The Trials of Apollo, Book Three: The Burning Maze

by Rick Riordan

  “Die,” I repeated.

  “Yeah.”

  “Not disappear, not wouldn’t come back, not suffer defeat.”

  “Nope. Die. Or more accurately, three letters, starts with D.”

  “Not dad, then,” I suggested. “Or dog.”

  One fine blond eyebrow crept above the rim of his glasses. “If you seek out the emperor, one of you will dog? No, Apollo, the word was die.”

  “Still, that could mean many things. It could mean a trip to the Underworld. It could mean a death such as Leo suffered, where you pop right back to life. It could mean—”

  “Now you’re being evasive,” Jason said. “The Sibyl meant death. Final. Real. No replays. You had to be there. The way she said it. Unless you happen to have an extra vial of the physician’s cure in your pockets…”

  He knew very well I did not. The physician’s cure, which had brought Leo Valdez back to life, was only available from my son Asclepius, god of medicine. And since Asclepius wanted to avoid an all-out war with Hades, he rarely gave out free samples. As in never. Leo had been the first lucky recipient in four thousand years. He would likely be the last.

  “Still…” I fumbled for alternate theories and loopholes. I hated thinking of permanent death. As an immortal, I was a conscientious objector. As good as your afterlife experience might be (and most of them were not good), life was better. The warmth of the actual sun, the vibrant colors of the upper world, the cuisine…really, even Elysium had nothing to compare.

  Jason’s stare was unrelenting. I suspected that in the weeks since his talk with Herophile, he had run every scenario. He was well past the bargaining stage in dealing with this prophecy. He had accepted that death meant death, the way Piper McLean had accepted that Oklahoma meant Oklahoma.

  I didn’t like that. Jason’s calmness again reminded me of Fred Rogers, but in an exasperating way. How could anyone be so accepting and levelheaded all the time? Sometimes I just wanted him to get mad, to scream and throw his loafers across the room.

  “Let’s assume you’re correct,” I said. “You didn’t tell Piper the truth because—?”

  “You know what happened to her dad.” Jason studied the calluses on his hands, proof he had not let his sword skills atrophy. “Last year when we saved him from the fire giant on Mount Diablo…Mr. McLean’s mind wasn’t in good shape. Now, with all the stress of the bankruptcy and everything else, can you imagine what would happen if he lost his daughter too?”

  I recalled the disheveled movie star wandering his driveway, searching for imaginary coins. “Yes, but you can’t know how the prophecy will unfold.”

  “I can’t let it unfold with Piper dying. She and her dad are scheduled to leave town at the end of the week. She’s actually…I don’t know if excited is the right word, but she’s relieved to get out of LA. Ever since I’ve known her, the thing she’s wanted most is more time with her dad. Now they have a chance to start over. She can help her dad find some peace. Maybe find some peace herself.”

  His voice caught—perhaps with guilt, or regret, or fear.

  “You wanted to get her safely out of town,” I deduced. “Then you planned to find the emperor yourself.”

  Jason shrugged. “Well, with you and Meg. I knew you’d be coming to find me. Herophile said so. If you’d just waited another week—”

  “Then what?” I demanded. “You would’ve let us lead you cheerily off to your death? How would that have affected Piper’s peace of mind, once she found out?”

  Jason’s ears reddened. It struck me just how young he was—no more than seventeen. Older than my mortal form, yes, but not by much. This young man had lost his mother. He had survived the harsh training of Lupa the wolf goddess. He’d grown up with the discipline of the Twelfth Legion at Camp Jupiter. He’d fought Titans and giants. He’d helped save the world at least twice. But by mortal standards, he was barely an adult. He wasn’t old enough to vote or drink.

  Despite all his experiences, was it fair of me to expect him to think logically, and consider everyone else’s feelings with perfect clarity, while pondering his own death?

  I tried to soften my tone. “You don’t want Piper to die. I understand that. She wouldn’t want you to die. But avoiding prophecies never works. And keeping secrets from friends, especially deadly secrets…that really never works. It’ll be our job to face Caligula together, steal that homicidal maniac’s shoes, and get away without any five-letter words that start with D.”

