by Rick Riordan
PLEASE, ARTEMIS, I prayed. NOW WOULD BE A GREAT TIME TO SHOW UP.
The weapons fired. Fifty green fireballs rose into the sky, like emeralds on a floating necklace, illuminating the entire bay. They rose straight upward, struggling to gain altitude.
My fear turned to confusion. I knew a few things about flying. You couldn’t take off at a ninety-degree angle. If I tried that in the sun chariot…well, first of all, I would’ve fallen off and looked really stupid. But also, the horses could never have made such a steep climb. They would have toppled into each other and crashed back into the gates of the Sun Palace. You’d have an eastern sunrise, followed immediately by an eastern sunset and lots of angry whinnying.
Why would the mortars be aimed like that?
The green fireballs climbed another fifty feet. A hundred feet. Slowed. On Highway 24, the entire enemy army mimicked their movements, standing up straighter and straighter as the projectiles rose, until all the Germani, Khromandae, and other assorted baddies were on their tippy-toes, poised as if levitating. The fireballs stopped and hovered in midair.
Then the emeralds fell straight down, right onto the yachts from which they had come.
The display of mayhem was worthy of the emperors themselves. Fifty yachts exploded in green mushroom clouds, sending confetti of shattered wood, metal, and tiny little flaming monster bodies into the air. Caligula’s multi-billion-dollar fleet was reduced to a string of burning oil slicks on the surface of the bay.
I may have laughed. I know that was quite insensitive, considering the environmental impact of the disaster. Also terribly inappropriate, given how heartbroken I felt about Frank. But I couldn’t help it.
The enemy troops turned as one to stare at me.
Oh, right, I reminded myself. I am still facing hundreds of hostiles.
But they didn’t look very hostile. Their expressions were stunned and unsure.
I had destroyed Commodus with a shout. I had helped burn Caligula to cinders. Despite my humble appearance, the troops had probably heard rumors that I was once a god. Was it possible, they’d be wondering, that I had somehow caused the fleet’s destruction?
In point of fact, I had no idea what had gone wrong with the fleet’s weapons. I doubted it was Artemis. It just didn’t feel like something she would do. As for Lavinia…I didn’t see how she could’ve pulled off a trick like that with just some fauns, a few dryads, and some chewing gum.
I knew it wasn’t me.
But the army didn’t know that.
I cobbled together the last shreds of my courage. I channeled my old sense of arrogance, from back in the days when I loved to take credit for things I didn’t do (as long as they were good and impressive). I gave Gregorix and his army a cruel, emperor-like smile.
“BOO!” I shouted.
The troops broke and ran. They scattered down the highway in a panic, some leaping straight over the guardrails and into the void just to get away from me faster. Only the poor tortured pegasi stayed put, since they had no choice. They were still fastened in their harnesses, the chariot wheels staked to the asphalt to keep the animals from bolting. In any case, I doubted they would have wanted to follow their tormentors.
I fell to my knees. My gut wound throbbed. My charred back had gone numb. My heart seemed to be pumping cold, liquid lead. I would be dead soon. Or undead. It hardly mattered. The two emperors were gone. Their fleet was destroyed. Frank was no more.
On the bay, the burning oil pools belched columns of smoke that turned orange in the light of the blood moon. It was without a doubt the loveliest trash fire I’d ever beheld.
After a moment of shocked silence, the Bay Area emergency services seem to register the new problem. The East Bay had already been deemed a disaster area. With the tunnel closure and the mysterious string of wildfires and explosions in the hills, sirens had been wailing across the flatlands. Emergency lights flickered everywhere on the jammed streets.
Now Coast Guard vessels joined the party, cutting across the water to reach the burning oil spills. Police and news helicopters veered toward the scene from a dozen different directions as if being pulled by a magnet. The Mist would be working overtime tonight.
I was tempted to just lie down on the road and go to sleep. I knew if I did that, I would die, but at least there would be no more pain. Oh, Frank.
And why hadn’t Artemis come to help me? I wasn’t mad at her. I understood all too well how gods could be, all the different reasons they might not show up when you called. Still, it hurt, being ignored by my own sister.
