Jason and the Gorgon's Blood

CHAPTER 12

THE STORM BREAKS

JASON LOOKED AT THE others, and he could tell they were all afraid, no matter how much they tried to hide it.

So was he.

His stomach was knotted like a length of rope, and the blood pounded behind his eyes. If he thought about it too much, he might just throw up. Shaking his head, he forced himself to throw off the fear.

“No one is going to die,” he said as if he meant it. “Not if we stick together.”

“Maybe we can make it to the edge of the hollow and still keep together,” said Admetus.

“We’d be going as slow as a tortoise,” grumbled Idas.

“That side over there isn’t very steep.” Lynceus glanced to the right. “We should be able to make it up there without getting stuck.”

“Then let’s go,” said Acastus, impulsively striding off.

The others scurried after him.

“Slow down!” said Jason, grabbing Acastus by the arm. “We’re getting separated. Remember what happened with the centaurs. We’re no match for them alone, but together we might …”

Acastus scowled, but slowed his pace nonetheless.

Step by nervous step they crossed the hollow. Every time there was a flicker of movement from the harpies, the boys pulled up short and pressed together, their weapons thrust out defensively.

The harpies began to hop from one foot to the other, stabbing their claws toward the sky as if signaling. Then one suddenly pumped her wings and took to the air. She soared overhead, then plunged downward like a plummeting hawk, to land directly in front of them. She leaned down, snatched up a rock, and flung it, cracking Idas in the shin.

For an instant, Idas seemed to buckle.

“Up, Idas, up!” Jason cried, jerking him up by the arm.

Idas winced. “That’ll make a fine purple bruise.”

“By the gods!” Admetus exclaimed. “They learn fast.” He pointed.

All three of the harpies had now scooped up armfuls of rocks. Taking to the air, they hovered ahead of the boys and, with horrendous screeches, began pelting them with stones.

The rain of stones forced the boys to fall back.

“Damn them to the blackest pit in Tartarus!” Idas roared, as much in rage as in pain.

Slowly they were forced back into the very center of the hollow, where they crouched with their arms up to ward off the stone missiles.

All the while, the harpies shrieked and hooted and twittered, which sounded a great deal like mocking laughter. Then they returned to their perches and watched their victims with hungry eyes.

“If they’re mad at us for trespassing, why don’t they just let us go or chase us off?” said Admetus, his voice almost a sob. “Why are they keeping us here?”

“Because they’re hungry,” Idas said darkly.

“Hungry?” Admetus echoed bleakly.

“Look around, cousin,” Acastus said. “They’ll eat anything.” His usual mocking tone was gone. “And now they’ve got us here, they don’t intend to let us go.”

“Then there’s no choice,” said Idas with gloomy determination. “We have to run for it. Each of us will have to trust to his own speed. If we each go in a different direction, at least some of us will get away. Some is better than none.”

“All is better yet.” Jason realized that they were not listening to him.

“If only we had a way to distract them,” said Lynceus.

Jason suddenly remembered Acastus’ stolen pack. The harpy who had sneaked into camp had come to steal food, not to prey on the boys. At least not then. He clapped his hands together, which got everyone’s attention. “We can use the food.”

“Food? You mean our food?” Acastus looked dubious.

“Yes. Use their hunger against them. Given the chance of a meal that doesn’t fight back, my guess is that they’ll go for it at once.”

“Your guess?” Acastus shook his head.

“Have a better idea?” Jason asked. “Throw it far enough away from us and they’ll chase after it.”

“I think Jason’s right,” Admetus said.

“I do, too,” agreed Idas.

“All of the food?” Lynceus did not seem so sure.

“That’s the only way we can be certain of delaying them long enough for us to get away,” Jason told them.

“And what are we supposed to live on then?” asked Acastus.

“Would you rather go hungry or be a meal for somebody else?”

“You’re right, Jason,” Lynceus said, “but couldn’t we keep just a little back? For a snack?”

“Too risky,” said Jason decisively. “We’re going to need as big a lead as we can get.” And even that, he thought, may not be big enough.

