INDEX
CHAPTER ONE: I GO CRUISING WITH EXPLOSIVES
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The
end of the world started when a pegasus landed on the hood of my car.
Up
until then, I was having a great afternoon. Technically I wasn't supposed to be
driving
because
I wouldn't turn sixteen for another week, but my mom and my stepdad, Paul, took
my
friend
Rachel and me to this private stretch of beach on the South Shore, and Paul let
us borrow
his
Prius for a short spin.
Now, I know
you're thinking, Wow,
that was really irresponsible of him, blah, blah, blah, but
Paul
knows me
pretty well. He's seen me slice up demons and leap out of exploding school
buildings, so he
probably
figured taking a car a few hundred yards wasn't exactly the most dangerous
thing I'd ever done.
Anyway,
Rachel and I were driving along. It was a hot August day. Rachel's red hair was
pulled back
in a
ponytail and she wore a white blouse over her swimsuit. I'd never seen her in
anything but ratty Tshirts
and
paint-splattered jeans before, and she looked like a million golden drachmas.
"Oh,
pull up right there!" she told me.
We parked
on a ridge overlooking the Atlantic. The sea is always one of my favorite
places, but
today it
was especially nice—glittery green and smooth as glass, as though my dad was
keeping it calm
just for
us.
My dad, by
the way, is Poseidon. He can do stuff like that.
"So."
Rachel smiled at me. "About that invitation."
"Oh .
. . right." I tried to sound excited. I mean, she'd asked me to her
family's vacation house on St.
Thomas for
three days. I didn't get a lot of offers like that. My family's idea of a fancy
vacation was a
weekend in
a rundown cabin on Long Island with some movie rentals and a couple of frozen
pizzas, and
here
Rachel's folks were willing to let me tag along to the Caribbean.
Besides, I
seriously needed a vacation. This summer had been the hardest of my life. The
idea of
taking a
break even for a few days was really tempting.
Still,
something big was supposed to go down any day now. I was "on call"
for a mission. Even
worse, next
week was my birthday. There was this prophecy that said when I turned sixteen,
bad things
would
happen.
"Percy,"
she said, "I know the timing is bad. But it's always bad
for you, right?"
She had a
point.
"I
really want to go," I promised. "It's just—"
"The
war.”
I nodded. I
didn't like talking about it, but Rachel knew. Unlike most mortals, she could
see through
the
Mist—the magic veil that distorts human vision. She'd seen monsters. She'd met
some of the other
demigods
who were fighting the Titans and their allies. She'd even been there last
summer when the
chopped-up
Lord Kronos rose out of his coffin in a terrible new form, and she'd earned my
permanent
respect by
nailing him in the eye with a blue plastic hairbrush.
She put her
hand on my arm. "Just think about it, okay? We don't leave for a couple of
days. My dad .
. ."
Her voice faltered.
"Is he
giving you a hard time?" I asked.
Rachel
shook her head in disgust. "He's trying to be nice to
me, which is almost worse. He wants me
to go to
Clarion Ladies Academy m the fall."
"The
school where your mom went?"
"It's
a stupid finishing school for society girls, all the way in New Hampshire. Can
you see me in
finishing
school?"
I admitted
the idea sounded pretty dumb. Rachel was into urban art projects and feeding
the homeless
and going
to protest rallies to "Save the Endangered Yellow-bellied Sapsucker"
and stuff like that. I'd
never even
seen her wear a dress. It was hard to imagine her learning to be a socialite.
She sighed.
"He thinks if he does a bunch of nice stuff for me, I'll feel guilty and
give in."
"Which
is why he agreed to let me come with you guys on vacation?"
"Yes .
. . but Percy, you'd be doing me a huge favor. It would be so much
better if you were with us.
Besides,
there's something I want to talk—" She stopped abruptly.
"Something
you want to talk about?" I asked. "You mean . . . so serious we'd
have to go to St.
Thomas to
talk about it?"
She pursed
her lips. "Look, just forget it for now. Let's pretend we're a couple of
normal people.
We're out
for a drive, and we're watching the ocean, and it's nice to be together."
I could
tell something was bothering her, but she put on a brave smile. The sunlight
made her hair
look like
fire.
We'd spent
a lot of time together this summer. I hadn't exactly planned it that way, but
the more
serious
things got at camp, the more I found myself needing to call up Rachel and get
away, just for some
breathing
room. I needed to remind myself that the mortal world was still out there, away
from all the
monsters
using me as their personal punching bag.
"Okay,"
I said. "Just a normal afternoon and two normal people."
She nodded.
"And so . . . hypothetically, if these two people liked each other, what
would it take to
get the
stupid guy to kiss the girl, huh?"
"Oh .
. ." I felt like one of Apollo's sacred cows—slow, dumb, and bright red.
"Um . . ."
I can't
pretend I hadn't thought about Rachel. She was so much easier to be around than
. . . well, than
some other
girls I knew. I didn't have to work hard, or watch what I said, or rack my
brain trying to figure
out what
she was thinking. Rachel didn't hide much. She let you know how she felt.
I'm not
sure what I would have done next—but I was so distracted, I didn't notice the
huge black form
swooping
down from the sky until four hooves landed on the hood of the Prius with a WUMP-WUMPCRUNCH!
Hey, boss, a
voice said in my head. Nice
car!
Blackjack
the pegasus was an old friend of mine, so I tried not to get too annoyed by the
craters he'd
just put in
the hood; but I didn't think my stepdad would be real stoked.
"Blackjack,"
I sighed. "What are you—"
Then I saw
who was riding on his back, and I knew my day was about to get a lot more
complicated.
"
'Sup, Percy."
Charles
Beckendorf, senior counselor for the Hephaestus cabin, would make most monsters
cry for
their
mommies. He was huge, with ripped muscles from working on the forges every
summer, two years
older than
me, and one of the camp's best armorsmiths. He made some seriously ingenious
mechanical
stuff. A
month before, he'd rigged a Greek firebomb in the bathroom of a tour bus that
was carrying a
bunch of
monsters across country. The explosion took out a whole legion of Kronos's evil
meanies as
soon as the
first harpy went flush.
Beckendorf
was dressed for combat. He wore a bronze breastplate and war helm with black
camo
pants and a
sword strapped to his side. His explosives bag was slung over his shoulder.
"Time?"
I asked.
He nodded
grimly.
A clump
formed in my throat. I'd known this was coming. We'd been planning for it for
weeks, but I'd
half hoped
it would never happen.
Rachel
looked up at Beckendorf. "Hi."
"Oh,
hey. I'm Beckendorf. You must be Rachel. Percy's told me . . . uh, I mean he
mentioned you."
Rachel
raised an eyebrow. "Really? Good." She glanced at Blackjack, who was
clopping his hooves
against the
hood of the Prius. "So I guess you guys have to go save the world
now."
"Pretty
much," Beckendorf agreed.
I looked at
Rachel helplessly. "Would you tell my mom—"
"I'll
tell her. I'm sure she's used to it. And I'll explain to Paul about the hood."
I nodded my
thanks. I figured this might be the last time Paul loaned me his car.
"Good
luck." Rachel kissed me before I could even react. "Now, get going,
half-blood. Go kill some
monsters
for me."
My last
view of her was sitting in the shotgun seat of the Prius, her arms crossed,
watching as
Blackjack
circled higher and higher, carrying Beckendorf and me into the sky. I wondered
what Rachel
wanted to
talk to me about, and whether I'd live long enough to find out.
"So,"
Beckendorf said, "I'm guessing you don't want me to mention that little
scene to Annabeth."
"Oh,
gods," I muttered. "Don't even think about it."
Beckendorf
chuckled, and together we soared out over the Atlantic.
It was
almost dark by the time we spotted our target. The Princess Andromeda glowed
on the horizon—a
huge cruise
ship lit up yellow and white. From a distance, you'd think it was just a party
ship, not the
headquarters
for the Titan lord. Then as you got closer, you might notice the giant
figurehead—a darkhaired
maiden in a
Greek chiton, wrapped m chains with a look of horror on her face, as if she
could
smell the
stench of all the monsters she was being forced to carry.
Seeing the
ship again twisted my gut into knots. I'd almost died twice on the Princess Andromeda.
Now it was
heading straight for New York.
"You
know what to do?" Beckendorf yelled over the wind.
I nodded.
We'd done dry runs at the dockyards in New Jersey, using abandoned ships as our
targets. I
knew how
little time we would have. But I also knew this was our best chance to end
Kronos's invasion
before it
ever started.
"Blackjack,"
I said, "set us down on the lowest stern deck."
Gotcha, boss, he
said. Man, I hate
seeing that boat.
Three years
ago, Blackjack had been enslaved on the Princess Andromeda until
he'd escaped with a
little help
from my friends and me. I figured he'd rather have his mane braided like My
Little Pony than
be back
here again.
"Don't
wait for us," I told him.
But, boss—
"Trust
me," I said. "We'll get out by ourselves."
Blackjack
folded his wings and plummeted toward the boat like a black comet. The wind
whistled in
my ears. I
saw monsters patrolling the upper decks of the ship—dracaenae snake-women,
hellhounds,
giants, and
the humanoid seal-demons known as telkhines—but we zipped by so fast, none of
them raised
the alarm.
We shot down the stern of the boat, and Blackjack spread his wings, lightly
coming to a
landing on
the lowest deck. I climbed off, feeling queasy.
Good luck, boss, Blackjack
said. Don't let
'em turn you into horse meat!
With that,
my old friend flew off into the night. I took my pen out of my pocket and
uncapped it, and
Riptide
sprang to full size—three feet of deadly Celestial bronze glowing in the dusk.
Beckendorf
pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. I thought it was a map or something.
Then I
realized it
was a photograph. He stared at it in the dim light—the smiling face of Silena
Beauregard,
daughter of
Aphrodite. They'd started going out last summer, after years of the rest of us
saying, "Duh,
you guys
like each other!" Even with all the dangerous missions, Beckendorf had
been happier this
summer than
I'd ever seen him.
"We'll
make it back to camp," I promised.
For a second
I saw worry in his eyes. Then he put on his old confident smile.
"You
bet," he said. "Let's go blow Kronos back into a million
pieces."
Beckendorf
led the way. We followed a narrow corridor to the service stairwell, just like
we'd practiced,
but we
froze when we heard noises above us.
"I
don't care what your nose says!" snarled a half-human, half-dog voice—a
telkhine. "The last time
you smelled
half-blood, it turned out to be a meat loaf sandwich!"
"Meat
loaf sandwiches are good!" a second voice snarled. "But this is
half-blood scent, I swear. They
are on
board!"
"Bah,
your brain isn't
on board!"
They continued
to argue, and Beckendorf pointed downstairs. We descended as quietly as we
could.
Two floors
down, the voices of the telkhines started to fade.
Finally we
came to a metal hatch. Beckendorf mouthed the words "engine room."
It was
locked, but Beckendorf pulled some chain cutters out of his bag and split the
bolt like it was
made of
butter.
Inside, a
row of yellow turbines the size of grain silos churned and hummed. Pressure
gauges and
computer
terminals lined the opposite wall. A telkhine was hunched over a console, but
he was so
involved
with his work, he didn't notice us. He was about five feet tall, with slick
black seal fur and
stubby
little feet. He had the head of a Doberman, but his clawed hands were almost
human. He growled
and
muttered as he tapped on his keyboard. Maybe he was messaging his friends on
uglyface.com.
I stepped
forward, and he tensed, probably smelling something was wrong. He leaped
sideways
toward a
big red alarm button, but I blocked his path. He hissed and lunged at me, but one
slice of
Riptide,
and he exploded into dust.
"One
down," Beckendorf said. "About five thousand to go." He tossed
me a jar of thick green
liquid—Greek
fire, one of the most dangerous magical substances in the world. Then he threw
me another
essential
tool of demigod heroes—duct tape.
"Slap
that one on the console," he said. "I'll get the turbines."
We went to
work. The room was hot and humid, and in no time we were drenched m sweat.
The boat
kept chugging along. Being the son of Poseidon and all, I have perfect bearings
at sea. Don't
ask me how,
but I could tell we were at 40.19° North, 71.90° West, making eighteen knots,
which meant
the ship
would arrive in New York Harbor by dawn. This would be our only chance to stop
it.
I had just
attached a second jar of Greek fire to the control panels when I heard the
pounding of feet
on metal
steps—so many creatures coming down the stairwell I could hear them over the
engines. Not a
good sign.
I locked
eyes with Beckendorf. "How much longer?"
"Too
long." He tapped his watch, which was our remote control detonator.
"I still have to wire the
receiver
and prime the charges. Ten more minutes at least."
Judging
from the sound of the footsteps, we had about ten seconds.
"I'll
distract them," I said. "Meet you at the rendezvous point."
"Percy—"
"Wish
me luck."
He looked
like he wanted to argue. The whole idea had been to get in and out without
being spotted.
But we were
going to have to improvise.
"Good
luck," he said.
I charged
out the door.
A half
dozen telkhines were tromping down the stairs. I cut through them with Riptide
faster than they
could yelp.
I kept climbing—past another telkhine, who was so startled he dropped his Lil'
Demons lunch
box. I left
him alive—partly because his lunch box was cool, partly so he could raise the
alarm and
hopefully
get his friends to follow me rather than head toward the engine room.
I burst
through a door onto deck six and kept running. I'm sure the carpeted hall had
once been very
plush, but
over the last three years of monster occupation the wallpaper, carpet, and
stateroom doors had
been clawed
up and slimed so it looked like the inside of a dragon's throat (and yes,
unfortunately, I speak
from
experience).
