Robert Harris - Jason and the Gorgon's Blood

It was a thrilling story, but all it did was make Jason angry. “Why didn’t you tell me before? All these years I thought … I thought I was no one.”

“If you believe that, then I have failed you indeed,” said Chiron sadly. “But hear my reasons: I could say nothing, for I had sworn an oath to keep your identity secret. And to me such an oath is a sacred pledge. For think about it—if Pelias were to find out who you are, he would have you killed without a moment’s hesitation. After all, his half brother Aeson is already long discredited by his own reticence. But a son, young, strong, heroic—with a genuine claim to the throne—ah, that would be seen as a real threat!”

The old centaur waited a moment, gazing long into his young student’s drawn face. “Do you believe me, Jason?”

Jason turned and, with his back to Chiron, said, “I no longer know what to believe.”

In the shadow of the cave entrance Acastus pressed a fist to his mouth to keep from uttering a curse. He’d crept in stealthily, hoping to overhear some clue as to what was contained in the mysterious jars. But what he’d learned was far different.

So, he mused, Jason is the son of that feeble graybeard Aeson whom Father despises so much. As he slipped back out into the morning sunshine before Jason left the old centaur’s side, Acastus’ mind roiled with bad thoughts.

“What right does that old fool have to the crown of Iolcus?” he whispered to himself. “What right does Jason have?” He stopped and looked around the clearing where the others were finishing up the packing. “It takes a strong man to rule. A man like Father,” he muttered. “A man like me.”

Looking back at the cave with hatred in his eyes, Acastus thought, With enough supporters Jason could indeed pose a real threat to our rule. He was not unaware of Jason’s skills, much as he disliked him. The wily old Chiron had taught Jason well. Whatever the outcome of this mission, Acastus was certain of one thing: Jason must not return from it alive.

CHAPTER 6

THE TUG OF A ROPE

BEFORE SETTING OUT ON their mission, the boys lined up to make their farewells to Chiron. “You must follow Jason’s lead,” said Chiron, his voice thin and reedy. He had propped himself up unsteadily on one elbow, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. “Jason knows the countryside, and I have been instructing him for many years.”

“Instructing him in what?” Acastus drawled. “How to plant onions and tend sheep?” He was leaning against the wall with a smirk on his face that suggested he knew something no one else did.

The other boys shot quick glances at one another, clearly taken aback by his arrogance at a time like this. A shadow of pain flitted across Chiron’s face, and Jason decided to spare the old centaur further effort by answering for him. “How to track and forage. How to stay out of sight. And how to fight. Is that enough, Acastus?”

Acastus looked away. “I was just asking,” he answered in a bored voice.

Raising his hand, Admetus said, “Do we even know in which direction to start?”

Melampus cleared his throat and stepped forward. “I can answer that. According to the birds, the centaurs headed toward the northwest. If you go that way you should pick up their trail.”

“I’ll keep a lookout for their tracks,” said Lynceus.

Chiron nodded. “Good, you are already thinking like a team. With Jason at your head, you will all go far.” He paused for a moment and drew in a deep breath. “If, as you say, Melampus, the centaurs are heading northwest, they are most likely going to Mount Ossa. That is the traditional gathering place of our people in time of war.”

“War?” Idas gulped. “Is there going to be a war?”

Suddenly alert, Acastus leaned forward. “It’s because of those jars, isn’t it?”

Chiron quickly changed the subject. “If they’re going toward Mount Ossa, they’ll have to turn west, toward the lower country.”

Admetus understood first. “They can gallop faster across open ground.”

Chiron nodded at him.

“And a lot faster than we can go,” Idas noted grimly.

“That’s why we aren’t going to follow them,” said Jason.

All eyes turned toward him. He had been giving this business a lot of thought, and now it was time to tell them what he had in mind.

“We’ll go directly north,” he said.

“You mean straight across the mountains?” said Acastus. His mouth twisted. “It would be easier to fly like one of Melampus’ birds.”

“Yes. It will be hard,” Jason admitted, “but it can be done. I’ve spoken to hunters who have made the ascent. We can pick up the centaurs’ trail on the other side. Or are you not up to the challenge?”

In answer, Acastus turned his back to Jason and stared out at a high tree.

“Around the mountains or over them,” said Idas, “it makes no difference to me. I’ve business to settle.”

“And I.” Admetus put his fist to his chest.

“And I,” Lynceus added.

Only Acastus was silent.

Jason looked to Chiron, who nodded proudly. “It is your best chance,” the centaur said. “But only if you keep your purpose before you and trust in one another. For that is what the virtuous man does: puts the purpose ahead of his personal discomforts and concerns. Always stay together. When one falls, another must lift him up. Only in this way can you succeed.”

The boys exchanged uneasy glances, as if having to cooperate were more of an obstacle than the mountains.

“We will succeed, Chiron,” Jason promised, wishing he were even half as confident as he was trying to sound.

Suddenly Chiron groaned wearily. Melampus rushed to his side to wipe his brow with a damp linen cloth. Gradually he coaxed the centaur into lying down again.

“You should go now,” he said to his friends, “so that you waste no more time. And—so Chiron can rest.”

Weapons in hand, and supplies in packs tied onto their backs, the boys set off down the slope toward the great spur of rock that connected Mount Pelion to the cluster of mountains to the north. Beyond them lay the valley of Hecla and the mountain of Ossa.

Each of them cast a final backward glance at the humble caves that had been their home these past months. Though they had set out before on hunting and foraging expeditions, this time was different. This time they did not know if they would ever return.

A weird silence hung over the little band as Jason led them around the northern slopes. There was none of the usual bantering, the joke telling, the occasional bursts of song. It was as if there were something everyone wanted to talk about but no one dared mention.

On one particularly tricky bit of ridge, Jason led the way and the others fanned out single file behind him. When he got to the end of that ridge, he went on ahead, stopping at last, breathing hard. He pointed to a longer, rockier ridge that was the next step on their route. “That’s going to be even more treacherous. Are you ready for it?”

There was no response, and he looked around. The others had stopped some distance behind him. He walked back and noticed that they could not meet his eyes.

“What’s the matter?” Jason asked. “Have you all gone lame?”

Idas drew himself up to his full height—which was at least a head taller than Jason’s. “Before we go farther we need to settle who is to be the leader of this band.”

Jason’s fingers clenched tightly around his javelin. “You all heard what Chiron said. He wants you to follow me.”

Glancing back along the ridge they had just traversed, Idas said, “Chiron is a long way off now. He may not even be alive when we get back. The choice should be ours, not his.”