He gathered all the remaining bread, meat, and cheese into one pack, and with his knife cut slits in the sides, just enough so that the food could be easily spilled. He left the flap open. Then he handed the pack to Idas. “Throw it as far as you can,” he said, “over that way.” He pointed to the way they had come.

Idas gripped the pack, all the while watching the harpies. They were still hopping from foot to foot, waiting for another opportunity to attack. “Now?”

“Now!” the boys all said as one.

Idas swung his brawny arm, once, twice, then let go. The pack shot upward, then curved down toward the ground. When it landed, it spilled its contents in all directions.

The harpies instantly burst into the air with excited squawks, then raced for the food on beating wings. As soon as they landed, they jabbed and scratched one another in a frenzy of hunger, not wanting to share even the tiniest morsel.

“Go!” Jason shouted.

Lynceus was already away, but Idas soon overtook him with his long strides. Jason pulled ahead of Admetus with Acastus just in front of him. Then he was ahead.

How long will the food hold them? Jason wondered. How long before they notice that their live prey has fled? He didn’t dare look back. The least delay could mean death. He just kept running, never minding the dried bones cracking and crumbling underfoot.

They reached the far side of the hollow, and Jason felt the breath hot in his chest, his legs trembling with fatigue and fear. He was certain the others felt the same.

Suddenly there was a horrifying flutter of wings behind him, above him. A foul breeze washed over him, and the guttural chatter of the harpies drummed in his ears.

Without turning to look, Jason forced himself on. There was the snap of a whip and something clipped his ear; then he was over the edge, racing down the side of the mountain without even glancing at the way ahead. He stumbled and rolled over the bumpy ground, colliding with a shriveled tree.

Looking up, he saw the golden-haired harpy above him, her wings spread out, her horrid teeth bared. Then a shock of light exploded across the sky. There was a deafening boom of thunder, and a wall of rain crashed out of the clouds, hitting the earth like a waterfall.

Jason was drenched in the sudden downpour. It filled his eyes and trickled down his throat. Another sheet of lightning ripped across the sky, illuminating the harpy. She was twisting about in the air the way a drowning sailor is rolled in a terrible sea. The storm buffeted her about, the raindrops rattling like a shower of pebbles on her outstretched wings. Soon she lost sight of her victim, and the gusts of rain began beating her back to her lair.

Clambering to his feet, Jason felt the ground slick and muddy beneath him. He slid down the slope, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the ravenous monsters. He tried to call to the others, but his voice was lost in the roar of the rain.

Pausing to check his bow, he found it miraculously undamaged. However, still wary of an attack by the harpies, he took out an arrow, set it on the string, and held it ready. Picking his way from rock to rock to avoid falling in the mud, he wound his way around toward the north, alert for any shelter from the storm.

To his relief the lightning revealed the dark outline of a cave entrance. Hardly daring to believe, Jason hurried toward it, doing his best to keep his balance.

He stopped at the entrance and froze. Even over the din of the rain, he was sure he could hear something moving inside. He drew the string of the bow back sharply and stepped inside.

Immediately he felt the point of a bronze blade pricking his throat.

Lightning lit up the cave, and he saw Acastus staring at him down the length of his outstretched arm and the straight edge of his sword. Jason’s arrowhead, with all the pent-up force of the bowstring gathered behind it, was poised only inches from the prince’s heart.

“Jason!” Acastus breathed. Then he asked, “Where are the others? Are they safe?”

“I don’t know,” Jason replied. “I lost sight of them in the storm.”

His arm was starting to ache under the strain of holding back his bowstring, but some instinct told him not to relax.

“The harpies?” Acastus asked. His sword point had not wavered by the least fraction.

“I think they’re gone,” Jason answered, both arms shaking.

There was a long silence, broken only by the battering of the rain outside the cave.

“Shouldn’t we lower our weapons now?” Jason suggested at last. His throat was burning, and it was hard to get the words out.

Acastus let out a long, low breath. “I suppose we should.”

But his sword didn’t move. And his arm was not shaking.