Jason and the Gorgon's Blood

CHAPTER 14

THE MOUNTAIN WAKES

DAYLIGHT SPILLED THROUGH THE cave entrance, and everything was back to normal. Jason rubbed his eyes.

“Is it morning already?” Lynceus groaned, rubbing his belly. “Yes, it must be. My stomach’s demanding breakfast.”

Acastus sat up, stretched his arms, and stared at Jason, who still had his back pressed to the wall. “What’s wrong with you, Goat Boy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No, not a ghost,” said Jason. “Just … a bad dream.” But he knew that wasn’t true. On the stone floor at his feet, he could see the broken feather, though neither of the others had noticed it. He put his foot over it.

“When the days are as rough as ours have been, I don’t see the point in bad dreams,” said Lynceus. “I was dreaming about soft beds, warm fires, honey cakes, and roast boar.” He hugged himself tightly. “With my brother nearby.”

“Well, it’s water for breakfast and that’s all,” said Acastus bluntly. “Unless one of you two dreamers went out hunting during the night.”

When Lynceus and Acastus stepped outside the cave, Jason bent over and picked up the broken feather. Its lustrous greens and purples gleamed like jewels. Had Hera left it for him on purpose? And if so, was it a promise or a threat?

Stashing the feather safely inside his tunic, he joined the others in the open air.

The sky had cleared to a brilliant blue. To the north they could see the snowy peak of Mount Ossa, its lower slopes no more than a day’s march away. Far beyond Ossa, Jason knew, lay the third of the great peaks, Mount Olympus itself, the home of the gods. He wondered uneasily if Hera was there now, watching him from her throne. The peacock feather he had stuffed down the front of his tunic felt warm against his skin.

A promise, he thought.

As they started down the slope, Lynceus raised his head and yelled, “Ho, Idas! Admetus! Where are you?”

Acastus silenced him with a shove. “Not so loud, you fool! You’ll bring the harpies down on us again.”

Lynceus looked to Jason. “Do you think so?”

“I don’t know,” said Jason, “but it’s best to be careful.”

“If we don’t shout, how will we find them?”

“We may never find them,” Acastus said bluntly.

Lynceus thought for a moment, then said, “I know! When we were boys, Idas and I used bird calls to signal each other. I remember once when we were raiding our neighbor’s orchard, I stood lookout, and if I saw anybody coming, I made a noise like a thrush to warn him.”

“You were stealing apples?” Jason exclaimed.

“Well, we weren’t old enough to steal cattle.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and made a low, warbling noise that carried far across the mountainside. When he had finished, he cocked an ear, but there was no answering call.

“Come on,” said Jason. “I’m sure they’ll turn up.”

Acastus shook his head but said nothing.

They made their way down the mountain, finding what trails they could. Every few minutes, Lynceus stopped to let out a bird call.

“Come on, Idas, answer me,” he muttered. “I know you’re all right.”

“I believe that, too,” Jason told him, putting a hand on Lynceus’ shoulder. It was well meant, but the boy shook the hand off and moved away, though not before Jason saw how he was fighting back tears.

Then Lynceus cupped his hands around his mouth again, but before he could call out, he lost his footing on some loose shale and went slithering down the slope—straight into the arms of Idas, who had just rounded a bend a few yards below. Admetus was with Idas, and the other boys scurried down to join them.

“I thought it was you making that ridiculous noise,” Idas told his brother.

“If you heard me, why didn’t you answer?” Lynceus demanded. “You know how to make the call.” The tears were running down his cheeks, but now—it seemed—such a display no longer mattered.

“I didn’t see any point in both of us making fools of ourselves,” Idas answered in deadpan fashion.

The other boys started giggling, then fell back and erupted into gales of laughter. It was a relief to find something funny after all they’d been through. None of them gave a thought to the harpies.

“Where were you?” Lynceus asked when they’d quieted at last.

“We found a cleft in the rocks that gave us some shelter,” Idas replied.

“Some, but not much,” Admetus added.

“At least we’re all safe,” said Jason, “and from now on we only have to go downhill.”

Admetus suddenly looked up at the sky. It was a clear blue without a single cloud. “Do you think the harpies will come after us again?”

“The rain will have washed away our tracks and our scent,” said Idas. He sounded more hopeful than sure.

“They’ve probably forgotten all about us,” Jason reassured them, “and gone in search of easier prey.” He didn’t mention Hera’s hand in their escape, but he could feel the peacock feather warm against his chest.

They had not gone much farther when from somewhere above them came a deep, threatening rumble.

“Not more thunder!” Lynceus groaned.

Jason turned and looked up. The sky was still a clear blue. “It’s not thunder.” He pointed.

On the slopes above them, the mountain itself was coming to life, the earth and mud shifting like a blanket being tossed off by a slumbering giant. Great boulders were slipping out of place, crashing and banging off one another as they rolled downhill. They collided with other stones farther down, sweeping the smaller stones along in a growing tide.

“Rock slide!” Acastus cried.

Already loose pebbles were rolling past their feet, and they could feel the mountain shake beneath them.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” cried Admetus. He began to run downward, away from the danger.

Lynceus tugged urgently at his brother’s tunic. “Come on! This isn’t the kind of enemy you can fight!”

They fled in a wild panic, sprinting and jumping, but it was hard to run without taking a fall on this steep, uncertain ground. The rumbling behind them grew louder, the bouncing stones growing larger, like wild dogs snapping at their heels.

As he drew even with Admetus, Jason saw Lynceus and Idas disappearing from view off to his right. Acastus was racing away to his left, bounding over obstacles, as startled as a deer.

“We’ll never get away!” Admetus gasped.

Some wordless sense of danger made Jason turn his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a boulder the size of a haystack bearing down on the two of them.

“Look out!” he yelled, shoving Admetus out of the path.

He himself veered left, but the boulder clipped his shoulder as it crashed past. The impact tossed Jason headlong down the slope, and he tumbled and bumped over the rough ground.

At last he rolled to a stop and scrambled onto his hands and knees. Looking ahead, he almost screamed out loud. Less than ten feet away was the edge of a precipice. He stood and turned, trying to get clear, but he was no sooner up than a tide of earth and stones whipped his legs out from under him and swept him toward his doom.

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.