Jason and the Gorgon's Blood

CHAPTER 3

BAD OMENS

THE BIG CENTAUR NESSUS fixed Jason with a contemptuous glare. “Look, here’s Chiron’s pet boy.”

“So, are you all pupils of the good and wise Chiron?” sneered a centaur to his right, whose eyebrows met in the middle, which only added to his bestial appearance.

“What are you doing out here in the wild? Hunting monsters?” cried a third. His horse body was spotted, as if with some terrible disease. “Perhaps you’ve found them!” He beat his fists on his chest.

All of the centaurs seemed to think this was outrageously clever, and they laughed loudly.

“But wait!” said Nessus. “They have no weapons. What’s the matter, little warriors? Forget your swords and spears?”

“We’ll have them next time!” Acastus burst out.

Jason wanted to knock him flat for being so stupid. The last thing they wanted to do was antagonize the centaurs. He stepped forward. “Chiron sent us to fetch herbs for a healing draught,” he said quickly. “We’re not hunting.” He held up empty hands. “As you noted—we have no weapons.”

“A huntsman once tried to kill me!” Nessus roared in sudden anger. “Tore me up with his spear. But I survived.”

The other centaurs applauded and several laughed again, a long neighing sound.

“Yes, I remember,” Jason began in a soft voice. “I helped Chiron heal—”

Nessus did not hear, or deliberately wished not to hear, interrupting Jason. “I tracked him down later. He claimed when he threw his spear he thought he was aiming at a deer. A deer!”

The centaurs laughed and called to one another: “A deer! He thought Nessus was a deer!”

“Well, he won’t be hunting deer again,” Nessus shouted above them, “because I cracked his skull open—like this!” He lashed out with his club, and Jason had to duck to keep his own head from being smashed.

The others centaurs apparently thought this looked like fun, for they lunged forward, swinging at the boys with their clubs. The boys had to duck and dodge for all they were worth, and still some of them took blows to the back or shoulder.

Finally the centaurs were laughing so hard they had to stop their game so they could catch their breath.

Admetus, who had taken at least one blow—for his shoulder was already purpling—whispered to Jason, “We could make a dash for it. Maybe some of us could get away.”

“You tried that already,” Jason reminded him. “There’s nothing the centaurs like better than chasing running prey.”

“So what do you suggest?” Acastus snapped. “That we just stand here and take more blows?”

“Yes,” Jason answered firmly, “if we have to. Stand here until they get bored. They’re not really very bright and they’ll leave soon, as long as we don’t provoke them.”

“They don’t look bored to me,” Lynceus muttered, nodding his head at the centaurs, who were still laughing and slapping their hands together.

Just then the centaurs all looked up.

“Look at them, Nessus! Not much sport here,” called out the spotty centaur.

Another pointed at Idas. “That one at least seems big enough for a fighter,” he said. “But I doubt he has the spirit.” He trotted over to Idas, presented his rear to the boy, and whipped his tail across Idas’ face.

Idas clenched his fists and started forward.

“Don’t move,” Jason warned.

Idas clenched his jaw and stood his ground, though there were welts across his cheek where the tail had struck him.

“These are women, not warriors,” Nessus agreed. “Let’s go … and leave them to their pretty flowers.”

“There’s still some fun to be had,” cried a centaur who wore a necklace of bear claws around his neck. “Let’s chase them across the valley and then hunt them.”

Nessus walked over unhurriedly and grabbed hold of the bear-claw necklace, twisting it so tightly it choked the centaur till his face turned purple. “Have you forgotten what we’re really after, Hylaus?”

Hylaus raised a hand, signaling his obedience, and Nessus released him. Then, lofting his club high above his head, Nessus galloped off across the meadow and into the trees. The others followed, shouting and whistling and waving their clubs.

Idas picked up a rock and was about to throw it after them, but Acastus grabbed his wrist and held him back. “There’ll be another time,” he promised through gritted teeth. “Another time when we’re armed. With bows as well as swords. Let that rabble try us then!”

The boys shouted their agreement.

“For now can we finish what we came here for?” asked Jason.

Halfheartedly, the boys returned to their work. Even Acastus helped to gather some herbs. It was as if the meeting with the wild centaurs had given him some sense of comradeship with the others.

By the time they had filled all the herb bags, the sun was sinking to the west beyond the Bay of Thessaly and Acastus’ city of Iolcus.

“Maybe we should find someplace to sleep for the night,” said Lynceus, stifling a yawn. “Chiron is probably still mad at us anyway.”

“If we don’t go back he’ll be even madder,” said Jason.

“We could just not go back at all,” Acastus suggested.

“That’s very well for you, Acastus. Your home is just down there.” Lynceus waved a hand vaguely toward the west. “But some of us have a long way to travel, and we’d have to do it without food or drink or weapons or coins.”

“Hold on,” said Admetus. “Look at Melampus.”

The gangly Melampus was standing up straight and staring fixedly at the sky. He’d gone as rigid as a spear shaft.

“What is it, Melampus?” Jason asked. “What’s the matter?”

Melampus pointed to a flock of birds wheeling across the sky, filling the air with their piercing cries.

“They’re upset,” he said. His brow wrinkled in concentration. “They’re speaking about Chiron.”