Back on my
first visit to the Princess
Andromeda, my old enemy Luke had kept some dazed
tourists
on board
for show, shrouded in Mist so they didn't realize they were on a
monster-infested ship. Now I
didn't see
any sign of tourists. I hated to think what had happened to them, but I kind of
doubted they'd
been
allowed to go home with their bingo winnings.
I reached
the promenade, a big shopping mall that took up the whole middle of the ship,
and I
stopped
cold. In the middle of the courtyard stood a fountain. And in the fountain
squatted a giant crab.
I'm not
talking "giant" like $7.99 all-you-can-eat Alaskan king crab. I'm
talking giant like
bigger than
the
fountain. The monster rose ten feet out of the water. Its shell was mottled
blue and green, its pincers
longer than
my body.
If you've
ever seen a crab's mouth, all foamy and gross with whiskers and snapping bits,
you can
imagine
this one didn't look any better blown up to billboard size. Its beady black
eyes glared at me, and I
could see
intelligence in them—and hate. The fact that I was the son of the sea god was
not going to win
me any
points with Mr. Crabby.
"FFFFffffff,"
it hissed, sea foam dripping from its mouth. The smell coming off it was like a
garbage
can full of
fish sticks that had been sitting in the sun all week.
Alarms
blared. Soon I was going to have lots of company and I had to keep moving.
"Hey,
crabby." I inched around the edge of the courtyard. "I'm just gonna
scoot around you so—"
The crab
moved with amazing speed. It scuttled out of the fountain and came straight at
me, pincers
snapping. 1
dove into a gift shop, plowing through a rack of T-shirts. A crab pincer
smashed the glass
walls to
pieces and raked across the room. I dashed back outside, breathing heavily, but
Mr. Crabby
turned and
followed.
"There!"
a voice said from a balcony above me. "Intruder!"
If I'd wanted
to create a distraction, I'd succeeded, but this was not where I wanted to
fight. If I got
pinned down
in the center of the ship, I was crab chow.
The demonic
crustacean lunged at me. I sliced with Riptide, taking off the tip of its claw.
It hissed
and foamed,
but didn't seem very hurt.
I tried to
remember anything from the old stories that might help with this thing.
Annabeth had told
me about a
monster crab—something about Hercules crushing it under his foot? That wasn't
going to
work here.
This crab was slightly bigger than my Reeboks.
Then a
weird thought occurred to me. Last Christmas, my mom and I had brought Paul
Blofis to our
old cabin
at Montauk, where we'd been going forever. Paul had taken me crabbing, and when
he'd
brought up
a net full of the things, he'd shown me how crabs have a chink in their armor,
right in the
middle of
their ugly bellies.
The only
problem was getting to the ugly belly.
I glanced
at the fountain, then at the marble floor, already slick from scuttling crab
tracks. I held out
my hand,
concentrating on the water, and the fountain exploded. Water sprayed
everywhere, three stories
high,
dousing the balconies and the elevators and the windows of the shops. The crab
didn't care. It loved
water. It
came at me sideways, snapping and hissing, and I ran straight at it, screaming,
"AHHHHHHH!"
Just before
we collided, I hit the ground baseball-style and slid on the wet marble floor
straight under
the
creature. It was like sliding under a seven-ton armored vehicle. All the crab
had to do was sit and
squash me,
but before it realized what was going on, I jabbed Riptide into the chink in
its armor, let go of
the hilt,
and pushed myself out the backside.
The monster
shuddered and hissed. Its eyes dissolved. Its shell turned bright red as its
insides
evaporated.
The empty shell clattered to the floor in a massive heap.
I didn't
have time to admire my handiwork. I ran for the nearest stairs while all around
me monsters
and
demigods shouted orders and strapped on their weapons. I was empty-handed.
Riptide, being magic,
would
appear in my pocket sooner or later, but for now it was stuck somewhere under
the wreckage of the
crab, and I
had no time to retrieve it.
In the
elevator foyer on deck eight, a couple of dracaenae slithered across my path. From the
waist
up, they
were women with green scaly skin, yellow eyes, and forked tongues. From the
waist down, they
had double
snake trunks instead of legs. They held spears and weighted nets, and I knew
from experience
they could
use them.
"What
isss thisss?" one said. "A prize for Kronosss!"
I wasn't in
the mood to play break-the-snake, but in front of me was a stand with a model
of the ship,
like a YOU
ARE HERE display. I ripped the model off the pedestal and hurled it at the
first iracaena.
The boat smacked
her in the face and she went down with the ship. I jumped over her, grabbed her
friend's
spear, and swung her around. She slammed into the elevator, and I kept running
toward the front
of the
ship.
"Get
him!" she screamed.
Hellhounds
bayed. An arrow from somewhere whizzed past my face and impaled itself in the
mahogany-paneled
wall of the stairwell.
I didn't
care—as long as I got the monsters away from the engine room and gave
Beckendorf more
time.
As I was
running up the stairwell, a kid charged down. He looked like he'd just woken up
from a nap.
His armor
was half on. He drew his sword and yelled, "Kronos!" but he sounded
more scared than angry.
He couldn't
have been more than twelve—about the same age I was when I'd first arrived at
Camp Half-
Blood.
That
thought depressed me. This kid was getting brainwashed—trained to hate the gods
and lash out
because
he'd been born half Olympian. Kronos was using him, and yet the kid thought I
was his enemy.
No way was
I going to hurt him. I didn't need a weapon for this. I stepped inside his
strike and
grabbed his
wrist, slamming it against the wall. His sword clattered out of his hand.
Then I did
something I hadn't planned on. It was probably stupid. It definitely
jeopardized our
mission,
but I couldn't help it.
"If
you want to live," I told him, "get off this ship now. Tell
the other demigods." Then I shoved him
down the
stairs and sent him tumbling to the next floor.
I kept
climbing.
Bad
memories: a hallway ran past the cafeteria. Annabeth, my half brother Tyson,
and I had sneaked
through
here three years ago on my first visit.
I burst
outside onto the main deck. Off the port bow, the sky was darkening from purple
to black. A
swimming
pool glowed between two glass towers with more balconies and restaurant decks.
The whole
upper ship
seemed eerily deserted.
All I had
to do was cross to the other side. Then I could take the staircase down to the
helipad—our
emergency
rendezvous point. With any luck, Beckendorf would meet me there. We'd jump into
the sea.
My water powers
would protect us both, and we'd detonate the charges from a quarter mile away.
I was
halfway across the deck when the sound of a voice made me freeze. "You're
late, Percy."
Luke stood
on the balcony above me, a smile on his scarred face. He wore jeans, a white
T-shirt, and
flip-flops,
like he was just a normal college-age guy, but his eyes told the truth. They
were solid gold.
"We've
been expecting you for days." At first he sounded normal, like Luke. But
then his face
twitched. A
shudder passed through his body as though he'd just drunk something really
nasty. His voice
became
heavier, ancient, and powerful—the voice of the Titan lord Kronos. The words
scraped down my
spine like
a knife blade. "Come, bow before me."
"Yeah,
that'll happen," I muttered.
Laistrygonian
giants filed in on either side of the swimming pool as if they'd been waiting
for a cue.
Each was
eight feet tall with tattooed arms, leather armor, and spiked clubs. Demigod
archers appeared on
the roof
above Luke. Two hellhounds leaped down from the opposite balcony and snarled at
me. Within
seconds I
was surrounded. A trap: there's no way they could've gotten into position so
fast unless they'd
known I was
coming.
I looked up
at Luke, and anger boiled inside me. I didn't know if Luke's consciousness was
even still
alive
inside that body. Maybe, the way his voice had changed . . . or maybe it was
just Kronos adapting to
his new
form. I told myself it didn't matter. Luke had been twisted and evil long
before Kronos possessed
him.
A voice in my
head said: I have
to fight him eventually. Why not now?
According
to that big prophecy, I was supposed to make a choice that saved or destroyed
the world
when I was
sixteen. That was only seven days away. Why not now? If I really had the power,
what
difference
would a week make? I could end this threat right here by taking down Kronos.
Hey, I'd fought
monsters
and gods before.
As if
reading my thoughts, Luke smiled. No, he was Kronos. I had to remember that.
"Come
forward," he said. "If you dare."
The crowd
of monsters parted. I moved up the stairs, my heart pounding. I was sure
somebody would
stab me in
the back, but they let me pass. I felt my pocket and found my pen waiting. I
uncapped it, and
Riptide
grew into a sword.
Kronos's
weapon appeared in his hands—a six-foot-long scythe, half Celestial bronze,
half mortal
steel. Just
looking at the thing made my knees turn to Jell-O. But before I could change my
mind, I
charged.
Time slowed
down. I mean literally
slowed down, because Kronos had that power. I felt like I
was
moving
through syrup. My arms were so heavy, I could barely raise my sword. Kronos
smiled, swirling
his scythe
at normal speed and waiting for me to creep toward my death.
I tried to
fight his magic. I concentrated on the sea around me—the source of my power.
I'd gotten
better at
channeling it over the years, but now nothing seemed to happen.
I took
another slow step forward. Giants jeered. Dracaenae hissed with laughter.
Hey, ocean, I
pleaded. Any day
now would be good.
Suddenly
there was a wrenching pain in my gut. The entire boat lurched sideways,
throwing monsters
off their
feet. Four thousand gallons of salt water surged out of the swimming pool,
dousing me and
Kronos and
everyone on the deck. The water revitalized me, breaking the time spell, and I
lunged
forward.
I struck at
Kronos, but I was still too slow. I made the mistake of looking at his face—Luke's face—a
guy who was
once my friend. As much as I hated him, it was hard to kill him.
Kronos had
no such hesitation. He sliced downward with his scythe. I leaped back, and the
evil blade
missed by
an inch, cutting a gash in the deck right between my feet.
I kicked
Kronos in the chest. He stumbled backward, but he was heavier than Luke
should've been. It
was like
kicking a refrigerator.
Kronos
swung his scythe again. I intercepted with Riptide, but his strike was so
powerful, my blade
could only
deflect it. The edge of the scythe shaved off my shirtsleeve and grazed my arm.
It shouldn't
have been a
serious cut, but the entire side of my body exploded with pain. I remembered
what a sea
demon had
once said about Kronos's scythe: Careful,
fool. One touch, and the blade will sever your soul
from your body. Now
I understood what he meant. I wasn't just losing blood. I could feel my
strength, my
will, my
identity draining away.
I stumbled
backward, switched my sword to my left hand, and lunged desperately. My blade
should've
run him through, but it deflected off his stomach like I was hitting solid
marble. There was no
way he
should've survived that.
Kronos
laughed. "A poor performance, Percy Jackson. Luke tells me you were never
his match at
swordplay."
My vision
started to blur. I knew I didn't have much time. "Luke had a big
head," I said. "But at least
it was his head."
"A
shame to kill you now," Kronos mused, "before the final plan unfolds.
I would love to see the
terror in
your eyes when you realize how I will destroy Olympus."
"You'll
never get this boat to Manhattan." My arm was throbbing. Black spots
danced in my vision.
"And
why would that be?" Kronos's golden eyes glittered. His face—Luke's
face—seemed like a
mask,
unnatural and lit from behind by some evil power. "Perhaps you are
counting on your friend with
the
explosives?"
He looked
down at the pool and called, "Nakamura!"
A teenage
guy in full Greek armor pushed through the crowd. His left eye was covered with
a black
patch. I
knew him, of course: Ethan Nakamura, the son of Nemesis. I'd saved his life in
the Labyrinth last
summer, and
in return, the little punk had helped Kronos come back to life.
"Success,
my lord," Ethan called. "We found him just as we were told."
He clapped
his hands, and two giants lumbered forward, dragging Charles Beckendorf between
them.
My heart
almost stopped. Beckendorf had a swollen eye and cuts all over his face and
arms. His armor
was gone
and his shirt was nearly torn off.
"No!"
I yelled.
Beckendorf
met my eyes. He glanced at his hand like he was trying to tell me something. His watch.
They hadn't
taken it yet, and that was the detonator. Was it possible the explosives were
armed? Surely
the
monsters would've dismantled them right away.
"We
found him amidships," one of the giants said, "trying to sneak to the
engine room. Can we eat
him
now?"
"Soon."
Kronos scowled at Ethan. "Are you sure he didn't set the explosives?"
"He
was going toward the
engine room, my lord."
"How
do you know that?"
"Er .
. ." Ethan shifted uncomfortably. "He was heading in that direction.
And he told us. His bag is
still full
of explosives."
Slowly, I
began to understand. Beckendorf had fooled them. When he'd realized he was
going to be
captured,
he turned to make it look like he was going the other way. He'd convinced them
he hadn't made
it to the
engine room yet. The Greek fire might still be primed! But that didn't do us
any good unless we
could get
off the ship and detonate it.
Kronos
hesitated.
Buy the story, I
prayed. The pain in my arm was so bad now I could barely stand.
"Open
his bag," Kronos ordered.
One of the
giants ripped the explosives satchel from Beckendorf's shoulders. He peered
inside,
grunted,
and turned it upside down. Panicked monsters surged backward. If the bag really
had been full of
Greek fire
jars, we would've all blown up. But what fell out were a dozen cans of peaches.
I could
hear Kronos breathing, trying to control his anger.
"Did
you, perhaps," he said, "capture this demigod near the galley?"
Ethan
turned pale. "Um—"
"And
did you, perhaps, send someone to actually CHECK THE ENGINE ROOM?"
Ethan
scrambled back in terror, then turned on his heels and ran.
I cursed
silently. Now we had only minutes before the bombs were disarmed. I caught
Beckendorf's
eyes again
and asked a silent question, hoping he would understand: How long?
