Jack and Tollers: The Golden Fleece (Episode 3)

Last week, the votes on Episode 2 (read it here) were pretty unanimous that Option 3 was the best choice. One commenter (MK) added this:

Right! So I decided to add MK's idea into this episode. Bear in mind that if you come up with awesome ideas, do feel free to share them with me. I can't have all the awesomeness, can I?

Episode 3
​The Golden Fleece

Jack snorted. "Tollers, you've been reading too much Greek mythology. And no doubt you want me to go through some convoluted heroic thinking process calculating the risks against the rewards. But that isn't my style." He began pointing to three invisible options. "Eeny, meeny, minee, mo..."

Gavin watched him stolidly, his face frozen in a mask of melancholy. At last, Jack announced victoriously, "Mo! Gavin, m'man, I guess I'm heading for Team Minotaur."

"Duly noted," said Gavin. "I would say good luck, but most people don't have any."

"Well, aren't you bright and cheery?"

"Really? How odd. I didn't think I was much good at cheer."

"Never mind, Gavin." Jack clapped the memory-skiller on his shoulder. "Where do I go from here?"

"Your team-mates are meeting at the Minotaur tent. You can't miss it." Gavin pointed up the docks toward the carnival atmosphere just beyond the riverside shops. "Ah, just one word of advice. The Minotaur is very touchy. Be very polite."

The music of lutes, pipes, fiddles, and drums filled the air with a throbbing undercurrent of excitement, threading through the hum of voices. Jack strolled down the docks, along the main by-way between the shops, and toiled up a steep hill.
He reached the peak of the hill to discover that he stood at the rim of a natural green bowl rimmed by razor-edged mountains. At the center of the bowl, a cloud of darkness obscured all signs of the competition obstacles. Three great tents were pitched around the perimeter of the darkness, with a multitude of smaller tents around them.

"Welcome to the Festival of Heroes!" blared a deep voice. "The place here the superpowers of the world come to vie for the prize!"

Turning, Jack discovered an orange bullfrog the size of a small child, swelling and deflating the sack under its chin and blinking asynchronously.

This place was weird, but at least there was no way you'd ever be bored.

Jack descended and began a clockwise rotation of the bowl.

The first great tent he encountered, brilliant in green and gold, was dominated by the sign of a single large eye mounted on a pole. Jack blinked, looked closer. Yes, the eye was actually looking at the people scurrying around it.

"Okay, creepy magical Cyclops eye," Jack muttered. "Next?"

The scarlet and silver tent of Team Centaur was guarded by a creature with the body of a horse and the torso and head of a man, who looked unimpressed by the festivities. As Jack watched, however, the centaur extended a finger and drew three circles in the air. The backside of one of the passersby sprouted a curly pig's tail instantly. For half a moment, the centaur's face lit in a maniacal smile. Then it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"Equally creepy centaur," Jack said. "I'm seeing a pattern here."

He made sure his backside could not present a tempting target as he passed. The tent of the Minotaur--draped in black and gray--was guarded, as Jack expected, by a seven-foot-tall Minotaur with a dark, bare human torso and a pair of black trousers, and, of course, the horned head of a bull. A ring of gold connected the Minotaur's large nostrils.

"Howdy," Jack said, raising a hand in greeting. "I'm on your team."

The Minotaur looked him up and down with menacing slowness. Then, suddenly, its hand shot toward him. Jack leapt back.

"What?" said the Minotaur. "Don't want to shake my hand? Well, fine, if you like it that way. Nobody likes a Minotaur. Someone is feeling rude and he thinks, 'Hey, I think I'll go insult the Minotaur, because he won't mind. He's big. He can take it.' One of these days I'm going to..."

The Minotaur's voice hitched and Jack realized that it was about to cry.

Jack seized the Minotaur's hand and shook it. "Pleased to meet you, bud. I gotta say, those are some spiffy horns you have there."

"You think so?" It was hard to tell if the Minotaur looked pleased. What would a pleased expression look like on a bull? "I like you, little man. May I take your skill?"

"My what?"

"I have to take your skill. Game rules, you know. In competition, you can only have the skills I give you."
​
"Oh, right." Jack had no idea how to give his skill to the Minotaur, but the creature only said politely, "Allow me," and plucked a hair from his head. Then it said pleasantly, "Please enter and prepare for the competition."

Rubbing the place where his hair had been tweaked out, Jack entered the richly-ornamented tent. His clothes turned black and gray instantly, matching that of his teammates. He surveyed the array of hopeful heroes. A few were of the Viking type, with long hair and arm-guards; others were of the suave swashbuckling type; and still others were of the generic hero type, with shirts half-ripped to display as much impressive ab as possible. A smattering of female heroes were also present, in the usual lithe suits and a degree of make-up that seemed a little ridiculous for dangerous games.

No one had any weapons and, from what Jack could see, they were all just pacing heroically and trying either to look tragic or fierce. Jack opted to sit down and watch them while eating an apple from the nearby bowl of fruit. So much for team bonding.
Suddenly, the bullfrog's voice shouted above the din of festival-goers.

"Contestants! Proceed out of your tents to stand by your team pennant!"

The heroes poured out of the Minotaur tent, half-scrambling over one another in their eagerness. Jack followed last, still peeling the flesh away from the core of the apple with his teeth and munching meditatively. They did take this thing seriously, didn't they?​

The heroes of the three teams stood at the edge of the swirling darkness, unable to see more than a few feet into the smoke-like atmosphere.

"I can't go in with you," said the Minotaur, jittering nervously in place. "But I can watch you. Once you're in, you will not be able to speak except with an animal's voice, but your intelligence and wit will be amplified exponentially."

