all laughed with him, Jason the loudest of them all.

D
ID THE HEROIC AGE
—the Age of Heroes—really exist? Yes and no. No—there was not a time when the gods took part in human battles, nor were there harpies flying about mountaintops or centaurs galloping along the plains. There were no Gorgons, monsters whose blood could bring both life and death.

But yes—there was once a rich and powerful civilization in Greece that we call Mycenaean, where each city was a separate state with its own king but where the people were united by a single language. One of these was the kingdom of Thessaly, on the plains, where King Jason eventually reigned.

In the old mythological stories, Aeson—then rightful king of Iolcus—gave up his throne to his half brother, Pelias. Fearing his own baby son Jason would be killed by the greedy new king, Aeson sent the infant to the mountains to be reared by Chiron, the wise centaur.

When Jason was grown, he came down out of the mountains to demand the crown from Pelias. Pelias had been warned by an oracle to beware of a one-sandaled lad, and since Jason arrived wearing only one sandal, Pelias knew he had to destroy the young man. He suggested that before becoming king, Jason should first go on a perilous quest to retrieve the Golden Fleece, which rightfully belonged in Thessaly. Pelias did not expect Jason to return.

Jason was thrilled to go on such a quest. He rounded up fifty of the heroes of Greece—including the king's son, Acastus; Lynceus (whose eyesight was so keen he reputedly could see right through the earth) and his brother, Idas; Admetus; Hercules; Theseus; Orpheus; Nestor and (in some versions of the story) the female hero Atalanta. Many are the names in the folklore, as Greek families added to the story for centuries in order to claim an ancestor who sailed with Jason.

Jason's boat was built by an innovative builder named Argos and was named the
Argo
after him. The fifty who sailed on her were known as the Argonauts. Some folklorists feel that this adventure may have—in part—been based on one of the earliest maritime expeditions known to Western civilization.

The love story of Admetus and Alcestis is told in mythology, and thence in a play by Euripides based on the folklore. Admetus was another king in mythic Thessaly. The god Apollo, learning that Admetus was destined to an early death, conned the Fates (with the help of a great deal of wine) into granting Admetus a longer life if someone would die in his place. His father and mother refused, but his wife, Alcestis, agreed to offer herself. Coming to visit his friend Admetus, Hercules learned of what had happened. He intercepted Thanatos—the messenger of death—and wrestled him into submission, freeing Alcestis. And so the loving couple were reunited. This myth gives no reason for Admetus' early death, but we have provided one in our story, for herein Admetus brings down a curse on himself by using the Gorgon's blood to restore Alcestis to life.

The story of Melampus and the little serpents who licked his ears and thus gave him the ability to hear animals speak also comes from Greek mythological tradition.

The centaurs (in Greek they are called Kentauroi), half human and half horse, also were supposed to dwell in Thessaly, on and around Mount Pelion. They all had a bad reputation, especially Nessus, who tried to steal away Hercules' wife and was killed for it. Chiron was a different kind of centaur, the son of a god who had sired him when in horse shape. He was known to be both wise and just, learned in both music and medicine. The stories say he educated many of the Greek heroes, including Asclepius, Jason, and Achilles.

Alcestis' prayers to Hera and to the god of the river are both adapted from several found in a collection of prayers.

Stories. Legends. Tales.

But a young man—even a mythic hero—must have a childhood and adolescence that foretell his future deeds. We know little about Jason's childhood from the tales except that he was taught by Chiron. We know from the stories of his famous expedition on board the
Argo
that he was easily persuaded to go on a dangerous mission; that he was heroic, ambitious, brave, headstrong, willing to put his body on the line for his friends, and considered a great leader.

We have taken the Jason of the legends and tales and projected him backward into his adolescence, using what archeologists have told us about the civilization he would have inhabited if he had been a real young man.

Or a young hero.

Jane:
When we began the first of the four Young Heroes books,
Odysseus in the Serpent Maze
, we were quickly heads down in the thirteenth century BCE. I remember feeling amazed each time we swam up to the surface, where we were using computers to write the books, not scrolls, and sending emails back and forth, even when we were living in the same country.

And look where we are now: We have cell phones that can take us from point A to point B and take and send photographs from any location; we have twitters and tweets and more. Does all this technology make it even harder to get into the Heroic Age mindset?

Bob:
When I try to think about being in a “mindset,” my mind goes completely blank. To give an answer worth reading, I would just have to make something up. In other words, lie.

Jane:
Well, after all, lying is what we do professionally—in other words, telling stories.

Bob:
I'll give you the truth. Having written stories that span more than two thousand years, I'll say that there is no mindset for each period. There is only a storytelling mindset, which is about plot and character.