He cupped
his fingers and thumb, making a circle. Zero. There was no delay on the timer at all.
If he
managed to
press the detonator button, the ship would blow at once. We'd never be able to
get far enough
away before
using it. The monsters would kill us first, or disarm the explosives, or both.
Kronos
turned toward me with a crooked smile. "You'll have to excuse my
incompetent help, Percy
Jackson.
But it doesn't matter. We have you now. We've known you were coming for
weeks."
He held out
his hand and dangled a little silver bracelet with a scythe charm—the Titan
lord's symbol.
The wound
in my arm was sapping my ability to think, but I muttered, "Communication
device . . .
spy at
camp."
Kronos
chuckled. "You can't count on friends. They will always let you down. Luke
learned that
lesson the
hard way. Now drop your sword and surrender to me, or your friend dies."
I
swallowed. One of the giants had his hand around Beckendorf's neck. I was in no
shape to rescue
him, and
even if I tried, he would die before I got there. We both would.
Beckendorf
mouthed one word: Go.
I shook my
head. I couldn't just leave him.
The second
giant was still rummaging through the peach cans, which meant Beckendorf's left
arm
was free.
He raised it slowly—toward the watch on his right wrist.
I wanted to
scream, NO!
Then down
by the swimming pool, one of the dracaenae
hissed, "What isss he doing? What isss that
on hisss
wrissst?"
Beckendorf
closed eyes tight and brought his hand up to his watch.
I had no
choice. I threw my sword like a javelin at Kronos. It bounced harmlessly off
his chest, but it
did startle
him. I pushed through a crowd of monsters and jumped off the side of the
ship—toward the
water a
hundred feet below.
I heard
rumbling deep in the ship. Monsters yelled at me from above. A spear sailed
past my ear. An
arrow
pierced my thigh, but I barely had time to register the pain. I plunged into
the sea and willed the
currents to
take me far, far away—a hundred yards, two hundred yards.
Even from
that distance, the explosion shook the world. Heat seared the back of my head.
The
Princess Andromeda blew
up from both sides, a massive fireball of green flame roiling into the dark
sky,
consuming
everything.
Beckendorf,
I thought.
Then I
blacked out and sank like an anchor toward the bottom of the sea.
CHAPTER TWO: I MEET SOME FISHY RELATIVES
Click here to Go to Index
Click here to Go to Index
Demigod
dreams suck.
The thing
is, they're never just dreams.
They've got to be visions, omens, and all that other
mystical
stuff that
makes my brain hurt.
I dreamed I
was in a dark palace at the top of a mountain. Unfortunately, I recognized it:
the palace of
the Titans
on top of Mount Othrys, otherwise known as Mount Tamalpais, in California. The
main
pavilion
was open to the night, ringed with black Greek columns and statues of the
Titans. Torchlight
glowed
against the black marble floor. In the center of the room, an armored giant struggled
under the
weight of a
swirling funnel cloud—Atlas, holding up the sky.
Two other
giant men stood nearby over a bronze brazier, studying images in the flames.
"Quite
an explosion," one said. He wore black armor studded with silver dots like
a starry night. His
face was
covered in a war helm with a ram's horn curling on either side.
"It
doesn't matter," the other said. This Titan was dressed in gold robes,
with golden eyes like Kronos.
His entire
body glowed. He reminded me of Apollo, God of the Sun, except the Titan's light
was harsher,
and his
expression crueler. "The gods have answered the challenge. Soon they will
be destroyed."
The images
in the fire were hard to make out: storms, buildings crumbling, mortals
screaming in
terror.
"I
will go east to marshal our forces," the golden Titan said. "Krios,
you shall remain and guard
Mount
Othrys."
The ram
horn dude grunted. "I always get the stupid jobs. Lord of the South. Lord
of Constellations.
Now I get
to babysit Atlas while you
have all the fun."
Under the
whirlwind of clouds, Atlas bellowed in agony, "Let me out, curse you! I am
your greatest
warrior.
Take my burden so I may fight!"
"Quiet!"
the golden Titan roared. "You had your chance, Atlas. You failed. Kronos
likes you just
where you
are. As for you, Krios, do your duty."
"And
if you need more warriors?" Krios asked. "Our treacherous nephew in
the tuxedo will not do
you much
good in a fight."
The golden
Titan laughed. "Don't worry about him. Besides, the gods can barely handle
our first little
challenge.
They have no idea how many others we have in store. Mark my words, in a few
days' time,
Olympus
will be in ruins, and we will meet here again to celebrate the dawn of the
Sixth Age!"
The golden
Titan erupted into flames and disappeared.
"Oh,
sure," Krios grumbled. "He gets to erupt into flames. I get to wear
these stupid ram's horns."
The scene
shifted. Now I was outside the pavilion, hiding in the shadows of a Greek
column. A boy
stood next
to me, eavesdropping on the Titans. He had dark silky hair, pale skin, and dark
clothes—my
friend Nico
di Angelo, the son of Hades.
He looked
straight at me, his expression grim. "You see, Percy?" he whispered.
"You're running out
of time. Do
you really think you can beat them without my plan?"
His words
washed over me as cold as the ocean floor, and my dreams went black.
"Percy?"
a deep voice said.
My head
felt like it had been microwaved in aluminum foil. I opened my eyes and saw a
large
shadowy
figure looming over me.
"Beckendorf?"
I asked hopefully.
"No,
brother."
My eyes
refocused. I was looking at a Cyclops—a misshapen face, ratty brown hair, one
big brown
eye full of
concern. "Tyson?"
My brother
broke into a toothy grin. "Yay! Your brain works!"
I wasn't so
sure. My body felt weightless and cold. My voice sounded wrong. I could hear
Tyson, but
it was more
like I was hearing vibrations inside my skull, not the regular sounds.
I sat up,
and a gossamer sheet floated away. I was on a bed made of silky woven kelp, in
a room
paneled
with abalone shell. Glowing pearls the size of basketballs floated around the
ceiling, providing
light. I
was under water.
Now, being
the son of Poseidon and all, I was okay with this. I can breathe underwater
just fine, and
my clothes
don't even get wet unless I want them to. But it was still a bit of a shock
when a hammerhead
shark
drifted through the bedroom window, regarded me, and then swam calmly out the
opposite side of
the room.
"Where—"
"Daddy's
palace," Tyson said.
Under
different circumstances, I would've been excited. I'd never visited Poseidon's
realm, and I'd
been
dreaming about it for years. But my head hurt. My shirt was still speckled with
burn marks from the
explosion.
My arm and leg wounds had healed—just being in the ocean can do that for me,
given enough
time—but I
still felt like I'd been trampled by a Laistrygonian soccer team in cleats.
"How
long—"
"We
found you last night," Tyson said, "sinking through the water."
"The Princess Andromeda?"
"Went
ka-boom," Tyson confirmed.
"Beckendorf
was on board. Did you find . . ."
Tyson's
face darkened. "No sign of him. I am sorry, brother."
I stared
out the window into deep blue water. Beckendorf was supposed to go to college
in the fall.
He had a
girlfriend, lots of friends, his whole life ahead of him. He couldn't be gone. Maybe
he'd made it
off the
ship like I had. Maybe he'd jumped over the side . . . and what? He couldn't
have survived a
hundred-foot
fall into the water like I could. He couldn't have put enough distance between
himself and
the
explosion.
I knew in
my gut he was dead. He'd sacrificed himself to take out the Princess Andromeda, and
I had
abandoned
him.
I thought
about my dream: the Titans discussing the explosion as if it didn't matter,
Nico di Angelo
warning me
that I would never beat Kronos without following his plan—a dangerous idea I'd
been
avoiding
for more than a year.
A distant
blast shook the room. Green light blazed outside, turning the whole sea as
bright as noon.
"What
was that?" I asked.
Tyson
looked worried. "Daddy will explain. Come, he is blowing up
monsters."
The palace
might have been the most amazing place I'd ever seen if it hadn't been in the
process of getting
destroyed.
We swam to the end of a long hallway and shot upward on a geyser. As we rose
over the
rooftops I
caught my breath—well, if you can catch your breath underwater.
The palace
was as big as the city on Mount Olympus, with wide courtyards, gardens, and
columned
pavilions.
The gardens were sculpted with coral colonies and glowing sea plants. Twenty or
thirty
buildings
were made of abalone, white but gleaming with rainbow colors. Fish and octopi
darted in and
out of the
windows. The paths were lined with glowing pearls like Christmas lights.
The main
courtyard was filled with warriors—mermen with fish tails from the waist down
and human
bodies from
the waist up, except their skin was blue, which I'd never known before. Some
were tending
the
wounded. Some were sharpening spears and swords. One passed us, swimming in a
hurry. His eyes
were bright
green, like that stuff they put in glo-sticks, and his teeth were shark teeth.
They don't show
you stuff
like that in The
Little Mermaid.
Outside the
main courtyard stood large fortifications—towers, walls, and antisiege
weapons—but
most of
these had been smashed to ruins. Others were blazing with a strange green light
that I knew
well—Greek
fire, which can burn even underwater.
Beyond
this, the sea floor stretched into gloom. I could see battles raging—flashes of
energy,
explosions,
the glint of armies clashing. A regular human would've found it too dark to
see. Heck, a
regular
human would've been crushed by the pressure and frozen by the cold. Even my
heat-sensitive eyes
couldn't
make out exactly what was going on.
At the edge
of the palace complex, a temple with a red coral roof exploded, sending fire
and debris
streaming
in slow motion across the farthest gardens. Out of the darkness above, an
enormous form
appeared—a
squid larger than any skyscraper. It was surrounded by a glittering cloud of
dust—at least I
thought it
was dust, until I realized it was a swarm of mermen trying to attack the
monster. The squid
descended
on the palace and swatted its tentacles, smashing a whole column of warriors.
Then a brilliant
arc of blue
light shot from the rooftop of one of the tallest buildings. The light hit the
giant squid, and the
monster
dissolved like food coloring in water.
"Daddy,"
Tyson said, pointing to where the light had come from.
"He did
that?" I suddenly felt more hopeful. My dad had unbelievable powers. He
was the god of the
sea. He
could deal with this attack, right? Maybe he'd let me help.
"Have
you been in the fight?" I asked Tyson in awe. "Like bashing heads
with your awesome Cyclops
strength
and stuff?"
Tyson
pouted, and immediately I knew I'd asked a bad question, "I have been . .
. fixing weapons," he
mumbled.
"Come. Let's go find Daddy."
I know this
might sound weird to people with, like, regular parents, but I'd only seen my
dad four or five
times in my
life, and never for more than a few minutes. The Greek gods don't exactly show
up for their
kids'
basketball games. Still, I thought I would recognize Poseidon on sight.
I was
wrong.
The roof of
the temple was a big open deck that had been set up as a command center. A
mosaic on
the floor
showed an exact map of the palace grounds and the surrounding ocean, but the
mosaic moved.
Colored
stone tiles representing different armies and sea monsters shifted around as
the forces changed
position.
Buildings that collapsed in real life also collapsed in the picture.
Standing
around the mosaic, grimly studying the battle, was a strange assortment of
warriors, but
none of
them looked like my dad. I was searching for a big guy with a good tan and a
black beard,
wearing
Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt.
There was
nobody like that. One guy was a merman with two fish tails instead of one. His
skin was
green, his
armor studded with pearls. His black hair was tied in a ponytail, and he looked
young—though
it's hard
to tell with non-humans. They could be a thousand years old or three. Standing
next to him was
an old man
with a bushy white beard and gray hair. His battle armor seemed to weigh him
down. He had
green eyes
and smile wrinkles around his eyes, but he wasn't smiling now. He was studying
the map and
leaning on
a large metal staff. To his right stood a beautiful woman in green armor with
flowing black
hair and
strange little horns like crab claws. And there was a dolphin—just a regular
dolphin, but it was
staring at
the map intently.
"Delphin,"
the old man said. "Send Palaemon and his legion of sharks to the western
front. We have
to
neutralize those leviathans."
The dolphin
spoke in a chattering voice, but I could understand it in my mind: Yes, lord! It
sped
away.
I looked in
dismay at Tyson, then back at the old man.
It didn't
seem possible, but . . . "Dad?" I asked.
The old man
looked up. I recognized the twinkle in his eyes, but his face . . . he looked
like he'd aged
forty
years.
"Hello,
Percy."
"What—what
happened to you?"
Tyson
nudged me. He was shaking his head so hard I was afraid it would fall off, but
Poseidon didn't
look
offended.
"It's
all right, Tyson," he said. "Percy, excuse my appearance. The war has
been hard on me."
"But
you're immortal," I said quietly. "You can look . . . any way you
want."
"I
reflect the state of my realm," he said. "And right now that state is
quite grim. Percy, I should
introduce
you—I'm afraid you just missed my lieutenant Delphin, God of the Dolphins. This
is my, er,
wife,
Amphitrite. My dear—"
The lady in
green armor stared at me coldly, then crossed her arms and said, "Excuse
me, my lord. I
am needed
in the battle."
She swam
away.
I felt
pretty awkward, but I guess I couldn't blame her. I'd never thought about it
much, but my dad
had an
immortal wife. All his romances with mortals, including with my mom . . . well,
Amphitrite
probably
didn't like that much.
Poseidon
cleared his throat. "Yes, well . . . and this is my son Triton. Er, my other son."
"Your
son and heir," the green dude corrected. His double fish tails swished
back and forth. He
smiled at
me, but there was no friendliness in his eyes. "Hello, Perseus Jackson.
Come to help at last?"
He acted
like I was late or lazy. If you can blush underwater, I probably did.
"Tell
me what to do," I said.