An indignant huff jarred me from my thoughts. The pegasi were glaring at me. The one on the left had a blind eye, poor thing, but he shook his bridle and made a raspberry kind of sound as if to say, GET OVER YOURSELF, DUDE.
The pegasus was correct. Other people were hurting. Some of them needed my help. Tarquin was still alive—I could feel it in my zombie-infected blood. Hazel and Meg might well be fighting undead in the streets of New Rome.
I wouldn’t be much good to them, but I had to try. Either I could die with my friends, or they could cut off my head after I turned into a brain-eater, which was what friends were for.
I rose and staggered toward the pegasi.
“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” I told them. “You are beautiful animals and you deserve better.”
One Eye grunted as if to say, YA THINK?
“I’ll free you now, if you’ll let me.”
I fumbled with their tack and harness. I found an abandoned dagger on the asphalt and cut away the barbed wire and spiked cuffs that had been digging into the animals’ flesh. I carefully avoided their hooves in case they decided I was worth a kick in the head.
Then I started humming Dean Martin’s “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head,” because that’s just the kind of awful week I was having.
“There,” I said when the pegasi were free. “I have no right to ask anything of you, but if you could see your way to giving me a ride over the hills, my friends are in danger.”
The pegasus on the right, who still had both eyes but whose ears had been cruelly snipped, whinnied an emphatic NO! He trotted toward the College Avenue exit, then stopped halfway and looked back at his friend.
One Eye grunted and tossed his mane. I imagined his silent exchange with Short Ears went something like this.
One Eye: I’m gonna give this pathetic loser a ride. You go ahead. I’ll catch up.
Short Ears: You’re crazy, man. If he gives you any trouble, kick him in the head.
One Eye: You know I will.
Short Ears trotted off into the night. I couldn’t blame him for leaving. I hoped he would find a safe place to rest and heal.
One Eye nickered at me. Well?
I took one last look at the Caldecott Tunnel, the interior still a maelstrom of green flames. Even without fuel, Greek fire would just keep burning and burning, and that conflagration had been started with Frank’s life force—a final, thermal burst of heroism that had vaporized Caligula. I didn’t pretend to understand what Frank had done, or why he had made that choice, but I understood he’d felt it was the only way. He’d burned brightly, all right. The last word Caligula had heard as he got blasted into tiny particles of soot was Jason.
I stepped closer to the tunnel. I could barely get within fifty feet without the breath being sucked out of my lungs.
“FRANK!” I yelled. “FRANK?”
It was hopeless, I knew. There was no way Frank could have survived that. Caligula’s immortal body had disintegrated instantly. Frank couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds longer, held together by sheer courage and force of will, just to be sure he took Caligula down with him.
I wished I could cry. I vaguely recalled having tear ducts, once upon a time.
Now all I had was despair, and the knowledge that as long as I wasn’t dead, I had to try to help my remaining friends, no matter how much I hurt.
“I’m so sorry,” I said to the flames.
; The flames didn’t answer. They didn’t care who or what they destroyed.
I fixed my gaze on the crest of the hill. Hazel, Meg, and the last of the Twelfth Legion were on the other side, fighting off the undead. That’s where I needed to be.
“Okay,” I told One Eye. “I’m ready.”
Got two words for you:
Swiss Army unicorns, man!
Okay, that’s four words.
IF YOU EVER GET the chance to see weaponized unicorns in action, don’t. It’s something you can’t un-see.
As we got closer to the city, I detected signs of continuing battle: columns of smoke, flames licking the tops of buildings, screams, shouts, explosions. You know, the usual.
One Eye dropped me at the Pomerian Line. He snorted in a tone that said, Yeah, good luck with that, then galloped away. Pegasi are intelligent creatures.
I glanced at Temple Hill, hoping to see storm clouds gathering, or a divine aura of silver light bathing the hillside, or an army of my sister’s Hunters charging to the rescue. I saw nothing. I wondered if Ella and Tyson were still pacing around the shrine of Diana, checking the fire pit every thirty seconds to see if the Sibyl’s jelly-jar shards were cooked yet.
