Free Jason and the Gorgon's Blood by Robert J. Harris Page A

them.
    At last Jason broke the silence. “Maybe we can make a bridge of sorts.”
    As one, they stared at him.
    â€œGet a rope across, and fasten it at both ends,” he explained. “We wrap our arms and legs around it and slide across one at a time.”
    â€œWhat? Hang over that drop?” Lynceus gulped. “You might as well just jump in and get it over with.”
    But Idas looked interested. Finger to his lip, he said, “It would have to be fixed securely.”
    Jason pointed. “Do you see those rocks on the far side?” He stood and Lynceus got up with him. Jason put a hand on Lynceus’ shoulder. “Can you see a place where we might secure a hook of some sort?”
    Lynceus stared hard for a few moments. “Yes,” he said hesitantly. “But there’s no guarantee the rope would hold.”
    â€œAnd we don’t have a hook,” Acastus pointed out. “Or did you think to hide one away in your tunic before we left?” He, too, stood and came over to stare across the chasm at the rocks.
    Idas and Admetus scrambled to their feet, and soon all five of them were standing in a line on the chasm’s edge.
    â€œWe can lash two swords together in a cross,” said Jason. “We’ll tie the rope to the center of the cross and throw it over. With any luck it should catch between the rocks. You can throw it that far, can’t you, Idas?”
    â€œOf course I can,” said Idas. “Lynceus can point out the target to me.”
    â€œIf it works, we won’t have lost any time,” said Jason. “And if it doesn’t …” He shrugged. “Well, we won’t be any worse off than before.”
    â€œExcept for the swords,” Acastus pointed out.
    Taking his own sword and Admetus’, Jason lashed them together with his belt so that they formed a cross of bronze.
    Meanwhile, Idas unslung the rope from his shoulder and began unwinding it.
    â€œIt’s barely long enough, Jason,” he said grimly.
    â€œThat’s all it needs to be,” Jason said. He worked the end of the rope through the leather lashing and tied a double knot to hold it secure.
    â€œYou see,” Lynceus pointed out to his brother, “there’s a pair of rocks there, one sticking up like a finger, the other shaped like a shepherd’s cap. Try and get the cross between them.”
    Idas said nothing, but his lips were pressed so hard together, they looked like one lip. With his right hand he gripped the end of the rope just below the makeshift grapple. Then, swinging his arm back and forth—once, twice—he threw the line across the gap on the third swing.
    The crossed swords struck the ground just short of the target and slipped off the edge. Idas reeled them in, grinding his teeth in frustration. No one said a word as he started to swing the line again.
    With a grunt he tossed it into the air, the bronze blades glinting in the sun. This time the metal cross struck the tall rock and bounced back into the chasm.
    Idas let out an angry snarl, and no one ventured a word as he pulled the rope back up. Stepping as close as he dared to the edge of the chasm, Idas started swinging the line again. Under his breath he said what might have been a prayer—or a curse.
    Up flew the swords, down they came—just beyond the two rocks.
    â€œThat’s it!” Lynceus cried.
    Idas beamed as he gave a tug and the swords locked in place.
    â€œDoes it look secure?” Jason asked.
    Lynceus peered across the gap and shrugged. “They’re fitted kind of awkwardly. I wouldn’t like to trust myself to that.”
    â€œIt’s firm enough,” said Idas, yanking on the rope.
    â€œPull harder,” Acastus ordered.
    â€œIf it breaks free, then it’s all been for nothing,” Idas said.
    â€œIf it breaks when one of us is on it, it’ll make him nothing,” Acastus muttered.
    Idas pulled. The swords