Jason and the Golden Fleece

Long ago, before map makers had filled in the edges of the world, there was a kingdom in Greece called Iolcus. It was a place where the mountains ran straight down into the salt crust of the Aegean Sea, and where the rulers of the land were as turbulent as the waves. On the throne of Iolcus sat King Pelias. He was not the rightful king. He had stolen the crown from his half-brother, the gentle King Aeson, and locked him away in a dark tower. But stolen crowns are heavy, and they make the heads that wear them turn with worry. Pelias lived in constant fear of the day his crime would catch up with him. He had sent messengers to the high oracle at Delphi, asking how he would die and who would take his stolen throne. The oracle's reply was short, mysterious, and chilling. Beware the man who comes from the hills wearing only one sandal. For years, Pelias watched every traveler who entered the city gates. He looked not at their faces, nor at their swords, but at their feet. One spring day, when the snows on Mount Pelion were melting and sending wild rushing torrents of water down into the valleys, a young man came walking toward the city. His name was Jason. He had spent his childhood far from the palace, raised in the deep green forests of the mountains by Chiron, the wise old centaur, who was half man and half horse. Chiron had taught Jason how to hunt, how to heal wounds with mountain herbs, and how to speak with honor. Now, Jason was a grown man, and he was coming home to claim his father's stolen kingdom. On his way to Iolcus, Jason came to the banks of the river Anaurus. The river was swollen with spring floods, roaring and muddy, carrying broken tree branches in its foam. Standing by the rushing water was an old woman, wrapped in a ragged gray cloak. She looked small, frail, and terrified of the crossing. "Young man," she called out over the roar of the water, "will you help a poor old woman cross? The current is too strong for my old bones." Jason did not hesitate. He was strong and his heart was kind. He knelt and bade the old woman climb onto his back. Then he stepped into the icy rushing water. The current fought him at every step, pulling at his knees, but he planted his feet firmly into the slippery stones of the river bed. Halfway across, his left foot slipped into a deep crevice between two rocks. He pulled his foot free with a great heave, but the leather strap of his sandal snapped, and the shoe was swept away by the muddy torrent. Still, Jason did not drop his burden. He struggled onward, step by step, until he reached the far bank and set the old woman gently on the grass. He turned to ask if she was unharmed, but when he looked, the ragged old woman was gone. In her place stood a tall, radiant figure with eyes like flashing lightning. It was Hera, the queen of the gods, who had disguised herself to test the hearts of men. She looked down at the young man, who stood shivering with one bare foot in the mud, and she smiled a secret golden smile. From that moment on, Jason had the favor of the queen of heaven, though he did not yet know how much he would need it. Jason walked into the city of Iolcus with his chest high, his spear in his hand, and his left foot bare. When King Pelias saw him walking through the palace gates, his blood ran cold. There, standing before his throne, was the one-sandaled man of the prophecy. Pelias gripped the arms of his throne, his knuckles turning white. But he was a clever king, and he knew he could not simply murder a stranger in broad daylight without turning the city against him. He decided to play a game of wits. "Welcome, traveler," Pelias said, his voice as smooth as polished stone. "You have the look of a hero…

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