Once again, I had to be a cavalry of one. Sorry, New Rome. I jogged toward the Forum, which was where I caught my first glimpse of the unicorns. Definitely not the usual.
Meg herself led the charge. She was not riding a unicorn. No one who values their life (or their crotch) would ever dare ride one. But she did run alongside them, exhorting them to greatness as they galloped into battle. The beasts were outfitted in Kevlar with their names printed in white block letters along their ribs: MUFFIN, BUSTER, WHANGDOODLE, SHIRLEY, and HORATIO, the Five Unicorns of the Apocalypse. Their leather helmets reminded me of those worn by football players in the 1920s. The steeds’ horns were fitted with specially designed…What would you call them? Attachments? Imagine, if you will, massive conical Swiss Army knives, with various slots from which sprang a convenient variety of destructive implements.
Meg and her friends slammed into a horde of vrykolakai—former legionnaires killed in Tarquin’s previous assault, judging from their grungy bits of armor. A member of Camp Jupiter might have had trouble attacking old comrades, but Meg had no such qualms. Her swords whirled, slicing and dicing and making mounds and mounds of julienned zombies.
With a flick of their snouts, her equine friends activated their favorite accessories: a sword blade, a giant razor, a corkscrew, a fork, and a nail file. (Buster chose the nail file, which did not surprise me.) They plowed through the undead, forking them, corkscrewing them, stabbing them, and nail-filing them into oblivion.
You may wonder why I did not find it horrifying that Meg would use unicorns for war while I had found it horrifying that the emperors had used pegasi for their chariot. Setting aside the obvious difference—that the unicorns weren’t tortured or maimed—it was clear the one-horned steeds were enjoying themselves immensely. After centuries of being treated as delightful, fanciful creatures who frolicked in meadows and danced through rainbows, these unicorns finally felt seen and appreciated. Meg had recognized their natural talent for kicking undead posterior.
“Hey!” Meg grinned when she saw me, like I’d just come back from the bathroom instead of the brink of doomsday. “It’s working great. Unicorns are immune to undead scratches and bites!”
Shirley huffed, clearly pleased with herself. She showed me her corkscrew attachment as if to say, Yeah, that’s right. I ain’t your Rainbow Pony.
“The emperors?” Meg asked me.
“Dead. But…” My voice cracked.
Meg studied my face. She knew me well enough. She had been at my side in moments of tragedy.
Her expression darkened. “Okay. Grieve later. Right now, we should find Hazel. She’s”—Meg waved vaguely toward the middle of the town—“somewhere. So is Tarquin.”
Just hearing his name made my gut contort. Why, oh, why couldn’t I be a unicorn?
We ran with our Swiss Army herd up the narrow, winding streets. The battle was mostly pockets of house-to-house combat. Families had barricaded their homes. Shops were boarded up. Archers lurked in upper-story windows on the lookout for zombies. Roving bands of eurynomoi attacked any living thing they could find.
As horrible as the scene was, something about it seemed oddly subdued. Yes, Tarquin had flooded the city with undead. Every sewer grate and manhole cover was open. But he wasn’t attacking in force, sweeping systematically through the city to take control. Instead, small groups of undead were popping up everywhere at once, forcing the Romans to scramble and defend the citizenry. It felt less like an invasion and more like a diversion, as if Tarquin himself were after something specific and didn’t want to be bothered.
Something specific…like a set of Sibylline Books he’d paid good money for back in 530 BCE.
My heart pumped more cold lead. “The bookstore. Meg, the bookstore!”
She frowned, perhaps wondering why I wanted to shop for books at a time like this. Then realization dawned in her eyes. “Oh.”
She picked up speed, running so fast the unicorns had to break into a trot. How I managed to keep up, I don’t know. I suppose, at that point, my body was so far beyond help it just said, Run to death? Yeah, okay. Whatever.
The fighting intensified as we climbed the hill. We passed part of the Fourth Cohort battling a dozen slavering ghouls outside a sidewalk café. From the windows above, small children and their parents were tossing things at the eurynomoi—rocks, pots, pans, bottles—while the legionnaires jabbed their spears over the tops of their locked shields.