Triton
smiled like that was a cute suggestion—like I was a slightly amusing dog that
had barked for
him or
something. He turned to Poseidon. "I will see to the front line, Father.
Don't worry. I will
not fail."
He nodded
politely to Tyson. How come I didn't get that much respect? Then he shot off
into the
water.
Poseidon
sighed. He raised his staff, and it changed into his regular weapon—a huge
three-pointed
trident.
The tip glowed with blue light, and the water around it boiled with energy.
"I'm
sorry about that," he told me.
A huge sea
serpent appeared from above us and spiraled down toward the roof. It was bright
orange
with a
fanged mouth big enough to swallow a gymnasium.
Hardly
looking up, Poseidon pointed his trident at the beast and zapped it with blue
energy. Ka-boom!
The monster
burst into a million goldfish, which all swam off in terror.
"My
family is anxious," Poseidon continued as if nothing had happened.
"The battle against Oceanus
is going
poorly."
He pointed
to the edge of the mosaic. With the butt of his trident he tapped the image of
a merman
larger than
the rest, with the horns of a bull. He appeared to be riding a chariot pulled
by crawfish, and
instead of
a sword he wielded a live serpent.
"Oceanus,"
I said, trying to remember. "The Titan of the sea?"
Poseidon
nodded. "He was neutral in the first war of gods and Titans. But Kronos
has convinced him
to fight.
This is . . . well, it's not a good sign. Oceanus would not commit unless he
was sure he could pick
the winning
side."
"He
looks stupid," I said, trying to sound upbeat. "I mean, who fights
with a snake?"
"Daddy
will tie it in knots," Tyson said firmly.
Poseidon
smiled, but he looked weary. "I appreciate your faith. We have been at war
almost a year
now. My
powers are taxed. And still he finds new forces to throw at me—sea monsters so
ancient I had
forgotten
about them."
I heard an
explosion in the distance. About half a mile away, a mountain of coral
disintegrated under
the weight
of two giant creatures. I could dimly make out their shapes. One was a lobster.
The other was a
giant
humanoid like a Cyclops, but he was surrounded by a flurry of limbs. At first I
thought he wearing a
bunch of
giant octopi. Then I realized they were his own arms—a hundred flailing,
fighting arms.
"Briares!"
I said.
I was happy
to see him, but he looked like he was fighting for his life. He was the last of
his kind—a
Hundred-Handed
One, cousin of the Cyclopes. We'd saved him from Kronos's prison last summer,
and I
knew he'd
come to help Poseidon, but I hadn't heard of him since.
"He
fights well," Poseidon said. "I wish we had a whole army like him,
but he is the only one."
I watched
as Briares bellowed in rage and picked up the lobster, which thrashed and
snapped its
pincers. He
threw it off the coral mountain, and the lobster disappeared into the darkness.
Briares swam
after it,
his hundred arms spinning like the blades of a motorboat.
"Percy,
we may not have much time," my dad said. "Tell me of your mission.
Did you see Kronos?"
I told him
everything, though my voice choked up when I explained about Beckendorf. I
looked down
at the
courtyards below and saw hundreds of wounded mermen lying on makeshift cots. I
saw rows of
coral
mounds that must've been hastily made graves. I realized Beckendorf wasn't the
first death. He was
only one of
hundreds, maybe thousands. I'd never felt so angry and helpless.
Poseidon
stroked his beard. "Percy, Beckendorf chose a heroic death. You bear no
blame for that.
Kronos's
army will be m disarray. Many were destroyed."
"But
we didn't kill him, did we?"
As I said
it, I knew it was a naive hope. We might blow up his ship and disintegrate his
monsters, but
a Titan
lord wouldn't be so easy to kill.
"No,"
Poseidon admitted. "But you've bought our side some time."
"There
were demigods on that ship," I said, thinking of the kid I'd seen in the
stairwell. Somehow I'd
allowed
myself to concentrate on the monsters and Kronos. I'd convinced myself that
destroying
their ship
was all right because they were evil, they were sailing to attack my city, and
besides, they
couldn't
really be permanently killed. Monsters just vaporized and re-formed eventually.
But demigods . .
.
Poseidon
put his hand on my shoulder. "Percy, there were only a few demigod
warriors aboard that
ship, and
they all chose to battle for Kronos. Perhaps some heeded your warning and
escaped. If they did
not . . .
they chose their path."
"They
were brainwashed!" I said. "Now they're dead and Kronos is still
alive. That's supposed to
make me
feel better?"
I glared at
the mosaic—little tile explosions destroying tile monsters. It seemed so easy when
it was
just a
picture.
Tyson put
his arm around me. If anybody else had tried that, I would've pushed him away,
but Tyson
was too big
and stubborn. He hugged me whether I wanted it or not. "Not your fault,
brother. Kronos does
not explode
good. Next time we will use a big stick."
"Percy,"
my father said. "Beckendorf's sacrifice wasn't in vain. You have scattered
the invasion force.
New York
will be safe for a time, which frees the other Olympians to deal with the
bigger threat."
"The
bigger threat?" I thought about what the golden Titan had said in my
dream: The gods
have
answered the challenge. Soon they
will be destroyed.
A shadow
passed over my father's face. "You've had enough sorrow for one day. Ask
Chiron when
you return
to camp."
"Return
to camp? But you're in trouble here. I want to help!"
"You
can't, Percy. Your job is elsewhere."
I couldn't
believe I was hearing this. I looked at Tyson for backup.
My brother
chewed his lip. "Daddy . . . Percy can fight with a sword. He is
good."
"I
know that," Poseidon said gently.
"Dad,
I can help," I said. "I know I can. You're not going to hold out here
much longer."
A fireball
launched into the sky from behind the enemy lines. I thought Poseidon would
deflect it or
something,
but it landed on the outer corner of the yard and exploded, sending mermen
tumbling through
the water.
Poseidon winced as if he'd just been stabbed.
"Return
to camp," he insisted. "And tell Chiron it is time."
"For
what?"
"You
must hear the prophecy. The entire
prophecy."
I didn't
need to ask him which prophecy. I'd been hearing about the "Great
Prophecy" for years, but
nobody
would ever tell me the whole thing. All I knew was that I was supposed to make
a decision that
would
decide the fate of the world—but no pressure.
"What
if this is
the decision?" I said. "Staying here to light, or leaving? What if I
leave and you . . ."
I couldn't
say die. Gods
weren't supposed to die, but I'd seen it happen. Even if they didn't die, they
could be
reduced to nearly nothing, exiled, imprisoned in the depths of Tartarus like
Kronos had been.
"Percy,
you must go," Poseidon insisted. "I don't know what your final
decision will be, but your fight
lies in the
world above. If nothing else, you must warn your friends at camp. Kronos knew
your plans.
You have a
spy. We will hold here. We have no choice."
Tyson
gripped my hand desperately. "I will miss you, brother!"
Watching
us, our father seemed to age another ten years. "Tyson, you have work to
do as well, my
son. They
need you in the armory."
Tyson
pouted some more.
"I
will go," he sniffled. He hugged me so hard he almost cracked my ribs.
"Percy, be careful! Do not
let
monsters kill you dead!"
I tried to
nod confidently, but it was too much for the big guy. He sobbed and swam away
toward the
armory,
where his cousins were fixing spears and swords.
"You
should let him fight," I told my father. "He hates being stuck in the
armory. Can't you tell?"
Poseidon
shook his head. "It is bad enough I must send you into danger. Tyson is
too young. I must
protect
him."
"You
should trust him," I said. "Not try to protect him."
Poseidon's
eyes flared. I thought I'd gone too far, but then he looked down at the mosaic
and his
shoulders
sagged. On the tiles, the mermaid guy in the crawfish chariot was coming closer
to the palace.
"Oceanus
approaches," my father said. "I must meet him in battle."
I'd never
been scared for a god before, but I didn't see how my dad could face this Titan
and win.
"I
will hold," Poseidon promised. "I will not give up my domain. Just
tell me, Percy, do you still have
the
birthday gift I gave you last summer?"
I nodded
and pulled out my camp necklace. It had a bead for every summer I'd been at
Camp Half-
Blood, but
since last year I'd also kept a sand dollar on the cord. My father had given it
to me for my
fifteenth
birthday. He'd told me I would know when to "spend it," but so far I
hadn't figured out what he
meant. All
I knew was that it didn't fit the vending machines in the school cafeteria.
"The
time is coming," he promised. "With luck, I will see you for your
birthday next week, and we
will have a
proper celebration."
He smiled,
and for a moment I saw the old light in his eyes.
Then the
entire sea grew dark in front of us, like an inky storm was rolling in. Thunder
crackled,
which
should've been impossible underwater. A huge icy presence was approaching. I
sensed a wave of
fear roll
through the armies below us.
"I
must assume my true godly form," Poseidon said. "Go—and good luck, my
son."
I wanted to
encourage him, to hug him or something, but knew better than to stick around.
When a
god assumes
his true form, the power is so great that any mortal looking on him will
disintegrate.
"Good-bye,
Father," I managed.
Then I
turned away. I willed the ocean currents to aid me. Water swirled around me,
and I shot
toward the
surface at speeds that would've caused any normal human to pop like a balloon.
When I
looked back, all I could see were flashes of green and blue as my father fought
the Titan, and
the sea
itself was torn apart by the two armies.
CHAPTER THREE: I GET A SNEAK PEEK AT MY DEATH
Click here to Go to Index
Click here to Go to Index
If you want
to be popular at Camp Half-Blood, don't come back from a mission with bad news.
Word of my
arrival spread as soon as I walked out of the ocean. Our beach is on the North
Shore of
Long
Island, and it's enchanted so most people can't even see it. People don't just appear on
the beach
unless
they're demigods or gods or really, really lost pizza delivery guys. (It's
happened—but that's
another
story.)
Anyway,
that afternoon the lookout on duty was Connor Stoll from the Hermes cabin. When
he
spotted me,
he got so excited he fell out of his tree. Then he blew the conch horn to
signal the camp and
ran to
greet me.
Connor had
a crooked smile that matched his crooked sense of humor. He's a pretty nice
guy, but you
should always
keep one hand on your wallet when he's around, and do not, under any
circumstances, give
him access
to shaving cream unless you want to find your sleeping bag full of it. He's got
curly brown
hair and is
a little shorter than his brother, Travis, which is the only way I can tell
them apart. They are
both so
unlike my old enemy Luke it's hard to believe they're all sons of Hermes.
"Percy!"
he yelled. "What happened? Where's Beckendorf?"
Then he saw
my expression, and his smile melted. "Oh, no. Poor Silena. Holy Zeus, when
she finds
out . .
."
Together we
climbed the sand dunes. A few hundred yards away, people were already streaming
toward us,
smiling and excited. Percy's
back, they were probably thinking. He's saved the day! Maybe he
brought souvenirs!
I stopped
at the dining pavilion and waited for them. No sense rushing down there to tell
them what a
loser I
was.
I gazed
across the valley and tried to remember how Camp Half-Blood looked the first
time I ever
saw it.
That seemed like a bajillion years ago.
From the
dining pavilion, you could see pretty much everything. Hills ringed the valley.
On the
tallest,
Half-Blood Hill, Thalia's pine tree stood with the Golden Fleece hanging from
its branches,
magically
protecting the camp from its enemies. The guard dragon Peleus was so big now I
could see him
from
here—curled around the tree trunk, lending up smoke signals as he snored.
To my right
spread the woods. To my left, the canoe lake glittered and the climbing wall
glowed from
the lava
pouring down its side. Twelve cabins—one for each Olympian god—made a horseshoe
pattern
around the
commons area. Farther south were the strawberry fields, the armory, and the
four-story Big
House with
its sky blue paint job and its bronze eagle weathervane.
In some
ways, the camp hadn't changed. But you couldn't see the war by looking at the
buildings or
the fields.
You could see it in the faces of the demigods and satyrs and naiads coming up
the hill.
There
weren't as many at camp as four summers ago. Some had left and never come back.
Some had
died
fighting. Others—we tried not to talk about them—had gone over to the enemy.
The ones
who were still here were battle-hardened and weary. There was little laughter
at camp these
days. Even
the Hermes cabin didn't play so many pranks. It's hard to enjoy practical jokes
when your
whole life
feels like one.
Chiron
galloped into the pavilion first, which was easy for him since he's a white
stallion from the
waist down.
His beard had grown wilder over the summer. He wore a green T-shirt that said
MY OTHER
CAR IS A
CENTAUR and a bow slung over his back.
"Percy!"
he said. "Thank the gods. But where . . ."
Annabeth
ran in right behind him, and I'll admit my heart did a little relay race in my
chest when I
saw her.
It's not that she tried to look good. We'd been doing so many combat missions
lately, she hardly
brushed her
curly blond hair anymore, and she didn't care what clothes she was
wearing—usually the
same old
orange camp T-shirt and jeans, and once in a while her bronze armor. Her eyes
were stormy
gray. Most
of the time we couldn't get through a conversation without trying to strangle
each other. Still,
just seeing
her made me feel fuzzy in the head. Last summer, before Luke had turned into
Kronos and
everything
went sour, there had been a few times when I thought maybe . . . well, that we
might get past
the
strangle-each-other phase.
"What
happened?" She grabbed my arm. "Is Luke—"
"The
ship blew up," I said. "He wasn't destroyed. I don't know
where—"
Silena
Beauregard pushed through the crowd. Her hair wasn't combed and she wasn't even
wearing
makeup,
which wasn't like her.
"Where's
Charlie?" she demanded, looking around like he might be hiding.
I glanced
at Chiron helplessly.
The old
centaur cleared his throat. "Silena, my dear, let's talk about this at the
Big House—"
"No,"
she muttered. "No. No."
