Percy Jackson and the Greek Heroes

  Jason felt like he was back on Bear Mountain, swinging wildly and blindly in the fog. Marrying Medea would be like marrying a very attractive weapon of mass destruction. Powerful, yes. Safe for long-term exposure? Maybe not so much.

  But what choice did he have? He couldn’t beat this challenge on his own. He had no problem admitting that fact. He’d assembled the Argonauts to help him with his quest. Was recruiting Medea to his cause any different?

  ‘I will marry you,’ he said. ‘By all the gods, I swear. Help me and I will take you to Greece and never leave you.’

  Medea threw her arms around him and kissed him. Jason had to admit it wasn’t so bad.

  ‘Here is the ointment,’ said Medea. ‘After you’ve ploughed the field, when the skeletons rise from the earth, throw a rock into their midst.’

  Jason waited. ‘That’s it?’

  ‘That’s it. You’ll see. Once they are disposed of and you’ve won the challenge, my father will be very angry. He’ll be tempted to kill you on the spot, but he’ll be reluctant to do so in public. Just pretend like nothing is wrong. Tell the king that you’ll report to his palace first thing the next morning to claim the Fleece.’

  ‘But … he won’t actually give me the Fleece.’

  ‘No. He’ll wait for you to show up at the palace. Then he’ll order you killed. But we won’t give him the chance. During the night, have your men secretly make ready to sail. When it gets dark, you and I will sneak into the grove, deal with the dragon, steal the Fleece and get out of here.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan … sweetheart.’

  That made Medea very happy. She almost lost the murderous gleam in her eyes. ‘Good luck, my dearest! Remember your promise!’

  She didn’t say or else. Like her dad, she was good at just implying the threat.

  At dawn, Jason reported for duty at the grove of Ares.

  As you might guess, the grove was not known for its lovely flowers or tea-party gazebos. It sprawled across a terraced hill outside the city, visible from the entire countryside. The perimeter was lined with iron walls hedged with poisonous thorn bushes. The bronze gates led to a level expanse of ground the size of a football field, littered with bones and broken weapons. Propped against one wall, tied to a post, was an oversize iron yoke attached to a plough blade bigger than the Argo’s keel. The two bronze bulls were romping freely across the field, crushing bones and blowing fire.

  Further up the hill stood the grove itself – several acres of dense, twisted oak trees. At the very summit, in the branches of the tallest oak, the Golden Fleece glittered. From Jason’s distance, it appeared no bigger than a postage stamp. It glowed blood-red in the morning light, searing his eyes like the beam of a laser pointer (which is really bad to look at; don’t do it).

  Every person in Colchis seemed to be watching from the nearby hillsides, from the rooftops of the city, even from the masts of ships in the harbour. Jason glanced down at the Argo, anchored near the mouth of the river. He wondered if it was too late to run back to the ship, screaming ‘I CHANGED MY MIND!’

  Then King Aeetes came thundering down the road in his golden chariot. Wearing his hand-me-down PROPERTY OF ARES armour, the king looked pretty godlike himself. His helmet’s scowling bronze faceplate made Jason shiver. A line of sweat trickled down Jason’s face, giving him a whiff of the magical ointment he’d recently applied – sage and cinnamon with just a hint of rancid salamander blood. Gods, he hoped Medea wasn’t playing a practical joke on him.

  The king’s chariot rolled to a stop. Aeetes glared down at Jason.

  ‘FOOL!’ bellowed the king, which was how he usually said good morning. ‘Do you see now how hopeless your task is? Scurry back to your ship! No one will stop you!’

  Jason wondered if the king could read his mind, or if it was just that obvious how scared he was. Somehow, he mustered his courage.

  ‘I will not back down!’ he announced. ‘Where are these dragon teeth you want planted?’

  The king snapped his fingers. A servant hustled over and tossed a leather bag at Jason’s feet. The contents clattered like pottery shards.

  ‘There you go,’ said the king. ‘Good luck harnessing the bulls. I’ll be out here riding my chariot, looking cool!’

  As soon as Jason passed through the gates, they clanged shut. The bronze bulls turned and stared at him.

  ‘Nice bulls,’ he said.