A few blocks farther on, we found Terminus, his World War I greatcoat peppered with shrapnel holes, his nose broken clean off his marble face. Crouching behind his pedestal was a little girl—his helper, Julia, I presumed—clutching a steak knife.
Terminus turned on us with such fury I feared he would zap us into stacks of customs declaration forms.
“Oh, it’s you,” he grumbled. “My borders have failed. I hope you’ve brought help.”
I looked at the terrified girl behind him, feral and fierce and ready to spring. I wondered who was protecting whom. “Ah…maybe?”
The old god’s face hardened a bit more, which shouldn’t have been possible for stone. “I see. Well. I’ve concentrated the last bits of my power here, around Julia. They may destroy New Rome, but they will not harm this girl!”
“Or this statue!” said Julia.
My heart turned to Smucker’s jelly. “We’ll win today, I promise.” Somehow I made it sound like I actually believed that statement. “Where’s Hazel?”
“Over there!” Terminus pointed with his nonexistent arms. Based on his glance (I couldn’t go by his nose anymore), I assumed he meant to the left. We ran in that direction until we found another cluster of legionnaires.
“Where’s Hazel?” Meg yelled.
“That way!” shouted Leila. “Two blocks maybe!”
“Thanks!” Meg sprinted on with her unicorn honor guard, their nail file and corkscrew attachments at the ready.
We found Hazel just where Leila had predicted—two blocks down, where the street widened into a neighborhood piazza. She and Arion were surrounded by zombies in the middle of the square, outnumbered about twenty to one. Arion didn’t look particularly alarmed, but he grunted and whinnied in frustration, unable to use his speed in such close quarters. Hazel slashed away with her spatha while Arion kicked at the mob to keep them back.
No doubt Hazel could’ve handled the situation without help, but our unicorns couldn’t resist the opportunity for more zombie-posterior-kicking. They crashed into the fray, slicing and bottle-opening and tweezing the undead in an awesome display of multifunction carnage.
Meg leaped into battle, her twin blades spinning. I scanned the street for abandoned projectile weapons. Sadly, they were easy to find. I scooped up a bow and quiver and went to work, giving the zombies some very fashionable sk
ull-piercings.
When Hazel realized it was us, she laughed with relief, then scanned the area behind me, probably looking for Frank. I met her eyes. I’m afraid my expression told her everything she didn’t want to hear.
Emotions rippled across her face: utter disbelief, desolation, then anger. She yelled in rage, spurring Arion, and plowed through the last of the zombie mob. They never had a chance.
Once the piazza was secure, Hazel cantered up to me. “What happened?”
“I…Frank…The emperors…”
That’s all I could manage. It wasn’t much of a narrative, but she seemed to get the gist.
She doubled over until her forehead touched Arion’s mane. She rocked and murmured, clutching her wrist like a ballplayer who had just broken her hand and was trying to fight down the pain. At last she straightened. She took a shaky breath. She dismounted, wrapped her arms around Arion’s neck, and whispered something in his ear.
The horse nodded. Hazel stepped back and he raced away—a streak of white heading west toward the Caldecott Tunnel. I wanted to warn Hazel there was nothing to find there, but I didn’t. I understood heartache a little better now. Each person’s grief has its own life span; it needs to follow its own path.
“Where can we find Tarquin?” she demanded. What she meant was: Who can I kill to make myself feel better?
I knew the answer was No one. But again, I didn’t argue with her. Like a fool, I led the way to the bookstore to confront the undead king.
Two eurynomoi stood guard at the entrance, which I assumed meant Tarquin was already inside. I prayed Tyson and Ella were still on Temple Hill.
With a flick of her hand, Hazel summoned two precious stones from the ground: Rubies? Fire opals? They shot past me so fast, I couldn’t be sure. They hit the ghouls right between the eyes, reducing each guard to a pile of dust. The unicorns looked disappointed—both because they couldn’t use their combat utensils, and because they realized we were going through a doorway too small for them to follow.
“Go find other enemies,” Meg told them. “Enjoy!”