  The scar ticked at the corner of Jason’s mouth. “Donut?”

  “You’re horrible,” I said, but some of the tension dissolved between my shoulder blades. “Are you ready?”

  He glanced at the photo of his sister Thalia, then at the model of Temple Hill. “If anything happens to me—”

  “Stop.”

  “If it does, if I can’t keep my promise to Kymopoleia, would you take my mock-up design to Camp Jupiter? The sketchbooks for new temples at both camps—they’re right there on the shelf.”

  “You’ll take them yourself,” I insisted. “Your new shrines will honor the gods. It’s too worthy a project not to succeed.”

  He picked a shard of lightbulb glass off the roof of the Zeus hotel token. “Worthy doesn’t always matter. Like what happened to you. Have you talked to Dad since…?”

  He had the decency not to elaborate: Since you landed in the garbage as a flabby sixteen-year-old with no redeeming qualities.

  I swallowed back the taste of copper. From the depths of my small mortal mind, my father’s words rumbled: YOUR FAULT. YOUR PUNISHMENT.

  “Zeus hasn’t spoken to me since I became mortal,” I said. “Before that, my memory is fuzzy. I remember the battle last summer at the Parthenon. I remember Zeus zapping me. After that, until the moment I woke up plummeting through the sky in January—it’s a blank.”

  “I know that feeling, having six months of your life taken away.” He gave me a pained look. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

  “What could you have done?”

  “I mean at the Parthenon. I tried to talk sense into Zeus. I told him he was wrong to punish you. He wouldn’t listen.”

  I stared at him blankly, whatever remained of my natural eloquence clogged in my throat. Jason Grace had done what?

  Zeus had many children, which meant I had many half brothers and half sisters. Except for my twin, Artemis, I’d never felt close to any of them. Certainly, I’d never had a brother defend me in front of Father. My Olympian brethren were more likely to deflect Zeus’s fury by yelling Apollo did it!

  This young demigod had stood up for me. He’d had no reason to do so. He barely knew me. Yet he’d risked his own life and faced the wrath of Zeus.

  My first thought was to scream ARE YOU INSANE?

  Then more appropriate words came to me. “Thank you.”

  Jason took me by the shoulders—not out of anger, or in a clinging way, but as a brother. “Promise me one thing. Whatever happens, when you get back to Olympus, when you’re a god again, remember. Remember what it’s like to be human.”

  A few weeks ago, I would have scoffed. Why would I want to remember any of this?

  At best, if I were lucky enough to reclaim my divine throne, I would recall this wretched experience like a scary B-movie that had finally ended. I would walk out of the cinema into the sunlight, thinking Phew! Glad that’s over.

  Now, however, I had some inkling of what Jason meant. I had learned a lot about human frailty and human strength. I felt…different toward mortals, having been one of them. If nothing else, it would provide me with some excellent inspiration for new song lyrics!

  I was reluctant to promise anything, though. I was already living under the curse of one broken oath. At Camp Half-Blood, I had rashly sworn on the River Styx not to use my archery or music skills until I was a god again. Then I had quickly reneged. Ever since, my skills had deteriorated.

  I was sure the vengeful spirit of the River Styx wasn’t done with me. I could almo
st feel her scowling at me from the Underworld: What right do you have to promise anything to anyone, oath-breaker?

  But how could I not try? It was the least I could do for this brave mortal who had stood up for me when no one else would.

  “I promise,” I told Jason. “I will try my utmost to remember my human experience, as long as you promise to tell Piper the truth about the prophecy.”

  Jason patted my shoulders. “Deal. Speaking of which, the girls are probably waiting.”

  “One more thing,” I blurted out. “About Piper. It’s just…you seem like such a good power couple. Did you really—did you break up with her to make it easier for her to leave LA?”

  Jason stared at me with those azure eyes. “Did she tell you that?”

  “No,” I admitted. “But Mellie seemed, ah, upset with you.”

  Jason considered. “I’m okay with Mellie blaming me. It’s probably better.”

  “Do you mean it’s not true?”

  In Jason’s eyes, I saw just a hint of desolation—like wildfire smoke momentarily obliterating a blue sky. I remembered Medea’s words: The truth was enough to break Jason Grace.

