Jason and the Gorgon's Blood (4 page)

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.”

T
HE BOYS QUICKLY COVERED
the old centaur with a woolen blanket and put a sackcloth stuffed with straw under his head. Melampus tore strips of linen to make bandages and, with a long stick, set Chiron's front leg.

Carefully they fed Chiron a warm broth cooked over the now-roaring fire. They couldn't move him onto his straw bed, for he was much too heavy, but instead brought the bed to him, rolling him onto his side and tucking the straw under him.

In the light of the fire they could see the marks of fists and hooves on his body, so purple that the human part was almost as dark-colored as the horse part.

“Jason, go to Chiron's cupboard and get me some mint and angelica—tops and seeds—plus wormwood, oil of juniper, and …” Melampus put his finger to his head as if that could aid memory. “And rosemary.”

Leaping up, Jason took a branch from the hearth fire. He lit the taper in the little bronze oil lamp that had been overturned in the fight. Then he went back into the drying alcove where Chiron kept his herbs. Quickly gathering the ones Melampus had asked for, he returned with them clutched in his hand.

“Ground together,” Melampus was telling the others, “and mixed with fresh spring water and spirits, they will make a salve for his cuts and bruises.”

“How do you know all that?” Idas asked.

“I worked with my old nanny to heal the little snakes who—”

“Yes, yes,” Acastus said in disgust, “the little snakes who licked your ears and taught you animal speech. Well, in case you hadn't noticed, Chiron is no little snake.” He stood up and went to the entrance to the cave. The moon and stars now being hidden behind clouds, he could see nothing in the impenetrable dark. So he simply stood, one hand on his spear, gazing out and trembling slightly.

Meanwhile, deep inside the cave, Melampus mixed and spread the salve. Then, sighing, he stood. “There's no more we can do until the old man wakes.”

“If he wakes,” said Admetus.

“Of course he'll wake! How can you say such a thing?” Jason was taken aback by how shrill his own voice sounded.

“Admetus only says what we're all thinking,” said Melampus.

“Don't blame the messenger. The rest is in the hands of the Fates.”

“Then we'd all better get some sleep,” Idas said, yawning.

“You can go back to your own cave,” said Jason. “I'll stay here with Chiron.” It was his way of apologizing.

“Perhaps I'd better stay, too,” said Melampus.

“You've already done all you can,” Jason reminded him. “I'll fetch you if he needs you.”

Melampus raised an eyebrow at the brusqueness of Jason's tone.

“We can all stay a bit longer,” said Admetus. “I know that I—for one—don't feel much like sleeping.”

The others quickly agreed.

In fact, none of them could sleep. Instead they squatted by the fire and discussed what must have happened.

“It was those centaurs!” said Idas, smacking a fist into the palm of his hand.

“Of
course
it was those centaurs,” Acastus said, leaving his post by the cave door. “No one else could have inflicted such wounds.”

“I'll bet Chiron put up a fight,” Lynceus added.

“He would have been magnificent,” Melampus said.

Admetus shook his head. “It's amazing they didn't kill him.”

“Not for want of trying,” Jason called to them, for he'd been listening to the conversation from his place by Chiron's side.

“Well, it's his own fault,” Acastus said, shaking his head. “If he hadn't sent us off on that fool's errand, this wouldn't have happened.”

“If only we hadn't ridden the pigs …” Admetus began, then stopped when the others glared at him.

“What could
we
have done to stop the centaurs?” Idas asked. “You saw how big and wild they were.”

“At least we would have had our weapons here.” Acastus sounded angry and bitter, but there was something else underneath his anger. It took Jason a minute to figure it out, and then he had it. The prince was frightened.

I wonder why?
Jason thought before turning back to Chiron and putting a hand on the old centaur's cheek. He was cool, but not cold.

The boys talked wearily for another few minutes before getting up and walking outside to their own, smaller cave, where their straw pallets and blankets awaited them. But they were each careful to collect a weapon first.