  They charged in unison, belching fire. The heat sucked the oxygen out of Jason’s lungs. His eyeballs felt like jalapeño cheese puffs, but, amazingly, he didn’t die. Godlike strength coursed through his body. He punched the first bull in the face and it toppled sideways. Then he locked his arm around the second bull’s neck and dragged it over to the plough.

  The crowd went nuts – cheering and screaming in disbelief. Jason forced the bull into its yoke, then he went back for the other one. He dragged it to the yoke, manhandled it into its harness, then took the handles of the plough.

  ‘Hyah!’ he yelled.

  The bulls blew flames at the sky. They pulled the huge plough blade across the earth, making a furrow. Smoke billowed around Jason. Sparks flew in his eyes. He felt like he was driving a steam train while standing inside the boiler, but somehow he managed to seed the dragon’s teeth into the furrows. By noon, the entire field was ploughed. Jason still wasn’t dead. He parked the bulls, tied them to the post and decided to take a water break. The Argonauts cheered wildly.

  ‘Not bad for a man!’ yelled Atalanta.

  ‘That’s my boy!’ shouted Polydeuces.

  Orpheus launched into a song he’d just made up, called ‘Bull Drivin’ Man’, that later topped out at number five on the Ancient Greek pop charts.

  Meanwhile, Aeetes just stood in his chariot, glaring at Jason. The king’s face was hidden behind his visor, but Jason got the feeling Aeetes’s expression was even less friendly than the metal faceplate’s scowl.

  ‘A good first start,’ the king admitted at last. ‘But now you must reap what you sow. Bring him … THE BLOOD BUCKET!’

  A servant scuttled forward with a lovely green watering can decorated with daisies. The guards opened the gates just long enough to pass it to Jason. He looked inside, saw it was filled with blood and decided not to ask where that blood had come from.

  Jason walked along the rows, watering his crop of teeth. As soon as he finished the last section, the entire field rumbled. Skeletal hands erupted from the soil. Dozens of bone warriors clawed their way out, already armed with rusty swords and pitted shields. Their eye sockets were dark and vacant, but when they turned towards Jason, he got the feeling that they could see him just fine.

  Jason panicked until he remembered Medea’s advice.

  A rock, he thought. I need a rock.

  He found one the size of a baseball and tossed it in a high arc.

  The skeletal warriors were forming ranks when the stone hit one of them in the head, knocking his helmet off. The warrior stumbled into one of his comrades, who pushed him back, accidentally knocking down a third warrior, whose arms windmilled, smacking a fourth warrior in the face.

  Pretty soon, all the skeletons were fighting each other, not knowing or caring who had started it. They hacked at each other until the ground was strewn with broken ribcages and decapitated skulls, jaws still clattering. Skeletal arms and legs scissored through the earth, trying to find their bodies.

  Jason walked over to the last pair of warriors, both of whom had lost their heads. They were pushing each other in the chest like schoolyard bullies. Jason picked up the nearest sword and chopped their legs off.

  For a moment, the crowd was silent. Then the Argonauts began to chant, ‘JASON! JASON!’

  They pushed open the bronze gates and flooded through, lifting Jason onto their shoulders. They paraded him around while Aeetes glared balefully.

  ‘Thanks for the challenge, Your Majesty!’ Jason shouted to the king. ‘I’ll come by the palace tomorrow morning to pick up the Fleece! Tonight, we’re go
ing to celebrate!’

  The Argonauts marched back to their camp in a great mood. The Colchians went home and locked their doors. They knew what their king was like when he got angry.

  As Aeetes watched the Argonauts leave, he muttered to himself, ‘Party away, Jason. Enjoy your last evening on earth!’

  That night, despite his disappointment, Aeetes slept very well. There was nothing he looked forward to more than a good massacre.

  By midnight, most of the Argonauts had returned to the ship in secret, leaving their campfires burning to fool the city watch. Jason stood in his command tent, packing his stuff, when Medea arrived with Aeetes’s four grandchildren.

  ‘They have to come with us.’ Medea prodded the children forward. ‘They want to see Greece, where their father was born. Besides, once Aeetes discovers we’ve taken the Fleece, they won’t be safe. He’ll take out his rage on everyone who spoke up for you.’

  Jason frowned. ‘Surely he wouldn’t kill his own grandchildren.’

