Robert Harris - Jason and the Gorgon's Blood

Once they were on a safer path, Jason let his mind wander back to his last conversation with Chiron. He gnawed on it like a wolf on a bone. How could the old centaur have let him spend all these years thinking he was a nobody, a goat boy, with no family and no home? Wouldn’t his life have been different if he’d known from the start that his grandfather had been a king? That his father was alive and had sent him away for safety? That in his own right he should be king?

Then he shook his head. What had being raised as a prince done for Acastus? Only made him selfish and arrogant and unwilling to learn. Of course Admetus was a prince, too, and not so unpleasant. But look at all the time he wasted trying to prove to Acastus he was just as important.

Perhaps, Jason thought, it hasn’t been so bad growing up in a mountain cave, far from the centers of power and riches. If only —he could not get the thought out of his head— if only I’d known.

The sun was sinking as they descended the far slope, and at first they did not see what lay ahead. It was Lynceus who let out a cry, alerting the others.

Cutting directly across their path was a vast chasm. It stretched off into the distance to both right and left. As far as any of them could see, there was no possible way across.

“What now, Goat Boy?” asked Acastus.

Jason wished he had an answer.

CHAPTER 8

THE CHASM

THEY MOVED DOWN IN silence toward the edge of the chasm. Far below, almost lost in the shadows, a ribbon of water gurgled and foamed around jagged rocks that jutted up like fangs. Helplessly they gazed both east and west. “I suppose your hunter friends just flapped their arms and flew across this?” Acastus’ sarcasm was like the crack of a whip.

“They did get across,” Jason answered feebly, desperately racking his brain to remember what they had said. “I knew we were fools to trust him,” Admetus muttered.

“Not so long ago you were playing the lamb to his shepherd,” Acastus said. “If he walked over the edge of this hole, you’d probably follow him to your doom.”

“Sooner that than follow you, Acastus!” Admetus exclaimed.

The two princes clenched their fists and glared at each other.

“I’ve a good mind to knock your heads together,” said Idas.

“Oh, let them fight it out, Idas,” said his brother.

“There is a way,” Jason declared, stepping between them. “I remember it now. It’s farther west, a spot where the gap narrows to only a few feet. It can be jumped there.”

“Really?” Acastus raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Is that the best you can do? Can’t you just admit you were wrong?”

Lynceus stared hard toward the west. Suddenly he pointed. “There.” His finger held true. “There is a place where our side juts out into the gap.”

“Then let’s take a look,” said Idas, slapping his brother on the back.

They practically sprinted westward along the side of the chasm, but when they reached the place that Lynceus had spotted, Jason’s heart sank. Even on the very edge of this promontory, the gap between their side and the other was twenty feet across at least.

“There must be another place,” Jason said without much hope in his voice. He put a hand up to shade his eyes and looked around, but the ravine seemed bigger and the gap across wider the longer he stared at it.

Meanwhile Lynceus was checking the way they had come, then ahead, but finally he said dismally, “Nothing within half a day’s trek of here. And that would take us back round to the south. Not exactly where we want to go.”

“I suppose we could just retreat,” said Admetus. “Try to find another way around.”

“And lose two or three days in the process.” Acastus looked grim. “By the time we reached Mount Ossa, the centaurs would be long gone, and those cursed jars of Chiron’s with them.”

While they argued, Lynceus sank down on his hands and knees, examining the ground.

“Look here,” he said suddenly, “at the edge of the stone.” They gathered around him but didn’t know what they were supposed to be seeing, so Lynceus explained. “There’s no moss growing on it, and it’s hardly been touched by the weather.”

“So?”

“That means it’s fresh stone. A chunk of rock must have broken off from here, and recently, too.”

“There was that earthquake a few months ago,” Admetus recalled, “before we all came up Mount Pelion to study with Chiron.”

“Yes,” Acastus said. “I remember. My father ordered a dozen bulls sacrificed to appease Poseidon, earth shatterer.”

“The earthquake must have caused the rock to break,” said Jason. “So up until then this was the way across.”

“Well, that explains it,” said Idas, “but it doesn’t help us. We’re still stuck here on this side.”

The boys all agreed, nodding.

“We followed your lead, Jason.” Acastus gestured toward the yawning chasm. “And see what it’s brought us to.”

“That’s not really Jason’s fault,” Admetus put in quickly.

“When you are leader, everything is your fault,” said Acastus. “My father taught me that.”

“And what would you have done differently?” Jason demanded. “Would this be any less of a dead end if you had been in charge? Did your father teach you to fly? ”

“No, and he didn’t teach me to hide either,” Acastus retorted.

Hide? Jason wondered what Acastus meant. But before he could consider it further, Lynceus’ voice caught his attention.

“It’s only about twenty feet. That’s not so far, is it?”

“Then you think you can jump it, brother?”

“Of course not.” Lynceus made a face at Idas. “But perhaps we could build a bridge.”

“Do you know how long it would take to build a bridge long enough to span that gap and strong enough not to collapse?” asked Acastus.

“We could cut down a tree and shove it across,” said Idas, looking up at some of the trees that lined the slopes above them. None of them looked particularly sturdy.

“Even if we could find one tall enough, its own weight would topple it into the chasm before we could push it all the way over,” said Lynceus.

This thought sobered them all, and they took off their packs and sat down near the edge. For a long moment they were silent, each considering the gulf before them.

At last Jason broke the silence. “Maybe we can make a bridge of sorts.”

As one, they stared at him.

“Get a rope across, and fasten it at both ends,” he explained. “We wrap our arms and legs around it and slide across one at a time.”

“What? Hang over that drop?” Lynceus gulped. “You might as well just jump in and get it over with.”

But Idas looked interested. Finger to his lip, he said, “It would have to be fixed securely.”

Jason pointed. “Do you see those rocks on the far side?” He stood and Lynceus got up with him. Jason put a hand on Lynceus’ shoulder. “Can you see a place where we might secure a hook of some sort?”

Lynceus stared hard for a few moments. “Yes,” he said hesitantly. “But there’s no guarantee the rope would hold.”

“And we don’t have a hook,” Acastus pointed out. “Or did you think to hide one away in your tunic before we left?” He, too, stood and came over to stare across the chasm at the rocks.

Idas and Admetus scrambled to their feet, and soon all five of them were standing in a line on the chasm’s edge.

“We can lash two swords together in a cross,” said Jason. “We’ll tie the rope to the center of the cross and throw it over. With any luck it should catch between the rocks. You can throw it that far, can’t you, Idas?”