She started
to cry, and the rest of us stood around, too stunned to speak. We'd already
lost so many
people over
the summer, but this was the worst. With Beckendorf gone, it felt like someone
had stolen the
anchor for
the entire camp.
Finally
Clarisse from the Ares cabin came forward. She put her arm around Silena. They
had one of
the
strangest friendships ever—a daughter of the war god and a daughter of the love
goddess—but ever
since
Silena had given Clarisse advice last summer about her first boyfriend,
Clarisse had decided she
was
Silena's personal bodyguard.
Clarisse
was dressed in her bloodred combat armor, her brown hair tucked into a bandana.
She was as
big and
beefy as a rugby player, with a permanent scowl on her face, but she spoke
gently to Silena.
"Come
on, girl," she said. "Let's get to the Big House. I'll make you some
hot chocolate."
Everyone
turned and wandered off in twos and threes, heading back to the cabins. Nobody
was
excited to
see me now. Nobody wanted to hear about the blown-up ship.
Only
Annabeth and Chiron stayed behind.
Annabeth
wiped a tear from her cheek. "I'm glad you're not dead, Seaweed
Brain."
"Thanks,"
I said. "Me too."
Chiron put
a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure you did everything you could, Percy. Will
you tell us
what
happened?"
I didn't
want to go through it again, but I told them the story, including my dream
about the Titans. I
left out
the detail about Nico. Nico had made me promise not to tell anybody about his
plan until I made
up my mind,
and the plan was so scary I didn't mind keeping it a secret.
Chiron
gazed down at the valley. "We must call a war council immediately, to
discuss this spy, and
other
matters."
"Poseidon
mentioned another threat," I said. "Something even bigger than the Princess Andromeda. I
thought it
might be that challenge the Titan had mentioned in my dream."
Chiron and
Annabeth exchanged looks, like they knew something I didn't. I hated when they
did that.
"We
will discuss that also," Chiron promised.
"One
more thing." I took a deep breath. "When I talked to my father, he
said to tell you it's time. I
need to
know the full prophecy."
Chiron's
shoulders sagged, but he didn't look surprised. "I've dreaded this day.
Very well. Annabeth,
we will
show Percy the truth—all of it.
Let's go to the attic."
* * *
I’d been to
the Big House attic three times before, which was three times more than I
wanted to.
A ladder
led up from the top of the staircase. I wondered how Chiron was going to get up
there, being
half horse
and all, but he didn't try.
"You
know where it is," he told Annabeth. "Bring it down, please."
Annabeth
nodded. "Come on, Percy."
The sun was
setting outside, so the attic was even darker and creepier than usual. Old hero
trophies
were
slacked everywhere—dented shields, pickled heads in jars from various monsters,
a pair of fuzzy
dice on a
bronze plaque that read: STOLEN FROM CHRYSAOR'S HONDA CIVIC, BY GUS, SON OF
HERMES,
1988.
I picked up
a curved bronze sword so badly bent it looked like the letter M. I
could still see green
stains on
the metal from the magical poison that used to cover it. The tag was dated last
summer. It read:
Scimitar of Kampê, destroyed in
the Battle of the Labyrinth.
"You
remember Briares throwing those boulders?" I asked.
Annabeth
gave me a grudging smile. "And Grover causing a Panic?"
We locked
eyes. I thought of a different time last summer, under Mount St. Helens, when
Annabeth
thought I
was going to die and she kissed me.
She cleared
her throat and looked away. "Prophecy."
"Right."
I put down the scimitar. "Prophecy."
We walked
over to the window. On a three-legged stool sat the Oracle—a shriveled female
mummy
m a
tie-dyed dress. Tufts of black hair clung to her skull. Glassy eyes stared out
of her leathery face. Just
looking at
her made my skin crawl.
If you
wanted to leave camp during the summer, it used to be you had to come up here
to get a quest.
This
summer, that rule had been tossed. Campers left all the time on combat
missions. We had no choice
if we
wanted to stop Kronos.
Still, I
remembered too well the strange green mist—the spirit of the Oracle—that lived
inside the
mummy. She
looked lifeless now, but whenever she spoke a prophecy, she moved. Sometimes
fog gushed
out of her
mouth and created strange shapes. Once, she'd even left the attic and taken a
little zombie stroll
into the
woods to deliver a message. I wasn't sure what she'd do for the "Great
Prophecy." I half expected
her to
start tap dancing or something.
But she
just sat there like she was dead—which she was.
"I
never understood this," I whispered.
"What?"
Annabeth asked.
"Why
it's a mummy."
"Percy,
she didn't used to be a mummy. For thousands of years the spirit of the Oracle
lived inside a
beautiful
maiden. The spirit would be passed on from generation to generation. Chiron
told me she was
like that
fifty years ago." Annabeth pointed at the mummy. "But she was the
last."
"What
happened?"
Annabeth
started to say something, then apparently changed her mind. "Let's just do
our job and get
out of
here."
I looked
nervously at the Oracle's withered face. "So what now?"
Annabeth
approached the mummy and held out her palms. "O Oracle, the time is at
hand. I ask for
the Great
Prophecy."
I braced
myself, but the mummy didn't move. Instead, Annabeth approached and unclasped
one of its
necklaces.
I’d never paid too much attention to its jewelry before. I figured it was just
hippie love beads
and stuff.
But when Annabeth turned toward me, she was holding a leather pouch—like a
Native
American
medicine pouch on a cord braided with feathers. She opened the bag and took out
a roll of
parchment
no bigger than her pinky.
"No
way," I said. "You mean all these years, I've been asking about this
stupid prophecy, and it's
been right
there around her neck?"
"The time
wasn't right," Annabeth said. "Believe me, Percy, I read this when I
was ten years old, and
I still
have nightmares about it."
"Great,"
I said. "Can I read it now?"
"Downstairs
at the war council," Annabeth said. "Not in front of . . . you
know."
I looked at
the glassy eyes of the Oracle, and I decided not to argue. We headed downstairs
to join the
others. I
didn't know it then, but it would be the last time I ever visited the attic.
* * *
The senior
counselors had gathered around the Ping-Pong table. Don't ask me why, but the
rec room had
become the
camp's informal headquarters for war councils. When Annabeth, Chiron, and I
came in,
though, it
looked more like a shouting match.
Clarisse
was still in full battle gear. Her electric spear was strapped to her back.
(Actually, her second
electric
spear, since I'd broken the first one. She called the spear "Maimer."
Behind her back, everybody
else called
it "Lamer.") She had her boar-shaped helmet under one arm and a knife
at her belt.
She was in
the midst of yelling at Michael Yew, the new head counselor for Apollo, which
looked
kind of
funny since Clarisse was a foot taller. Michael had taken over the Apollo cabin
after Lee Fletcher
died in
battle last summer. Michael stood four feet six, with another two feet of
attitude. He reminded me
of a
ferret, with a pointy nose and scrunched-up features—either because he scowled
so much or because
he spent
too much time looking down the shaft of an arrow.
"It's our loot!"
he yelled, standing on his tiptoes so he could get in Clarisse's face. "If
you don't like it,
you can
kiss my quiver!"
Around the
table, people were trying not to laugh—the Stoll brothers, Pollux from the
Dionysus
cabin,
Katie Gardner from Demeter. Even Jake Mason, the hastily appointed new
counselor from
Hephaestus,
managed a faint smile. Only Silena Beauregard didn't pay any attention. She sat
beside
Clarisse
and stared vacantly at the Ping-Pong net. Her eyes were red and puffy. A cup of
hot chocolate sat
untouched
in front of her. It seemed unfair that she had to be here. I couldn't believe
Clarisse and Michael
standing
over her, arguing about something as stupid as loot, when she'd just lost
Beckendorf.
"STOP
IT!" I yelled. "What are you guys doing?"
Clarisse
glowered at me. "Tell Michael not to be a selfish jerk."
"Oh,
that's perfect, coming from you," Michael said.
"The
only reason I'm here is to support Silena!" Clarisse shouted.
"Otherwise I'd be back in my
cabin."
"What
are you talking about?" I demanded.
Pollux
cleared his throat. "Clarisse has refused to speak to any of us, until
her, um, issue is resolved.
She hasn't
spoken for three days."
"It's
been wonderful," Travis Stoll said wistfully.
"What
issue?" I asked.
Clarisse
turned to Chiron. "You're in charge, right? Does my cabin get what we want
or not?"
Chiron
shuffled his hooves. "My dear, as I've already explained, Michael is
correct. Apollo's cabin
has the
best claim. Besides, we have more important matters—"
"Sure,"
Clarisse snapped. "Always more important matters than what Ares needs. We're
just supposed
to show up
and light when you need us, and not complain!"
"That
would be nice," Connor Stoll muttered.
Clarisse
gripped her knife. "Maybe I should ask Mr. D—"
"As
you know," Chiron interrupted, his tone slightly angry now, "our
director, Dionysus, is busy with
the war. He
can't be bothered with this."
"I
see," Clarisse said. "And the senior counselors? Are any of
you going to side with me?"
Nobody was
smiling now. None of them met Clarisse's eyes.
"Fine."
Clarisse turned to Silena. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get into this when
you've just lost . . .
Anyway, I
apologize. To you.
Nobody else."
Silena
didn't seem to register her words.
Clarisse
threw her knife on the Ping-Pong table. "All of you can fight this war
without Ares. Until I
get satisfaction,
no one in my cabin is lifting a finger to help. Have fun dying."
The
counselors were all too stunned to say anything as Clarisse stormed out of the
room.
Finally
Michael Yew said, "Good riddance."
"Are
you kidding?" Katie Gardner protested. "This is a disaster!"
"She
can't be serious," Travis said. "Can she?"
Chiron
sighed. "Her pride has been wounded. She'll calm down eventually."
But he didn't sound
convinced.
I wanted to
ask what the heck Clarisse was so mad about, but I looked at Annabeth and she
mouthed
the words I'll tell you later.
"Now,"
Chiron continued, "if you please, counselors. Percy has brought something
I think you should
hear.
Percy—the Great Prophecy."
Annabeth
handed me the parchment. It felt dry and old, and my fingers fumbled with the
string. I
uncurled
the paper, trying not to rip it, and began to read:
"A half-blood of the eldest
dogs . . ."
"Er,
Percy?" Annabeth interrupted. "That's gods. Not
dogs."
"Oh,
right," I said. Being dyslexic is one mark of a demigod, but sometimes I
really hate it. The more
nervous I
am, the worse my reading gets. "A
half~blood of the eldest gods . . . shall reach sixteen against
all odds . . ."
I
hesitated, staring at the next lines. A cold feeling started m my fingers as if
the paper was freezing.
"And see the world in
endless sleep,
The hero's soul, cursed blade
shall reap."
Suddenly
Riptide seemed heavier in my pocket. A cursed blade? Chiron once told me
Riptide had
brought
many people sorrow. Was it possible my own sword could get me killed? And how
could the
world fall
into endless sleep, unless that meant death?
"Percy,"
Chiron urged. "Read the rest."
My mouth
felt like it was full of sand, but I spoke the last two lines.
"A single choice shall. . .
shall end his days.
Olympus to per—pursue—"
"Preserve," Annabeth
said gently. "It means to
save."
"I
know what it means," I grumbled. "Olympus
to preserve or raze."
The room
was silent. Finally Connor Stoll said, "Raise is good, isn't it?"
"Not raise,"
Silena said. Her voice was hollow, but I was startled to hear her speak at all.
"R-a-z-e
means destroy."
"Obliterate,"
Annabeth said. "Annihilate. Turn to rubble."
"Got
it." My heart felt like lead. "Thanks."
Everybody
was looking at me—with concern, or pity, or maybe a little fear.
Chiron
closed his eyes as if he were saying a prayer. In horse form, his head almost
brushed the lights
in the rec
room. "You see now, Percy, why we thought it best not to tell you the
whole prophecy. You've
had enough
on your shoulders—"
"Without
realizing I was going to die in the end anyway?" I said. "Yeah, I get
it."
Chiron
gazed at me sadly. The guy was three thousand years old. He'd seen hundreds of
heroes die.
He might
not like it, but he was used to it. He probably knew better than to try to
reassure me.
"Percy,"
Annabeth said. "You know prophecies always have double meanings. It might
not literally
mean you
die."
"Sure,"
I said. "A
single choice shall end his days. That has tons of meanings, right?"
"Maybe
we can stop it," Jake Mason offered. "The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap. Maybe
we
could find
this cursed blade and destroy it. Sounds like Kronos's scythe, right?"
I hadn't
thought about that, but it didn't matter if the cursed blade was Riptide or
Kronos's scythe.
Either way,
I doubted we could stop the prophecy. A blade was supposed to reap my soul. As
a general
rule, I
preferred not to have my soul reaped.
"Perhaps
we should let Percy think about these lines," Chiron said. "He needs
time—"
"No."
I folded up the prophecy and shoved it into my pocket. I felt defiant and
angry, though I wasn't
sure who I
was angry with. "I don't need time. If I die, I die. I can't worry about
that, right?"
Annabeth's
hands were shaking a little. She wouldn't meet my eyes.
"Let's
move on," I said. "We've got other problems. We've got a spy."
Michael Yew
scowled. "A spy?"
I told them
what had happened on the Princess
Andromeda—how Kronos had known we were
coming, how
he'd shown me the silver scythe pendant he'd used to communicate with someone
at camp.
Silena
started to cry again, and Annabeth put an arm around her shoulders.
"Well,"
Connor Stoll said uncomfortably, "we've suspected there might a spy for
years, right?