  ‘You don’t know my father,’ Medea said.

  Jason hadn’t planned on taking four children aboard the Argo, but he couldn’t very well say no. They all looked at him with the big puppy-dog eyes, murmuring, ‘Pwease, pwease, pwease.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘My men will escort you kids to the ship while Medea and I get the Fleece.’

  The grove of Ares wasn’t any less creepy at night.

  Medea led Jason to a secret entrance in the southern wall. She waved her hand, spoke a few magic words and the thorn bushes parted, revealing a gap in the iron plating.

  Severed skeleton limbs were still crawling across the field. Decapitated skulls gleamed in the moonlight. Bloody mud squished under Jason’s sandals and oozed between his toes.

  When they reached the grove, Medea led him uphill through twisted paths. Jason realized he would’ve been lost without her. Roots curled around his legs as he stepped. Trees shifted. Branches poked him in uncomfortable places. Whenever the trees got too aggressive, Medea muttered some magic words and they became still.

  Finally they reached the summit.

  When he encountered the dragon, Jason had intended to draw his sword. Instead, his arms turned to pudding. He could only stare at the slithering mass of reptile with its yellow lamp eyes and sulphurous smoke curling from its nostrils. The creature wound around the giant oak tree’s trunk so many times it was impossible to tell how long it was. Sharp fins lined its back like the edge of a serrated knife. Each of the dragon’s scales was as big as a shield, pointed and upturned at the end so the creature’s hide reminded Jason, ridiculously, of a deadly artichoke.

  When the monster opened its maw, Jason could easily imagine the Argo being swallowed down that red throat, its hull chomped to kindling by the rows of jagged ivory teeth. The dragon’s hiss echoed down the hill and reverberated across the valley. There was no way it hadn’t woken up everyone in Colchis.

  Jason almost laughed in despair. What had he been thinking? His sword would be as useful as a toothpick against this beast.

  Medea gripped his wrist. She pointed to the Golden Fleece, which glittered in a branch above the dragon’s head.

  ‘You’ll have to climb the dragon’s body to reach it,’ she said. ‘Don’t fall asleep.’

  ‘What?’

  Medea began to sing.

  Her words weren’t in any language Jason knew, but he caught the name Hypnos, the god of sleep. The song flowed over him like warm honey. His eyes got heavy. Medea dug her fingernails into his forearm to keep him awake.

  The dragon’s eyelids flickered once, twice, then stayed closed. Its massive head sank to the ground and it began to snore, the nostrils pluming sulphur.

  ‘Now,’ Medea whispered. ‘Hurry.’

  Medea kept singing as Jason crept forward. He climbed the dragon’s back, trying not to impale himself on its pointy scales. Just as he reached the Fleece, the dragon writhed in its sleep, almost toppling him. Medea sang a little louder. She inched forward and sprinkled some dust across the dragon’s eyes. The monster snored more deeply.

  Jason had a hard time pulling down the Fleece. It was big and heavy and Phrixus had done a really good job of nailing it up there. At last he tugged it free. The Fleece’s head flopped over him, nearly braining him with a ram’s horn.

  He made it to the ground just as drums began to echo through the city.

  ‘The guards know!’ Medea warned. ‘Hurry!’

  They raced through the grove and back across the field of skeletons. Jason was sure they’d be surrounded and captured, but somehow they made it all the way to the docks without being noticed, despite the fact that every guard in the city was now on alert and Jason was running with the shiniest object in the kingdom.

  By the time Jason and Medea boarded the Argo, Colchian sailors were scrambling to their ships and loading ballistae.

  ‘GO, GO, GO!’ Jason told his crew.

  Horns blared. Flaming arrows arced over their heads as the Argo sailed from the harbour, a dozen Colchian ships in hot pursuit.

  Medea’s expression was grave in the torchlight. ‘If we’re lucky, my brother Apsyrtus is leading those ships. At least he will kill us quickly. If my father is on board … well, we would’ve been better off letting the dragon rip us to shreds.’

  Medea really had a knack for motivational speeches. The Argonauts rowed faster.

  Just before dawn, Medea managed to summon a fog bank so the Argonauts temporarily lost their pursuers. Since the Colchians weren’t sure which direction the Argo had gone, they split into two fleets.