"How comforting," muttered a blond hero, sweeping back his shimmering shampooed hair. "I only chose this team because either of the other team powers would have spoiled my good looks." Noting Jack, he added derisively, "Not that any of us have good looks to spoil."

"Or intelligence to amplify," Jack replied.

Was it Jack's imagination, or did he hear Tollers busting a gut somewhere in the distance?

"Contestants, are you ready?" bellowed the bullfrog. The contestants and all the spectators roared in response. Then the sound of a giant gong reverberated through the air and the contestants entered the arena. As the darkness melted away from the advancing heroes, their battle-cries changed. The blond by Jack shouted, "For love and coun... Heehaw! Heehaw!"

Jack grinned. Poetic justice.

The tallest of the heroes twittered like a songbird, another laughed like a hyena, and one of the ladies let loose with a hippo burp. Jack tested his voice carefully.
"Bark!"

The others looked at him sharply. Jack doubled over in a fit of laughter.

"Bark, yip, snuffle, whine, bark!"

This was better than the time he and Tollers had breathed helium.
​
Then it seemed as though Jack’s mind exploded like water from a dam. His perceptions heightened and his thoughts quickened their pace. Looking around, he noticed that the other heroes had halted their plunge into the arena. It struck Jack, as it did the others simultaneously, that dashing headlong into unknown danger was not the smartest plan.

​"There are three stages to the First Trial," bellowed the bullfrog. "First, there are three sheep with golden fleece, and each team must find one and take its fleece. Then you must take the fleece through the labyrinth where Medusa lurks--without being turned to stone by her stare. Finally, you must take the fleece in a ship past the island of the Sirens and survive their deadly song. The first team to deliver their fleece to the judges will continue to the Second Trial. The other two teams will be eliminated from the competition."

Sounded simple enough.

The smoke cleared away entirely and Jack's jaw dropped. They stood at the edge of a giant expanse of grass, teaming with thousands of sheep of all colors.

This was not going to be as easy as it sounded.

Then the tallest of the team--the Viking who cheeped like a bird--pointed upward. Everyone understood his meaning, but no one, it seemed, wanted to be the man on the bottom. At last, Jack barked in frustration, dropped to one knee, and patted his shoulders. The crushing weight of one of the muscled heroes nearly drove Jack into the earth, but he gritted his teeth and lifted himself upright, balancing his teammate precariously. When his teammate began gesticulating excitedly and quacking like a duck, Jack dropped him.

After quacking indignantly for a few minutes, Duck-Hero began to point again and the others followed him eagerly through the milling sheep, who skittered away at their approach. Within a few minutes, they were hopelessly lost and annoyingly sweaty.

"Meow!" shrieked Cat-Hero. "Hiss, meow, brrr, growl!"

Everyone nodded. This was not working.

This time, Jack hoisted one of the ladies to his back and she directed him through the milling sheep. But this proved to be just as impossible as the previous idea, because the sheep buffeted Jack and made him lose his footing several times. When he fell and his teammate landed in a steaming pile of recent droppings, she let loose with a stream of chimpanzee screeches that needed no interpretation.

Across the sheep, Jack noticed that Team Centaur was growing wings in order to hover over the flock in search of the golden-fleeced sheep, but a few of them lost their wings unexpectedly and tumbled amongst the startled quadrupeds. If they caught the sheep that way, it would be a miracle.

Team Cyclops was blundering around blindly and did not seem to know what the heck they were doing, except for the one guy with the magic eye, who apparently had X-ray vision to see the golden sheep but was overwhelmed with the sheer number of sheep around him. He did not seem eager to swap the eye out with anyone. Lack of teamwork would finish him.

Jack considered. Locating one--or all three--of the golden sheep was no use if the sheep kept moving. They would either have to stop the sheep from moving altogether or they could use their motion to their advantage. In other words, herd them.

Authors could hear thoughts, couldn't they? A little help, Tollers? Some random sheep glue, please? No? Perhaps the Editor had considered it a cop-out. Well then, it was on to the other option...

Jack gesticulated to his teammates. Donkey Blond looked away and pretended that he did not see Jack. Apparently narcissism could diminish the results of heightened intelligence. Interesting.

Undaunted, Jack began to mime to those who would listen to him. He put his hands close together, measuring a narrow space between them. Then he wiggled two fingers between the two hands in what he hoped looked like little feet. Herd all the sheep through a narrow space. Catch the golden sheep as it came through. Simple, right?
His teammates stared at him.

Then Duck-Hero's face brightened and he dashed into the milling sheep, quacking madly. He leapt onto the back of a large ram. Jack waved at him to come back. What did he think Jack had said? Who would try to ride a sheep? When Jack waved, Duck-Hero waved back exuberantly. Then, with a sudden sharp quack, he slipped from his perch and disappeared into the sea of sheep.

Jack face-palmed and shook his head. Note to self: The Minotaur’s intelligence was overrated. Or maybe it did not have much to work with.

This wasn't working. A notebook and pencil. Perhaps if Tollers could let him sketch and write out his plan...

The grass quivered and a darker shade emerged in letters. THE EDITOR SAYS IT'S TOO EASY. CHOOSE SOMETHING ELSE.
​
Very well. Time for Tollers to do his magic.

Option 1
Send me a dog, Tollers. The Minotaur said that we might be able to speak with animals better. I just need one high-energy dogs to help me demonstrate my plan. Make it anything but an Afghan hound. They're dumb as rocks.
 
Option 2
Give me someone else on the team who speaks canine. Maybe if we had the same animal...
 
Option 3
Give me someone on the team who speaks sheep. If I can somehow get that one person to understand my plan, maybe we can talk to the sheep.