Somebody
kept passing information to Luke—like the location of the Golden Fleece a
couple of years
ago. It
must be somebody who knew him well."
Maybe
subconsciously, he glanced at Annabeth. She'd known Luke better than anyone, of
course, but
Connor
looked away quickly. "Um, I mean, it could be anybody."
"Yes."
Katie Gardner frowned at the Stoll brothers. She'd disliked them ever since
they'd decorated
the grass
roof of the Demeter cabin with chocolate Easter bunnies. "Like one of
Luke's siblings."
Travis and
Connor both started arguing with her.
"Stop!"
Silena banged the table so hard her hot chocolate spilled. "Charlie's dead
and . . . and you're
all arguing
like little kids!" She put her head down and began to sob.
Hot
chocolate trickled off the Ping-Pong table. Everybody looked ashamed.
"She's
right," Pollux said at last. "Accusing each other doesn't help. We
need to keep our eyes open
for a
silver necklace with a scythe charm. If Kronos had one, the spy probably does
too."
Michael Yew
grunted. "We need to find this spy before we plan our next operation.
Blowing up the
Princess Andromeda won't
stop Kronos forever."
"No indeed,"
Chiron said. "In fact his next assault is already on the way."
I scowled.
"You mean the 'bigger threat' Poseidon mentioned?"
He and
Annabeth looked at each other like, It's
time. Did I mention I hate it when they do
that?
"Percy,"
Chiron said, "we didn't want to tell you until you returned to camp. You
needed a break with
your . . .
mortal friends."
Annabeth
blushed. It dawned on me that she knew I'd been hanging out with Rachel, and I
felt guilty.
Then I felt
angry that I felt guilty. I was allowed to have friends outside camp, right? It
wasn't like . . .
"Tell
me what's happened," I said.
Chiron
picked up a bronze goblet from the snack table. He tossed water onto the hot
plate where we
usually
melted nacho cheese. Steam billowed up, making a rainbow in the fluorescent
lights. Chiron
fished a
golden drachma out of his pouch, tossed it through the mist, and muttered,
"O Iris, Goddess of
the
Rainbow, show us the threat."
The mist
shimmered. I saw the familiar image of a smoldering volcano—Mount St. Helens.
As I
watched,
the side of the mountain exploded. Fire, ash, and lava rolled out. A
newscaster's voice was
saying "—even larger than last year's
eruption, and geologists warn that the mountain may not be done."
I knew all
about last year's eruption. I'd caused it. But this explosion was much worse.
The mountain
tore itself
apart, collapsing inward, and an enormous form rose out of the smoke and lava
like it was
emerging
from a manhole. I hoped the Mist would keep the humans from seeing it clearly,
because what I
saw
would've caused panic and riots across the entire United States.
The giant
was bigger than anything I'd ever encountered. Even my demigod eyes couldn't
make out its
exact form
through the ash and fire, but it was vaguely humanoid and so huge it could've
used the
Chrysler
Building as a baseball bat. The mountain shook with a horrible rumbling, as if
the monster were
laughing.
"It's
him," I said. "Typhon."
I was
seriously hoping Chiron would say something good, like No, that's our huge friend Leroy!
He's
going to help us! But
no such luck. He simply nodded. "The most horrible monster of all, the
biggest
single
threat the gods ever faced. He has been freed from under the mountain at last.
But this scene is
from two
days ago. Here is
what is happening today."
Chiron
waved his hand and the image changed. I saw a bank of storm clouds rolling
across the
Midwest
plains. Lightning flickered. Lines of tornadoes destroyed everything in their
path—ripping up
houses and
trailers, tossing cars around like Matchbox toys.
"Monumental floods," an
announcer was saying. "Five
states declared disaster areas as the freak
storm system sweeps east,
continuing its path of destruction." The cameras
zoomed in on a column of
storm
bearing down on some Midwest city. I couldn't tell which one. Inside the storm
I could see the
giant—just
small glimpses of his true form: a smoky arm, a dark clawed hand the size of a
city block. His
angry roar
rolled across the plains like a nuclear blast. Other smaller forms darted
through the clouds,
circling
the monster. I saw flashes of light, and I realized the giant was trying to
swat them. I squinted and
thought I
saw a golden chariot flying into the blackness. Then some kind of huge bird—a
monstrous
owl—dived
in to attack the giant.
"Are
those . . . the gods?" I said.
"Yes,
Percy," Chiron said. "They have been fighting him for days now,
trying to slow him down. But
Typhon is
marching forward—toward New York. Toward Olympus."
I let that
sink in. "How long until he gets here?"
"Unless
the gods can stop him? Perhaps five days. Most of the Olympians are there . . .
except your
father, who
has a war of his own to fight."
"But
then who's guarding Olympus?"
Connor
Stoll shook his head. "If Typhon gets to New York, it won't matter who's
guarding Olympus."
I thought
about Kronos's words on the ship: I
would love to see the terror in your eyes when you
realize how I will destroy
Olympus.
Was this
what he was talking about: an attack by Typhon? It was sure terrifying enough.
But Kronos
was always
fooling us, misdirecting our attention. This seemed too obvious for him. And in
my dream,
the golden
Titan had talked about several more challenges to come, as if Typhon were only
the first.
"It's
a trick," I said. "We have to warn the gods. Something else is going
to happen."
Chiron
looked at me gravely. "Something worse than Typhon? I hope not."
"We
have to defend Olympus," I insisted. "Kronos has another attack
planned."
"He
did," Travis Stoll reminded me. "But you sunk his ship."
Everyone
was looking at me. They wanted some good news. They wanted to believe that at
least I'd
given them
a little bit of hope.
I glanced
at Annabeth. I could tell we were thinking the same thing: What if the Princess Andromeda
was a ploy?
What if Kronos let
us blow up that ship so we'd lower our guard?
But I
wasn't going to say that in front of Silena. Her boyfriend had sacrificed
himself for that mission.
"Maybe
you're right," I said, though I didn't believe it.
I tried to
imagine how things could get much worse. The gods were m the Midwest fighting a
huge
monster
that had almost defeated them once before. Poseidon was under siege and losing
a war against
the sea
Titan Oceanus. Kronos was still out there somewhere. Olympus was virtually
undefended. The
demigods of
Camp Half-Blood were on our own with a spy in our midst.
Oh, and
according to the ancient prophecy, I was going to die when I turned
sixteen—which
happened to
be in five days, the exact same time Typhon was supposed to hit New York.
Almost forgot
that.
"Well,"
Chiron said, "I think that's enough for one night."
He waved
his hand and the steam dissipated. The stormy battle of Typhon and the gods
disappeared.
"That's
an understatement," I muttered.
And the war
council adjourned.
CHAPTER FOUR: WE BURN A METAL SHROUD
Click here to Go to Index
Click here to Go to Index
I dreamed
Rachel Elizabeth Dare was throwing darts at my picture.
She was
standing in her room . . . Okay, back up. I have to explain that Rachel doesn't
have a room.
She has the
top floor of her family's mansion, which is a renovated brownstone in Brooklyn.
Her "room"
is a huge
loft with industrial lighting and floor-to-ceiling windows. It's about twice as
big as my mom's
apartment.
Some alt
rock was blaring from her paint-covered Bose docking system. As far as I could
tell,
Rachel's
only rule about music was that no two songs on her iPod could sound the same,
and they all had
to be
strange.
She wore a
kimono, and her hair was frizzy, like she'd been sleeping. Her bed was messed
up. Sheets
hung over a
bunch of artist's easels. Dirty clothes and old energy bar wrappers were strewn
around the
floor, but
when you've got a room that big, the mess doesn't look so bad. Out the windows
you could see
the entire
nighttime skyline of Manhattan.
The picture
she was attacking was a painting of me standing over the giant Antaeus. Rachel
had
painted it
a couple of months ago. My expression in the picture was fierce—disturbing,
even—so it was
hard to
tell if I was the good guy or the bad guy, but Rachel said I'd looked just like
that after the battle.
"Demigods," Rachel
muttered as she threw another dart at the canvas. "And their stupid quests."
Most of the
darts bounced off, but a few stuck. One hung off my chin like a goatee.
Someone
pounded on her bedroom door.
"Rachel!"
a man shouted. "What in the world are you doing? Turn off that—"
Rachel
scooped up her remote control and shut off the music. "Come in!"
Her dad
walked in, scowling and blinking from the light. He had rust-colored hair a
little darker than
Rachel's.
It was smushed on one side like he'd lost a fight with his pillow. His blue
silk pajamas had
"WD"
monogrammed on the pocket. Seriously, who has monogrammed pajamas?
"What
is going on?" he demanded. "It's three in the morning."
"Couldn't
sleep," Rachel said.
On the
painting, a dart fell off my face. Rachel hid the rest behind her back, but Mr.
Dare noticed.
"So .
. . I take it your friend isn't coming to St. Thomas?" That's what Mr.
Dare called me. Never
Percy. Just
your friend. Or
young man if
he was talking to me, which he rarely did.
Rachel knit
her eyebrows. "I don't know."
"We
leave in the morning," her dad said. "If he hasn't made up his mind
yet—"
"He's
probably not coming," Rachel said miserably. "Happy?"
Mr. Dare
put his hands behind his back. He paced the room with a stern expression. I
imagined he did
that in the
boardroom of his land development company and made his employees nervous.
"Are
you still having bad dreams?" he asked. "Headaches?"
Rachel
threw her darts on the floor. "I should never have told you about
that."
"I'm
your father," he said. "I'm worried about you."
"Worried
about the family's reputation," Rachel muttered.
Her father
didn't react—maybe because he'd heard that comment before, or maybe because it
was
true.
"We
could call Dr. Arkwright," he suggested. "He helped you get through
the death of your hamster."
"I was
six then," she said. "And no, Dad, I don't need a therapist. I just .
. ." She shook her head
helplessly.
Her father
stopped in front of the windows. He gazed at the New York skyline as if he
owned it—
which
wasn't true. He only owned part of it.
"It
will be good for you to get away," he decided. "You've had some
unhealthy influences."
"I'm
not going to Clarion Ladies Academy," Rachel said. "And my friends
are none of your
business."
Mr. Dare
smiled, but it wasn't a warm smile. It was more like, Someday you'll realize how silly
you
sound.
"Try
to get some sleep," he urged. "We'll be at the beach by tomorrow
night. It will be fun."
"Fun,"
Rachel repeated. "Lots of fun."
Her father
exited the room. He left the door open behind him.
Rachel stared
at the portrait of me. Then she walked to the easel next to it, which was
covered in a
sheet.
"I
hope they're dreams," she said.
She
uncovered the easel. On it was a hastily sketched charcoal, but Rachel was a
good artist. The
picture was
definitely Luke as a young boy. He was about nine years old, with a wide grin
and no scar on
his face. I
had no idea how Rachel could've known what he looked like back then, but the
portrait was so
good I had
a feeling she wasn't guessing. From what I knew about Luke's life (which wasn't
much), the
picture
showed him just before he'd found out he was a half-blood and had run away from
home.
Rachel
stared at the portrait. Then she uncovered the next easel. This picture was
even more
disturbing.
It showed the Empire State Building with lightning all around it. In the
distance a dark storm
was
brewing, with a huge hand coming out of the clouds. At the base of the building
a crowd had
gathered .
. . but it wasn't a normal crowd of tourists and pedestrians. I saw spears, javelins,
and banners—
the
trappings of an army.
"Percy,"
Rachel muttered, as if she knew I was listening, "what is going on?"
The dream
faded, and the last thing I remember was wishing I could answer her question.
The next
morning, I wanted to call her, but there were no phones at camp. Dionysus and
Chiron didn't
need a
landline. They just called Olympus with an Iris-message whenever they needed
something. And
when
demigods use cell phones, the signals agitate every monster within a hundred
miles. It's like sending
up a flare:
Here I am! Please
rearrange my face! Even within the safe borders of camp,
that's not the kind
of
advertising we wanted to do.
Most
demigods (except for Annabeth and a few others) don't even own cell phones. And
I definitely
couldn't tell
Annabeth, "Hey, let me borrow your phone so I can call Rachel!" To
make the call, I
would've
had to leave camp and walk several miles to the nearest convenience store. Even
if Chiron let
me go, by
the time I got there, Rachel would've been on the plane to St. Thomas.
I ate a
depressing breakfast by myself at the Poseidon table. I kept staring at the
fissure in the marble
floor where
two years ago Nico had banished a bunch of bloodthirsty skeletons to the
Underworld. The
memory
didn't exactly improve my appetite.
After
breakfast, Annabeth and I walked down to inspect the cabins. Actually, it was
Annabeth's turn for
inspection.
My morning chore was to sort through reports for Chiron. But since we both
hated our jobs,
we decided
to do them together so it wouldn't be so heinous.
We started
at the Poseidon cabin, which was basically just me. I'd made my bunk bed that
morning
(well, sort
of) and straightened the Minotaur horn on the wall, so I gave myself a four out
of five.
Annabeth
made a face. "You're being generous." She used the end of her pencil
to pick up an old pair
of running
shorts.
I snatched
them away. "Hey, give me a break. I don't have Tyson cleaning up after me
this summer."
"Three
out of five," Annabeth said. I knew better than to argue, so we moved
along.
I tried to
skim through Chiron's stack of reports as we walked. There were messages from
demigods,
nature
spirits, and satyrs all around the country, writing about the latest monster
activity. They were pretty
depressing,
and my ADHD brain did not
like concentrating on depressing stuff.
Little
battles were raging everywhere. Camp recruitment was down to zero. Satyrs were
having
trouble
finding new demigods and bringing them to Half-Blood Hill because so many
monsters were
roaming the
country. Our friend Thalia, who led the Hunters of Artemis, hadn't been heard
from in
months, and
if Artemis knew what had happened to them, she wasn't sharing information.