Jane:
Absolutely. The story tells us where we are. Though I have to say, Plot Man, that I would have been well lost in the past without your compass, and your background in the classics. While we can both do the necessary research for details, you are the one who Finds Us a Plot. Me, I am the Follow-Your-Characters-and-Shout-at-Them-to-Slow-Down-and-Wait-for-Me kind of writer.

How do
you
invent plot?

Bob
: You'll remember that we reached a point early in the
Odysseus
novel where Odysseus and his friends are lost at sea in a small boat. It took us quite a while to decide what would happen next: that they would come upon a ship, but one that appeared to be deserted.

It was asking questions about that ship that unfolded the plot for the rest of the book:
Why is the ship deserted? Who built it? Where did it come from?
Once we had answered those questions, the rest of the book almost wrote itself.

OK, it's not that easy—but it was something like that.

Jane
: So, if you are stuck without a plot, ask questions! It's a bit like being lost without a compass or a GPS. But you can find your way if you turn to the nearest friendly resident and are not afraid to ask questions.

Now that I have that handle on plotting . . . you may have talked your way out of being my cowriter, Bob!

The thing is, though, when we have two of us working on the same short stories (and we've done a bunch of those) as well as novels (four Young Heroes, four Scottish novels), we always come to a place where two heads really
are
better than one. And sometimes, when we can get your wife, Debby, in on our plotting sessions, the three of us come up with enough plot twists and turns to write a dozen more books. So look out, world!

I was born in New York City on February 11, 1939. Because February 11 is also Thomas Edison's birthday, my parents used to say I brought light into their world. But my parents were both writers and prone to exaggeration. My father was a journalist; my mother wrote short stories and created crossword puzzles and double acrostics. My younger brother, Steve, eventually became a newspaperman. We were a family of an awful lot of words!

We lived in the city for most of my childhood, with two brief moves: to California for a year while my father worked as a publicity agent for Warner Bros. films, and then to Newport News, Virginia, during the World War II years, when my mother moved my baby brother and me in with her parents while my father was stationed in London running the Army's secret radio.

When I was thirteen, we moved to Connecticut. After college I worked in book publishing in New York for five years, married, and after a year traveling around Europe and the Middle East with my husband in a Volkswagen camper, returned to the States. We bought a house in Massachusetts, where we lived almost happily ever after, raising three wonderful children.

I say “almost,” because in 2006, my wonderful husband of forty-four years—Professor David Stemple, the original Pa in my Caldecott Award–winning picture book,
Owl Moon
—died. I still live in the same house in Massachusetts.

And I am still writing.

I have often been called the “Hans Christian Andersen of America,” something first noted in
Newsweek
close to forty years ago because I was writing a lot of my own fairy tales at the time.

The sum of my books—including some eighty-five fairy tales in a variety of collections and anthologies—is now well over 335. Probably the most famous are
Owl Moon
,
The Devil's Arithmetic
, and
How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight?
My work ranges from rhymed picture books and baby board books, through middle grade fiction, poetry collections, and nonfiction, to novels and story collections for young adults and adults. I've also written lyrics for folk and rock groups, scripted several animated shorts, and done voiceover work for animated short movies. And I do a monthly radio show called
Once Upon a Time
.

These days, my work includes writing books with each of my three children, now grown up and with families of their own. With Heidi, I have written mostly picture books, including
Not All Princesses Dress in Pink
and the nonfiction series Unsolved Mysteries from History. With my son Adam, I have written a series of Rock and Roll Fairy Tales for middle grades, among other fantasy novels. With my son Jason, who is an award-winning nature photographer, I have written poems to accompany his photographs for books like
Wild Wings
and
Color Me a Rhyme.

And I am still writing.

Oh—along the way, I have won a lot of awards: two Nebula Awards, a World Fantasy Award, a Caldecott Medal, the Golden Kite Award, three Mythopoeic Awards, two Christopher Awards, the Jewish Book Award, and a nomination for the National Book Award, among many accolades. I have also won (for my full body of work) the World Fantasy Award for Lifetime Achievement, the Science Fiction Poetry Association's Grand Master Award, the Catholic Library Association's Regina Medal, the University of Minnesota's Kerlan Award, the University of Southern Mississippi and de Grummond Children's Literature Collection's Southern Miss Medallion, and the Smith College Medal. Six colleges and universities have given me honorary doctorate degrees. One of my awards, the Skylark, given by the New England Science Fiction Association, set my good coat on fire when the top part of it (a large magnifying glass) caught the sunlight. So I always give this warning: Be careful with awards and put them where the sun don't shine!

Also of note—in case you find yourself in a children's book trivia contest—I lost my fencing foil in Grand Central Station during a date, fell overboard while whitewater rafting in the Colorado River, and rode in a dog sled in Alaska one March day.

And yes—I am still writing.