  “Piper ended it,” he said quietly. “That was months ago, way before the Burning Maze. Now, come on. Let’s go find Caligula.”

  ALAS for us and Mr. Bedrossian, there was no sign of the Cadillac Escalade on the street where we’d parked.

  “We’ve been towed,” Piper announced casually, as if this was a regular occurrence for her.

  She returned to the school’s front office. A few minutes later, she emerged from the front gates driving Edgarton’s green-and-gold van.

  She rolled down the window. “Hey, kids. Want to go on a field trip?”

  As we pulled away, Jason glanced nervously in the passenger-side rearview mirror, perhaps worried the security guard would give chase and demand we get signed permission slips before leaving campus to kill a Roman emperor. But no one followed us.

  “Where to?” Piper asked when we reached the highway.

  “Santa Barbara,” Jason said.

  Piper frowned, as if this answer was only slightly more surprising than Uzbekistan. “Okay.”

  She followed the signs for Highway 101 West.

  For once, I hoped traffic would be jammed. I was not in a hurry to see Caligula. Instead, the roads were nearly empty. It was like the Southern California freeway system had heard me complaining and was now out for revenge.

  Oh, go right ahead, Apollo! Highway 101 seemed to say. We estimate an easy commute to your humiliating death!

  Next to me in the backseat, Meg drummed her fingers on her knees. “How much farther?”

  I was only vaguely familiar with Santa Barbara. I hoped Jason would tell us it was far away—just past the North Pole, maybe. Not that I wanted to be stuck in a van with Meg that long, but at least then we could stop by Camp Jupiter and pick up a squadron of heavily armed demigods.

  “About two hours,” Jason said, dashing my hopes. “Northwest, along the coast. We’re going to Stearns Wharf.”

  Piper turned to him. “You’ve been there?”

  “I…Yeah. Just scouting the place with Tempest.”

  “Tempest?” I asked.

  “His horse,” Piper said, then to Jason: “You went scouting there alone?”

  “Well, Tempest is a ventus,” Jason said, ignoring Piper’s question.

  Meg stopped drumming her knees. “Like those windy things Medea had?”

  “Except Tempest is friendly,” Jason said. “I kind of…not tamed him, exactly, but we made friends. He’ll show up when I call, usually, and let me ride him.”

  “A wind horse.” Meg pondered the idea, no doubt weighing its merits against her own demonic diaper-wearing peach baby. “I guess that’s cool.”

  “Back to the question,” Piper said. “Why did you decide to scout Stearns Wharf?”

  Jason looked so uncomfortable I feared he might blow out the van’s electrical systems.

  “The Sibyl,” he said at last. “She told me I would find Caligula there. It’s one of the places where he stops.”

  Piper tilted her head. “Where he stops?”

  “His palace isn’t a palace, exactly,” Jason said. “We’re looking for a boat.”

  My stomach dropped out and took the nearest exit back toward Palm Springs. “Ah,” I said.

  “Ah?” Meg asked. “Ah, what?”

  “Ah, that makes sense,” I said. “In ancient times, Caligula was notorious for his pleasure barges—huge floating palaces with bathhouses, theaters, rotating statues, racetracks, thousands of slaves….”

  I remembered how disgusted Poseidon had been, watching Caligula tootle around the Bay of Baiae, though I think Poseidon was just jealous his palace didn’t have rotating statues.

  “Anyway,” I said, “that explains why you’ve had trouble locating him. He can move from harbor to harbor at will.”

  “Yeah,” Jason agreed. “When I scouted, he wasn’t there. I guess the Sibyl meant I’d find him at Stearns Wharf when I was supposed to find him. Which, I guess, is today.” He shifted in his seat, leaning as far away as possible from Piper. “Speaking of the Sibyl…there’s another detail I didn’t share with you about the prophecy.”

  He told Piper the truth about the three-letter word that began with D and was not dog.

  She took the news surprisingly well. She did not hit him. She didn’t raise her voice. She merely listened, then remained silent for another mile or so.

  At last, she shook her head. “That’s quite a detail.”