We visited
the Aphrodite cabin, which of course got a five out of five. The beds were
perfectly made.
The clothes
in everyone's footlockers were color coordinated. Fresh flowers bloomed on the
windowsills.
I wanted to
dock a point because the whole place reeked of designer perfume, but Annabeth
ignored me.
"Great
job as usual, Silena," Annabeth said.
Silena
nodded listlessly. The wall behind her bed was decorated with pictures of
Beckendorf. She sat
on her bunk
with a box of chocolates on her lap, and I remembered that her dad owned a
chocolate store
in the
Village, which was how he'd caught the attention of Aphrodite.
"You
want a bonbon?" Silena asked. "My dad sent them. He thought—he
thought they might cheer
me
up."
"Are
they any good?" I asked.
She shook
her head. "They taste like cardboard."
I didn't
have anything against cardboard, so I tried one. Annabeth passed. We promised
to see Silena
later and
kept going.
As we
crossed the commons area, a fight broke out between the Ares and Apollo cabins.
Some
Apollo
campers armed with firebombs flew over the Ares cabin in a chariot pulled by
two pegasi. I'd
never seen
the chariot before, but it looked like a pretty sweet ride. Soon, the roof of
the Ares cabin was
burning,
and naiads from the canoe lake rushed over to blow water on it.
Then the
Ares campers called down a curse, and all the Apollo kids' arrows turned to
rubber. The
Apollo kids
kept shooting at the Ares kids, but the arrows bounced off.
Two archers
ran by, chased by an angry Ares kid who was yelling in poetry: "Curse me,
eh? I'll make
you pay! /
I don't want to rhyme all day!"
Annabeth
sighed. "Not that again. Last time Apollo cursed a cabin, it took a week
for the rhyming
couplets to
wear off."
I
shuddered. Apollo was god of poetry as well as archery, and I'd heard him
recite in person. I'd
almost
rather yet shot by an arrow.
"What
are they fighting about anyway?" I asked.
Annabeth
ignored me while she scribbled on her inspection scroll, giving both cabins a
one out of
five.
I found
myself staring at her, which was stupid since I'd seen her a billion times. She
and I were about
the same
height this summer, which was a relief. Still, she seemed so much more mature.
It was kind of
intimidating.
I mean, sure, she'd always been cute, but she was starting to be seriously
beautiful.
Finally she
said, "That flying chariot."
"What?"
"You
asked what they were fighting about."
"Oh.
Oh, right."
"They
captured it in a raid in Philadelphia last week. Some of Luke's demigods were
there with that
flying
chariot. The Apollo cabin seized it during the battle, but the Ares cabin led
the raid. So they've
been
fighting about who gets it ever since."
We ducked
as Michael Yew's chariot dive-bombed an Ares camper. The Ares camper tried to
stab
him and
cuss him out in rhyming couplets. He was pretty creative about rhyming those
cuss words.
"We're
fighting for our lives," I said, "and they're bickering about some
stupid chariot."
"They'll
get over it," Annabeth said. "Clarisse will come to her senses."
I wasn't so
sure. That didn't sound like the Clarisse I knew.
I scanned
more reports and we inspected a few more cabins. Demeter got a four. Hephaestus
got a
three and
probably should've gotten lower, but with Beckendorf being gone and all, we cut
them some
slack.
Hermes got a two, which was no surprise. All campers who didn't know their
godly parentage were
shoved into
the Hermes cabin, and since the gods were kind of forgetful, that cabin was
always
overcrowded.
Finally we
got to Athena's cabin, which was orderly and clean as usual. Books were
straightened on
the
shelves. The armor was polished. Battle maps and blueprints decorated the
walls. Only Annabeth's
bunk was
messy. It was covered in papers, and her silver laptop was still running.
"Vlacas," Annabeth
muttered, which was basically calling herself an idiot in Greek.
Her
second-in-command, Malcolm, suppressed a smile. "Yeah, um . . . we cleaned
everything else.
Didn't know
if it was safe to move your notes."
That was
probably smart. Annabeth had a bronze knife that she reserved just for monsters
and people
who messed
with her stuff.
Malcolm
grinned at me. "We'll wait outside while you finish inspection." The
Athena campers filed
out the
door while Annabeth cleaned up her bunk.
I shuffled
uneasily and pretended to go through some more reports. Technically, even on
inspection, it
was against
camp rules for two campers to be . . . like, alone in a cabin.
That rule
had come up a lot when Silena and Beckendorf started dating. And I know some of
you
might be
thinking, Aren't all demigods related on the godly side, and doesn't that make
dating gross? But
the thing
is, the godly side of your family doesn't count, genetically speaking, since
gods don't have DNA.
A demigod
would never think about dating someone who had the same godly parent. Like two
kids from
Athena
cabin? No way. But a daughter of Aphrodite and a son of Hephaestus? They're not
related. So it's
no problem.
Anyway, for
some strange reason I was thinking about this as I watched Annabeth straighten
up. She
closed her
laptop, which had been given to her as a gift from the inventor Daedalus last
summer.
I cleared
my throat. "So . . . get any good info from that thing?"
"Too
much," she said. "Daedalus had so many ideas, I could spend fifty
years just trying to figure
them all
out."
"Yeah,"
I muttered. "That would be fun."
She
shuffled her papers—mostly drawings of buildings and a bunch of handwritten
notes. I knew she
wanted to
be an architect someday, but I'd learned the hard way not to ask what she was
working on.
She'd start
talking about angles and load-bearing joints until my eyes glazed over.
"You
know . . ." She brushed her hair behind her ear, like she does when she's
nervous. "This whole
thing with
Beckendorf and Silena. It kind of makes you think. About . . . what's
important. About losing
people who
are important."
I nodded.
My brain started seizing on little random details, like the fact that she was
still wearing
those
silver owl earrings from her dad, who was this brainiac military history
professor in San Francisco.
"Urn,
yeah," I stammered. "Like . . . is everything cool with your
family?"
Okay,
really stupid question, but hey, I was nervous.
Annabeth
looked disappointed, but she nodded.
"My
dad wanted to take me to Greece this summer," she said wistfully.
"I've always wanted to see—"
"The
Parthenon," I remembered.
She managed
a smile. "Yeah."
"That's
okay. There'll be other summers, right?"
As soon as
I said it, I realized it was a boneheaded comment. I was facing the end of my days. Within
a week,
Olympus might fall. If the Age of the Gods really did end, the world as we knew
it would
dissolve
into chaos. Demigods would be hunted to extinction. There would be no more
summers for us.
Annabeth
stared at her inspection scroll. "Three out five," she muttered,
"for a sloppy head counselor.
Come on.
Let's finish your reports and get back to Chiron."
On the way
to the Big House, we read the last report, which was handwritten on a maple
leaf from a
satyr in
Canada. If possible, the note made me feel even worse.
"
'Dear Grover,'" I read aloud. " 'Woods outside Toronto attacked by
giant evil badger. Tried to do as
you suggested
and summon power of Pan. No effect. Many naiads' trees destroyed. Retreating to
Ottawa.
Please
advise. Where are you? —Gleeson Hedge, protector.'"
Annabeth
grimaced. "You haven't heard anything
from him? Even with your empathy link?"
I shook my
head dejectedly.
Ever since
last summer when the god Pan had died, our friend Grover had been drifting
farther and
farther
away. The Council of Cloven Elders treated him like an outcast, but Grover
still traveled all over
the East
Coast, trying to spread the word about Pan and convince nature spirits to
protect their own little
bits of the
wild. He'd only come back to camp a few times to see his girlfriend, Juniper.
Last I'd
heard he was in Central Park organizing the dryads, but nobody had seen or
heard from him
in two
months. We'd tried to send Iris-messages. They never got through. I had an
empathy link with
Grover, so
I hoped I would know if anything bad happened to him. Grover had told me one
time that if he
died, the
empathy link might kill me too. But I wasn't sure if that was still true or
not.
I wondered
if he was still in Manhattan. Then I thought about my dream of Rachel's
sketch—dark
clouds
closing on the city, an army gathered around the Empire State Building.
"Annabeth."
I stopped her by the tetherball court. I knew I was asking for trouble, but I
didn't know
who else to
trust. Plus, I'd always depended on Annabeth for advice. "Listen, I had
this dream about, um,
Rachel . .
."
I told her
the whole thing, even the weird picture of Luke as a child.
For a while
she didn't say anything. Then she rolled up her inspection scroll so tight she
ripped it.
"What
do you want me to say?"
"I'm
not sure. You're the best strategist I know. If you were Kronos planning this
war, what would
you do
next?"
"I'd
use Typhon as a distraction. Then I'd hit Olympus directly, while the gods were
in the West."
"Just
like in Rachel's picture."
"Percy,"
she said, her voice tight, "Rachel is just a mortal."
"But
what if her dream is true? Those other Titans—they said Olympus would be destroyed
in a
matter of
days. They said they had plenty of other challenges. And what's with that
picture of Luke as a
kid—"
"We'll
just have to be ready."
"How?"
I said. "Look at our camp. We can't even stop fighting each other. And I'm
supposed to get
my stupid
soul reaped."
She threw
down her scroll. "I knew we shouldn't have shown you the prophecy."
Her voice was angry
and hurt.
"All it did was scare you. You run away from things when you're
scared."
I stared at
her, completely stunned. "Me?
Run away?"
She got
right in my face. "Yes, you. You're a coward, Percy Jackson!"
We were
nose to nose. Her eyes were red, and I suddenly realized that when she called
me a coward,
maybe she
wasn't talking about the prophecy.
"If
you don't like our chances," she said, "maybe you should go on that
vacation with Rachel."
"Annabeth—"
"If
you don't like our company."
"That's
not fair!"
She pushed
past me and stormed toward the strawberry fields. She hit the tetherball as she
passed and
sent it
spinning angrily around the pole.
I'd like to
say my day got better from there. Of course it didn't.
That
afternoon we had an assembly at the campfire to burn Beckendorf's burial shroud
and say our
good-byes.
Even the Ares and Apollo cabins called a temporary truce to attend.
Beckendorf's
shroud was made out of metal links, like chain mail. I didn't see how it would
burn, but
the Fates
must've been helping out. The metal melted in the fire and turned to golden
smoke, which rose
into the
sky. The campfire flames always reflected the campers' moods, and today they
burned black.
I hoped
Beckendorf's spirit would end up in Elysium. Maybe he'd even choose to be
reborn and try
for Elysium
in three different lifetimes so he could reach the Isles of the Blest, which
was like the
Underworld's
ultimate party headquarters. If anyone deserved it, Beckendorf did.
Annabeth
left without a word to me. Most of the other campers drifted off to their
afternoon activities.
I just
stood there staring at the dying fire. Silena sat nearby crying, while Clarisse
and her boyfriend,
Chris
Rodriguez, tried to comfort her.
Finally I
got up the nerve to walk over. "Hey, Silena, I'm really sorry."
She
sniffled. Clarisse glared at me, but she always glares at everyone. Chris would
barely look at me.
He'd been
one of Luke's men until Clarisse rescued him from the Labyrinth last summer,
and I guess he
still felt
guilty about it.
I cleared
my throat. "Silena, you know Beckendorf carried your picture. He looked at
it right before
we went
into battle. You meant a lot to him. You made the last year the best of his
life."
Silena
sobbed.
"Good
work, Percy," Clarisse muttered.
"No,
it's all right," Silena said. "Thank . . . thank you, Percy. I should
go."
"You
want company?" Clarisse asked.
Silena
shook her head and ran off.
"She's
stronger than she looks," Clarisse muttered, almost to herself.
"She'll survive."
"You
could help with that," I suggested. "You could honor Beckendorf's
memory by fighting with
us."
Clarisse
went for her knife, but it wasn't there anymore. She'd thrown it on the
Ping-Pong table in the
Big House.
"Not
my problem," she growled. "My cabin doesn't get honor, I don't
fight."
I noticed
she wasn't speaking in rhymes. Maybe she hadn't been around when her cabinmates
got
cursed, or
maybe she had a way of breaking the spell. With a chill, I wondered if Clarisse
could be
Kronos's
spy at camp. Was that why she was keeping her cabin out of the fight? But as
much as I disliked
Clarisse,
spying for the Titans didn't seem like her style.
"All
right," I told her. "I didn't want to bring this up, but you owe me
one. You'd be rotting in a
Cyclops's
cave in the Sea of Monsters if it wasn't for me."
She
clenched her jaw. "Any other favor, Percy. Not this. The Ares cabin has
been dissed too many
times. And
don't think I don't know what people say about me behind my back."
I wanted to
say, Well, it's
true. But I bit my tongue.
"So,
what—you're just going to let Kronos crush us?" I asked.
"If
you want my help so bad, tell Apollo to give us the chariot."
"You're
such a big baby."
She charged
me, but Chris got between us. "Whoa, guys," he said. "Clarisse,
you know, maybe he's
got a
point."
She sneered
at him. "Not you too!" She trudged off with Chris at her heels.
"Hey,
wait! I just meant—Clarisse, wait!"
I watched
the last sparks from Beckendorf's fire curl into the afternoon sky. Then I
headed toward the
sword-fighting
arena. I needed a break, and I wanted to see an old friend.
CHAPTER FIVE: I DRIVE MY DOG INTO THE TREE
Click here to Go to Index
Click here to Go to Index
Mrs.
O'Leary saw me before I saw her, which was a pretty good trick considering
she's the size of a
garbage
truck. I walked into the arena, and a wall of darkness slammed into me.
"WOOF!"