“Oh, he’s not listening to the birds again, is he?” Idas groaned. “I swear the gods stole his wits when he was in the cradle. I mean, who can believe that story about the grateful snakes?”

“What story?” Jason asked.

“You must have slept through it, Goat Boy,” Acastus said with a sneer. “He’s told the rest of us often enough.”

“But I don’t know …” Jason began before Idas interrupted him.

“Well, Melampus claims that as an infant he helped some snakes and they licked his ears and after that he could understand the language of animals.”

“I can believe that,” Jason said quietly. “He’s very good.”

“And I,” Admetus said.

Acastus laughed. “If you believe that rubbish, you’re as mad as he.”

Melampus hissed and waved his hand irritably for silence. “Let me listen!”

“Listen away if you will, but I’ll tell you what they’re saying: ‘Worms, flies, barley seed,’” Acastus said in a high-pitched voice. “They’re saying: ‘Hawks, owls, foxes, look out!’”

“No, they’re not,” Melampus said. “They’re saying there’s been trouble … a fight … in Chiron’s cave. They’re saying that if we knew any better, we’d be heading right back there now.”

Jason grabbed Melampus by the arm. “What about Chiron? What are they saying about Chiron?”

Melampus shook his shaggy head. “I don’t know. They’ve gone silent.”

“Convenient.” Acastus gave a short, sharp bark of a laugh, but the boys were no longer paying any attention to him.

“Do you think those centaurs we met had anything to do with the fight?” Admetus asked.

The boys looked at one another fearfully, for Chiron—much as they begrudged his hard ways—was their teacher.

Finally Admetus said, “Surely they wouldn’t hurt a fellow centaur.”

Jason shook his head. “He may be of the same race, but he’s nothing like them.”

“Oh, this is stupid,” said Acastus. “Some birds start twittering overhead and you all panic as if Pan’s pipes were ringing in your ears.”

“Melampus has been right before,” Lynceus pointed out. “Remember when he warned us about that storm.”

“The skies were warning enough,” Acastus replied, both hands held up in exasperation.

“And there was the time he convinced that mouse to find my lost ring,” said Admetus.

“He probably dropped it himself so he knew where to look,” Acastus said. “Ignore him.”

“Are you calling me a thief?” Melampus’ face was beginning to purple in anger.

“I’m saying there are many explanations for what happened,” Acastus answered. “And understanding the speech of animals is the least of such explanations.” He turned to the others. “So I say again, ignore him.”

“We can’t afford to ignore him, if there’s even the slightest chance Chiron needs our help,” Jason said. “We have to get back to the cave as fast as we can.” He started across the meadow at a lope, thinking that Chiron was not only his teacher, he was the only real friend—the only family—he had in all the world. And even if the other boys didn’t want to come along, he’d go without them.

He’d gotten halfway across the meadow when Melampus caught up.

“Jason, wait!” he cried, his voice coming out in spurts. “It’s getting dark! You have to help us find the way back. We’ll never make it without you.”

Jason paused and chewed his lip in frustration. Chiron would have said never to abandon the others, no matter what his hurry.

“All right, but we have to move quickly,” Jason called back, and waited till they all caught up.

By the time the cave mouth came into sight, they had only the stars and a half-moon to light their way.

“Stay here,” Jason said. “Let me see if there’s anything wrong.” He already knew something was not right, had known it from the moment he’d realized the cave was unlit. There was no fire, not even a torch burning in the holder. In all the years he’d been with the old centaur, the lights had never gone out completely.

He’d realized that same moment that the safest thing was for him to go on alone. His stomach wasn’t happy about that; it felt cold and heavy. His cheeks went red-hot. But he didn’t dare risk all their lives.

When he got to the entrance, he was forced to halt because the cave was pitch-black and he had to feel his way inside.

“Chiron?” he called softly. “Chiron, are you there?” Then he was silent, listening. He heard a low, ragged breathing coming from somewhere inside. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could just make out the shapes of the centaur’s spare furnishings: some tables, cooking pots, a pair of barrels. And there beyond them, a crumpled form lay on the straw-covered floor.

Jason darted forward, tripping on the way, and fell on his knees at Chiron’s side. Running his hand over the centaur’s head, neck, torso, he came at last to the bulk of the horse body. He put his head down onto the torso and could feel the labored breaths passing like tremors down that mighty frame.

At least he is alive, Jason thought, and aloud whispered, “Chiron, can you hear me?”

A long, drawn-out rasp was the only reply.

Something made a scratching sound behind him, and he looked over his shoulder just as a sudden light flared. Melampus had struck a pair of flints and sparked the kindling heaped up inside the circular stone hearth. Quickly the flames gained strength, bringing a much-needed warmth to the cave and casting a flickering illumination over the stricken centaur.

Jason was horrified. Chiron’s face and arms were dappled with livid bruises and one of his legs seemed bent at an unnatural angle.

Sweeping Chiron’s long hair back from his brow, Jason saw that the old centaur’s eyes were firmly shut and blood had dried around the sides of his mouth.

The boys crowded into the cave, lending Chiron more warmth but fast using up the air. For a second Jason thought to throw them all out, then reconsidered. They needed to see, to understand.

“Is he alive?” Acastus asked, voicing the fear for them all.

Jason bit his lower lip. “Yes. But only just.”