  “I should’ve told you,” Jason said.

  “Um, yeah.” She twisted the steering wheel exactly the way one would break the neck of a chicken. “Still…if I’m being honest? In your position, I might’ve done the same thing. I wouldn’t want you to die either.”

  Jason blinked. “Does that mean you’re not mad?”

  “I’m furious.”

  “Oh.”

  “Furious, but also empathetic.”

  “Right.”

  It struck me how easily they talked together, even about difficult things, and how well they seemed to understand each other. I remembered Piper saying how frantic she’d been when she got separated from Jason in the Burning Maze—how she couldn’t bear to lose another friend.

  I wondered again what was behind their breakup.

  People change, Piper had said.

  Full points for vagueness, girl, but I wanted the dirt.

  “So,” she said. “Any other surprises? Any more tiny details you forgot?”

  Jason shook his head. “I think that’s it.”

  “Okay,” Piper said. “Then we go to the wharf. We find this boat. We find Caligula’s magic booties, and we kill him if we get the chance. But we don’t let each other die.”

  “Or let me die,” Meg added. “Or even Apollo.”

  “Thank you, Meg,” I said. “My heart is as warm as a partially thawed burrito.”

  “No problem.” She picked her nose, just in case she died and never got another chance. “How do we know which is the right boat?”

  “I have a feeling we’ll know,” I said. “Caligula was never subtle.”

  “Assuming the boat is there this time,” Jason said.

  “It’d better be,” said Piper. “Otherwise I stole this van and got you out of your afternoon physics lecture for nothing.”

  “Darn,” Jason said.

  They shared a guarded smile, a sort of Yes, things are still weird between us, but I don’t intend on letting you die today look.

  I hoped our expedition would go as smoothly as Piper had described. I suspected our odds were better of winning the Mount Olympus Mega-God Lottery. (The most I ever got was five drachmas on a scratcher card once.)

  We drove in silence along the seaside highway.

  To our left, the Pacific glittered. Surfers plied the waves. Palm trees bent in the breeze. To our left, the hills were dry and brown, littered with the red flowers of heat-
distressed azaleas. Try as I might, I could not help thinking of those crimson swathes as the spilled blood of dryads, fallen in battle. I remembered our cactus friends back at the Cistern, bravely and stubbornly clinging to life. I remembered Money Maker, broken and burned in the maze under Los Angeles. For their sake, I had to stop Caligula. Otherwise…No. There could be no otherwise.

  Finally, we reached Santa Barbara, and I saw why Caligula might like the place.

  If I squinted, I could imagine I was back in the Roman resort town of Baiae. The curve of the coastline was almost the same—as well as the golden beaches, the hills dotted with upscale stucco and red-tiled homes, the pleasure craft moored in the harbor. The locals even had the same sunbaked, pleasantly dazed expressions, as if they were biding their time between morning surf sessions and afternoon golf.

  The biggest difference: Mount Vesuvius did not rise in the distance. But I had a feeling another presence loomed over this lovely little town—just as dangerous and volcanic.

  “He’ll be here,” I said, as we parked the van on Cabrillo Boulevard.

  Piper arched her eyebrows. “Are you sensing a disturbance in the Force?”

  “Please,” I muttered. “I’m sensing my usual bad luck. In a place this harmless-looking, there’s no way we will not find trouble.”

  We spent the afternoon canvassing the Santa Barbara waterfront, from the East Beach to the breakwater jetties. We disrupted a flock of pelicans in the saltwater marsh. We woke some napping sea lions on the fishing dock. We jostled through roving hordes of tourists on Stearns Wharf. In the harbor, we found a virtual forest of single-mast boats, along with some luxury yachts, but none seemed large or gaudy enough for a Roman emperor.

  Jason even flew over the water for aerial reconnaissance. When he came back, he reported no suspicious vessels on the horizon.

  “Were you on your horse, Tempest, just then?” Meg asked. “I couldn’t tell.”

  Jason smiled. “Nah, I don’t call Tempest unless it’s an emergency. I was just flying around on my own, manipulating the wind.”

  Meg pouted, considering the pockets of her gardening belt. “I can summon yams.”