The next
thing I knew I was flat on the ground with a huge paw on my chest and an
oversize Brillopad
tongue
licking my face.
"Ow!"
I said. "Hey, girl. Good to see you too. Ow!"
It took a
few minutes for Mrs. O'Leary to calm down and get off me. By then I was pretty
much
drenched in
dog drool. She wanted to play fetch, so I picked up a bronze shield and tossed
it across the
arena.
By the way,
Mrs. O'Leary is the world's only friendly hellhound. I kind of inherited her
when her
previous
owner died. She lived at camp, but Beckendorf . . . well, Beckendorf used to take
care of her
whenever I
was gone. He had smelted Mrs. O'Leary's favorite bronze chewing bone. He'd
forged her
collar with
the little smiley face and a crossbones name tag. Next to me, Beckendorf had
been her best
friend.
Thinking
about that made me sad all over again, but I threw the shield a few more times
because Mrs.
O'Leary
insisted.
Soon she
started barking—a sound slightly louder than an artillery gun—like she needed
to go for a
walk. The
other campers didn't think it was funny when she went to the bathroom in the
arena. It had
caused more
than one unfortunate slip-and-slide accident. So I opened the gates of the
arena, and she
bounded
straight toward the woods.
I jogged
after her, not too concerned that she was getting ahead. Nothing in the woods
could threaten
Mrs.
O'Leary. Even the dragons and giant scorpions ran away when she came close.
When I
finally tracked her down, she wasn't using the facilities. She was in a
familiar clearing where
the Council
of Cloven Elders had once put Grover on trial. The place didn't look so good.
The grass had
turned
yellow. The three topiary thrones had lost all their leaves. But that's not
what surprised me. In the
middle of
the glade stood the weirdest trio I'd ever seen: Juniper the tree nymph, Nico
di Angelo, and a
very old,
very fat satyr.
Nico was
the only one who didn't seem freaked out by Mrs. O'Leary's appearance. He
looked pretty
much like
I'd seen him in my dream—an aviator's jacket, black jeans, and a T-shirt with
dancing skeletons
on it, like
one of those Day of the Dead pictures. His Stygian iron sword hung at his side.
He was only
twelve, but
he looked much older and sadder.
He nodded
when he saw me, then went back to scratching Mrs. O'Leary's ears. She sniffed
his legs
like he was
the most interesting thing since rib-eye steaks. Being the son of Hades, he'd
probably been
traveling
in all sorts of hellhound-friendly places.
The old
satyr didn't look nearly so happy. "Will someone—what is this underworld creature
doing in
my
forest!" He waved his arms and trotted on his hooves as if the grass were
hot. "You there, Percy
Jackson! Is
this your beast?"
"Sorry,
Leneus," I said. "That's your name, right?"
The satyr
rolled his eyes. His fur was dust-bunny gray, and a spiderweb grew between his
horns. His
belly
would've made him an invincible bumper car. "Well, of course I'm Leneus.
Don't tell me you've
forgotten a
member of the Council so quickly. Now, call off your beast!"
"WOOF!" Mrs.
O'Leary said happily.
The old
satyr gulped. "Make it go away! Juniper, I will not help you under these
circumstances!"
Juniper
turned toward me. She was pretty in a dryad-y way, with her purple gossamer
dress and her
elfish
face, but her eyes were green-tinted with chlorophyll from crying.
"Percy,"
she sniffled. "I was just asking about Grover. I know something's
happened. He wouldn't stay
gone this
long if he wasn't in trouble. I was hoping that Leneus—"
"I
told you!" the satyr protested. "You are better off without that
traitor."
Juniper
stamped her foot. "He is not a traitor! He's the bravest satyr ever, and I
want to know where
he
is!"
"WOOF!"
Leneus's knees
started knocking. "I . . . I won't answer questions with this hellhound
sniffing my tail!"
Nico looked
like he was trying to not crack up. "I'll walk the dog," he
volunteered.
He
whistled, and Mrs. O'Leary bounded after him to the far end of the grove.
Leneus
huffed indignantly and brushed the twigs off his shirt. "Now, as I was
trying to explain, young
lady, your
boyfriend has not sent any
reports since we voted him into exile."
"You tried to
vote him into exile," I corrected. "Chiron and Dionysus stopped
you."
"Bah!
They are honorary
Council members. It wasn't a proper vote."
"I'll
tell Dionysus you said that."
Leneus
paled. "I only meant . . . Now see here, Jackson. This is none of your
business."
"Grover's
my friend," I said. "He wasn't lying to you about Pan's death. I saw
it myself. You were just
too scared
to accept the truth."
Leneus's
lips quivered. "No! Grover's a liar and good riddance. We're better off
without him."
I pointed
at the withered thrones. "If things are going so well, where are your
friends? Looks like your
Council
hasn't been meeting lately."
"Maron
and Silenus . . . I . . . I'm sure they'll be back," he said, but I could
hear the panic in his voice.
"They're
just taking some time off to think. It's been a very unsettling year.
"It's
going to get a lot more unsettling," I promised. "Leneus, we need Grover.
There's got to be a way
you can
find him with your magic."
The old
satyr's eye twitched. "I'm telling you, I've heard nothing. Perhaps he's
dead."
Juniper
choked back a sob.
"He's
not dead," I said. "I can feel that much."
"Empathy
links," Leneus said disdainfully. "Very unreliable."
"So
ask around," I insisted. "Find him. There's a war coming. Grover was
preparing the nature
spirits."
"Without
my permission! And it's not our
war."
I grabbed
him by the shirt, which seriously wasn't like me, but the stupid old goat was
making me
mad.
"Listen, Leneus. When Kronos attacks, he's going to have packs of
hellhounds. He's going to
destroy
everything in his path—mortals, gods, demigods. Do you think he'll let the
satyrs go free? You're
supposed to
be a leader. So LEAD. Get out there and see what's happening. Find Grover and
bring
Juniper
some news. Now, GO!"
I didn't
push him very hard, but he was kind of top-heavy. He fell on his furry rump,
then scrambled
to his
hooves and ran away with his belly jiggling. "Grover will never be
accepted! He will die an
outcast!"
When he'd
disappeared into the bushes, Juniper wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry, Percy. I
didn't mean to get
you
involved. Leneus is still a lord of the Wild. You don't want to make an enemy
of him."
"No
problem," I said. "I've got worse enemies than overweight
satyrs."
Nico walked
back to us. "Good job, Percy. Judging from the trail of goat pellets, I'd
say you shook
him up
pretty well."
I was
afraid I knew why Nico was here, but I tried for a smile. "Welcome back.
Did you come by just
to see
Juniper?"
He blushed.
"Um, no. That was an accident. I kind of . . . dropped into the middle of
their
conversation."
"He
scared us to death!" Juniper said. "Right out of the shadows. But,
Nico, you are the
son of Hades
and all.
Are you sure you haven't heard anything about Grover?"
Nico
shifted his weight. "Juniper, like I tried to tell you . . . even if
Grover died, he would reincarnate
into
something else in nature. I can't sense things like that, only mortal
souls."
"But
if you do hear
anything?" she pleaded, putting her hand on his arm. "Anything at
all?"
Nico's
cheeks got even brighter red. "Uh, you bet. I'll keep my ears open."
"We'll
find him, Juniper," I promised. "Grover's alive, I'm sure. There must
be a simple reason why
he hasn't
contacted us."
She nodded
glumly. "I hate not being able to leave the forest. He could be anywhere,
and I'm stuck
here
waiting. Oh, if that silly goat has gotten himself hurt—"
Mrs.
O'Leary bounded back over and took an interest in Juniper's dress.
Juniper
yelped. "Oh, no you don't! I know about dogs and trees. I'm gone!"
She went poof into
green mist. Mrs. O'Leary looked disappointed, but she lumbered off to find
another
target, leaving Nico and me alone.
Nico tapped
his sword on the ground. A tiny mound of animal bones erupted from the dirt.
They knit
themselves
together into a skeletal field mouse and scampered off. "I was sorry to
hear about
Beckendorf."
A lump formed
in my throat. "How did you—"
"I
talked to his ghost."
"Oh .
. . right." I'd never get used to the fact that this twelve-year-old kid
spent more time talking with
the dead
than the living. "Did he say anything?"
"He
doesn't blame you. He figured you'd be beating yourself up, and he said you
shouldn't."
"Is he
going to try for rebirth?"
Nico shook
his head. "He's staying in Elysium. Said he's waiting for someone. Not
sure what he
meant, but
he seems okay with death."
It wasn't
much comfort, but it was something.
"I had
a vision you were on Mount Tarn," I told Nico. "Was that—"
"Real,"
he said. "I didn't mean to be spying on the Titans, but I was in the
neighborhood."
"Doing
what?"
Nico tugged
at his sword belt. "Following a lead on . . . you know, my family."
I nodded. I
knew his past was a painful subject. Until two years ago, he and his sister
Bianca had been
frozen in
time at a place called the Lotus Hotel and Casino. They'd been there for like
seventy years.
Eventually
a mysterious lawyer rescued them and checked them into a boarding school, but
Nico had no
memories of
his life before the casino. He didn't know anything about his mother. He didn't
know who the
lawyer was,
or why they'd been frozen in time or allowed to go free. After Bianca died and
left Nico
alone, he'd
been obsessed with finding answers.
"So
how did it go?" I asked. "Any luck?"
"No,"
he murmured. "But I may have a new lead soon."
"What's
the lead?"
Nico chewed
his lip. "That's not important right now. You know why I'm here."
A feeling of
dread started to build in my chest. Ever since Nico first proposed his plan for
beating
Kronos last
summer, I'd had nightmares about it. He would show up occasionally and press me
for an
answer, but
I kept putting him off.
"Nico,
I don't know," I said. "It seems pretty extreme."
"You've
got Typhon coming in, what . . . a week? Most of the other Titans are unleashed
now and on
Kronos's
side. Maybe it's time to think extreme."
I looked
back toward the camp. Even from this distance I could hear the Ares and Apollo
campers
fighting
again, yelling curses and spouting bad poetry.
"They're
no match for the Titan army," Nico said. "You know that. This comes
down to you and
Luke. And
there's only one way you can beat Luke."
I
remembered the fight on the Princess
Andromeda. I'd been hopelessly outmatched. Kronos
had
almost
killed me with a single cut to my arm, and I couldn't even wound him. Riptide
had glanced right
off his
skin.
"We
can give you the same power," Nico urged. "You heard the Great
Prophecy. Unless you want to
have your
soul reaped by a cursed blade . . ."
I wondered
how Nico had heard the prophecy— probably from some ghost.
"You
can't prevent a prophecy," I said.
"But
you can fight it." Nico had a strange, hungry light m his eyes. "You
can become invincible."
"Maybe
we should wait. Try to fight without—"
"No!"
Nico snarled. "It has to be now!"
I stared at
him. I hadn't seen his temper flare like that in a long time. "Urn, you
sure you're okay?"
He took a
deep breath. "Percy, all I mean . . . when the fighting starts, we won't
be able to make the
journey.
This is our last chance. I'm sorry if I'm being too pushy, but two years ago my
sister gave her life
to protect
you. I want you to honor that. Do whatever it takes to stay alive and defeat
Kronos."
I didn't
like the idea. Then I thought about Annabeth calling me a coward, and I got
angry.
Nico had a
point. If Kronos attacked New York, the campers would be no match for his
forces. I had
to do
something. Nico's way was dangerous—maybe even deadly. But it might give me a
fighting edge.
"All
right," I decided. "What do we do first?"
His cold
creepy smile made me sorry I'd agreed. "First we'll need to retrace Luke's
steps. We need to
know more
about his past, his childhood."
I
shuddered, thinking about Rachel's picture from my dream—a smiling
nine-year-old Luke. "Why do
we need to
know about that?"
"I'll
explain when we get there," Nico said. "I've already tracked down his
mother. She lives in
Connecticut."
I stared at
him. I'd never thought much about Luke's mortal parent. I'd met his dad,
Hermes, but his
mom . . .
"Luke
ran away when he was really young," I said. "I didn't think his mom
was alive."
"Oh,
she's alive." The way he said it made me wonder what was wrong with her.
What kind of
horrible
person could she be?
"Okay
. . ." I said. "So how do we get to Connecticut? I can call
Blackjack—"
"No."
Nico scowled. "Pegasi don't like me, and the feeling is mutual. But
there's no need for flying."
He
whistled, and Mrs. O'Leary came loping out of the woods.
"Your
friend here can help." Nico patted her head. "You haven't tried
shadow travel yet?"
"Shadow
travel?"
Nico
whispered in Mrs. O'Leary's ear. She tilted her head, suddenly alert.
"Hop
on board," Nico told me.
I'd never
considered riding a dog before, bur Mrs. O'Leary was certainly big enough. I
climbed onto
her back
and held her collar.
"This
will make her very tired," Nico warned, "so you can't do it often.
And it works best at night. But
all shadows
are part of the same substance. There is only one darkness, and creatures of
the Underworld
can use it
as a road, or a door."
"I
don't understand," I said.
"No,"
Nico said. "It took me a long time to learn. But Mrs. O'Leary knows. Tell
her where to go. Tell
her
Westport, the home of May Castellan."
"You're
not coming?"
"Don't
worry," he said. "I'll meet you there."
I was a
little nervous, but I leaned down to Mrs. O'Leary's ear. "Okay, girl. Uh,
can you take me to
Westport,
Connecticut? May Castellan's place?"
Mrs.
O'Leary sniffed the air. She looked into the gloom of the forest. Then she
bounded forward,
straight
into an oak tree.
Just before
we hit, we passed into shadows as cold as the dark side of the moon.
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