Jason knew he'd been curt with them all, especially with Melampus, who deserved better for his help, and Admetus, who had at least tried to place the blame where it truly belonged. But Jason didn't have the heart to talk to them now. He wanted to be left alone with Chiron, his foster father, his teacher, his friend.

More than that, something had been nagging at the back of his mind. He'd been trying to figure out what had driven Nessus and the centaurs to this particular violence, and a possible answer had occurred to him.

Before telling the others, he needed to check it out. Taking the little bronze oil lamp, he pressed deep into the cave, past the chests and cupboards in which Chiron stored his possessions, all the way to the solid wall at the back. He remembered the first time he'd explored this wall, imagining that there might be a secret way through it into the heart of the mountain. He'd been about eight years old and alone, for Chiron had gone down into the valley on some errand. By sheer chance he had happened upon a hinged section of rock that swung open when he pressed against it. It exposed an alcove, two feet high.

Bending down now with the lamp, he found it again, the secret doorway, only this time it was lying wide open. He stretched an arm into the dark alcove and felt all around.

The alcove was empty.

There had been two clay jars in there before. A red one and a blue one.

When Chiron had found him on that earlier occasion, Jason had been trying to pry the lid off one of the jars. The centaur had snatched it away with a mixture of anger and fear. “Never, never, never touch those jars again, boy,” Chiron had shouted. “Swear this on your life.”

Eight years old and he'd sworn the oath. Had kept it, too, till this very moment.

“And swear you'll never speak of this to a soul.”

That was easier. Who did Jason at age eight know but the old centaur? He'd sworn that, too.

But when Jason had asked innocently what was in the jars, Chiron's face had become as dark as a storm cloud. “Do not even think about asking,” the centaur had ordered.

Is it too late now to find out the secret of the jars?
Jason wondered. Tears prickled in his eyes, and he willed himself not to let them fall.
Chiron will live. He has to live.

Jason spent a fitful night, starting awake every time Chiron twitched or groaned. Near morning, when the old centaur seemed the worst, breathing out in long, rattling rales, Jason went to the door of the cave and got down on his knees. He'd never prayed to the Fates before, though Chiron had taught him many prayers, yet this prayer seemed simply to breathe from his lips.

“O Moirai, allotters of life, of death, hear me.

Clotho holding the distaff, hear me,

Lachesis drawing the thread, hear me,

Atropos with the abhorred shears, hear me,

Do not cut short this good creature's time.

He is a teacher whose students need him.

He is a healer whose patients need him.”

Here Jason took a deep breath, then ended:

“He is a father whose only son needs him.”

This time the tears fell unchecked from his eyes and left streaks along his cheeks. He didn't bother to brush them away.

“Jason …” It was scarcely a whisper. It sounded more like a feeble breath of air hissing through a crack in a wall.

Jason scrambled back to Chiron on his hands and knees and put his ear close to the old centaur's mouth.

“Jason …”

“I'm here, Chiron, I'm here.”

“The jars …” Chiron croaked. He made a movement as if trying to get up.

Jason put a hand on his shoulder to hold him down. “They're gone.”

Chiron's eyelids drooped wearily, and he nodded. “Of course, you thought to look. You remembered after all this time.”

“The door is open,” Jason said. “Nessus didn't even bother to close it back up.”

“He knew I had the jars,” Chiron wheezed. “Demanded I give them to him. I refused. Tried to stop them but could not. Now the power is his.”

“What power? What's in those jars?”

“Gorgon's blood.”

Jason sat back on his heels. “I don't understand. What would the centaurs want with Gorgon's blood?”

“The power of life and death.”

Jason shook his head. “I still don't …”

“Surely you remember the story I told you.”

Jason said softly, “Forgive me, master, you have told me many stories.”

“Of the great hero Perseus.”

“Ah,” Jason said, nodding. “Perseus. How he hunted down Medusa, the most fearsome of the three Gorgons.”