  After weeks of frantic rowing, the Argo was just approaching the west shore of the Black Sea when one of the Colchian fleets finally caught up with them. From the crow’s nest, Jason’s lookout reported the colours of the enemy’s flags.

  ‘Those are my brother’s standards,’ Medea said. ‘Apsyrtus is leading the ships.’

  ‘Um, one more thing!’ called the lookout. ‘Another Colchian fleet just appeared on the southern horizon. They’re about half a day further away.’

  ‘Wonderful.’ Medea puffed a strand of hair out of her face. ‘If they split the fleet, that means my father is in charge of the other group.’

  The Argonauts were too tired to even curse.

  ‘We can’t outrun him,’ Jason said. ‘The crew is exhausted.’

  ‘I have a plan,’ Medea said. ‘My brother’s ships are closer. We’ll negotiate with him before my father gets here.’

  ‘Negotiate for a faster death?’

  Medea pointed to the shore. ‘You see the mouth of that river? That goes inland for hundreds of miles. It might even take us to Greece. Just be ready.’

  Medea raised a white flag on the mast. At her direction, Jason called across to the Colchian flagship that he wanted to discuss surrender.

  With a promise of safe passage, Apsyrtus and a few guards rowed over to the Argo. That may seem like a stupid thing to do, but back then people took promises seriously. Welcoming someone onto your ship under a flag of truce was the same as welcoming a guest into your home. You didn’t hurt them unless you wanted all the gods mad at you.

  When Apsyrtus saw his sister standing with the Greeks, he shook his head in disgust. ‘What were you thinking, Medea? You betrayed your homeland for this man?’

  ‘I’m sorry, brother.’

  Apsyrtus laughed. ‘Apologies won’t help. I’ll execute you quickly before Father arrives. That’s the only mercy I can offer.’

  ‘You misunderstand,’ Medea said. ‘I wasn’t apologizing for helping Jason. I was apologizing for this.’

  From beneath her robes, she pulled a dagger and threw it with deadly accuracy. The blade sank into her brother’s throat. He collapsed, dead. The prince’s guards reached for their weapons, but the Argonauts cut them down.

  Medea knelt next to her brother’s corpse. The crew stared at her in horror.

  ‘What have you done?’ said Orpheus. ‘Killing an emissary under a flag of truce … and your o
wn brother? You will bring down a curse on all of us!’

  Medea looked up, her eyes as calm as a vulture’s. ‘Let’s worry about the gods later. Right now we have to escape my father. Jason, help me cut up the prince’s body.’

  ‘Say what, now?’

  ‘There is no time for debate!’ Medea snarled. ‘The rest of you, to your oars! Row for the river!’

  By this point the Argonauts were wishing they’d never heard of Medea, but she was right about having no time to waste. They sailed into the river that would one day be called the Danube.

  Apsyrtus’s ships were slow to react. They didn’t understand what was going on. The prince didn’t usually go sailing with his enemies, but it didn’t even occur to the Colchians that the Greeks would have killed him in the middle of negotiations. By the time they sailed in pursuit, they’d lost valuable time.

  King Aeetes’s ships caught up with the rest of the fleet and together they followed the Argo up the river, which is when Medea started tossing Prince Apsyrtus’s body parts overboard.

  King Aeetes saw his son’s right arm go floating by. He roared for the entire fleet to stop. They fished out the arm and scoured the river to make sure they weren’t missing anything. Then, and only then, were the Colchian ships allowed to follow their prey.

  Again, that may sound weird, but the Colchians took their funeral rites seriously. If you wanted your soul to reach the Underworld, you had to be buried correctly. First your corpse was wrapped in ox hide and hung from a tree until your flesh decomposed. Then your skeleton was buried with a bunch of expensive bling while priests chanted prayers to the gods. You couldn’t receive a Colchian burial unless your body parts were all accounted for and put together. Otherwise they’d have to hang you on the tree in a row of little plastic grocery bags, and that would look stupid.

  Anyway, by leaving a trail of her brother’s body parts, Medea bought the Argo enough time to escape. The Danube was a huge river. It had lots of branches, forks and coves to hide in. By the time Medea threw the last bit of her brother overboard, the Argo had completely lost the Colchians.