FRANK MISSED HIS BOW.
He wanted to stand on the porch and shoot the
snakesfrom a distance. A few well-placed exploding
arrows, a few craters in the hillside – problem solved.
Unfortunately, a quiver full of arrows wouldn’t do Frank
much good if he couldn’t shoot them. Besides, he had no
idea where the basilisks were. They’d stopped blowing fire
as soon as he came outside.
He stepped off the porch and levelled his golden spear.
He didn’t like fighting up close. He was too slow and bulky.
He’d done okay during the war games, but this was real.
There were no giant eagles ready to snatch him up and
take him to the medics if he made a mistake.
You can be anything. His mother’s voice echoed in his
mind.
Great, he thought. I want to be good with a spear. And
immune to poison – and fire.
Something told Frank his wish had not been granted.
The spear felt just as awkward in his hands.
Patches of flame still smouldered on the hillside. The
acrid smoke burned in Frank’s nose. The withered grass
crunched under his feet.
He thought about those stories his mother used to tell –
generations of heroes who had battled Hercules, fought
dragons and sailed monster-infested seas. Frank didn’t
understand how he could have evolved from a line like
that, or how his family had migrated from Greece through
the Roman Empire all the way to China, but some
unsettling ideas were starting to form. For the first time, he
started to wonder about this Prince of Pylos, and his greatgrandfather
Shen Lun’s disgrace at Camp Jupiter, and
what the family powers might be.
The gift has never kept our family safe, Grandmother
had warned.
A reassuring thought as Frank hunted poisonous firebreathing
devil snakes.
The night was quiet except for the crackle of brush fires.
Every time a breeze made the grass rustle, Frank thought
about the grain spirits who’d captured Hazel. Hopefully
they’d gone south with the giant Polybotes. Frank didn’t
need any more problems right now.
He crept downhill, his eyes stinging from the smoke.
Then, about twenty feet ahead, he saw a burst of flame.
He considered throwing his spear. Stupid idea. Then
he’d be without a weapon. Instead he advanced towards
the fire.
He wished he had the gorgon’s blood vials, but they
were back at the boat. He wondered if gorgon blood could
cure basilisk poison . . . But even if he had the vials and
managed to choose the right one, he doubted he’d have
time to take it before he crumbled to dust like his bow.
He emerged in a clearing of burnt grass and found
himself face to face with a basilisk.
The snake rose up on its tail. It hissed, and expanded
the collar of white spikes round its neck. Little crown,
Frank remembered. That’s what ‘basilisk’ meant. He had
thought basilisks were huge dragonlike monsters that
could petrify you with their eyes. Somehow the real
basilisk was even more terrible. As tiny as it was, this
extra-small package of fire, poison and evil would be
much harder to kill than a large, bulky lizard. Frank had
seen how fast it could move.
The monster fixed its pale yellow eyes on Frank.
Why wasn’t it attacking?
Frank’s golden spear felt cold and heavy. The
dragontooth point dipped towards the ground all on its own
– like a dowsing rod searching for water.
‘Stop that.’ Frank struggled to lift the spear. He’d have
enough trouble jabbing the monster without his spear
fighting against him. Then he heard the grass rustle on
either side of him. The other two basilisks slithered into
the clearing.
Frank had walked straight into an ambush.
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