The Tower of Nero

by Rick Riordan

  “Come on,” I muttered, trying again, hoping for a burst of godly strength. “If you need another immortal life as a sacrifice, I’m right here!”

  Maybe I should have felt foolish negotiating with a Roman ceremonial ax, but after my conversations with the Arrow of Dodona, it seemed like a reasonable thing to try.

  The troglodytes made the Germani look like the bumbling team the Harlem Globetrotters always played. (Sorry, Washington Generals.) Lu sliced and poked and parried with her knife hands. Rachel stood protectively in front of me and occasionally muttered, “Apollo, now would be good,” which I did not find helpful.

  Meg still had her foster siblings under control for the time being, but that could change. She was talking to them encouragingly, gesturing to me with a look that said Apollo has this. He’ll destroy Dad any minute. Just watch.

  I wished I shared her certainty.

  I took a shaky breath. “I can do this. I just need to concentrate. How hard can it be to destroy myself?”

  I tried to break the fasces over my knee, which nearly broke my knee.

  At last Nero lost his cool. I supposed there was only so much satisfaction he could get from stomping on his sofa and screaming at his minions.

  “Do I have to do everything myself?” he yelled. “Do I have to kill you all? You forget I AM A GOD!”

  He jumped off his couch and marched straight toward me, his whole body starting to glow, because Will Solace couldn’t have his own thing. Oh, no, Nero had to glow, too.

  Trogs swarmed the emperor. He tossed them aside. Germani who didn’t get out of his way fast enough were also thrown into the next time zone. Meg looked like she wanted to challenge Nero herself, but any move away from her foster siblings would have shattered their delicate standoff. Nico was still only half-conscious. Will was busy trying to revive him.

  That left Lu and Rachel as my last line of defense. I couldn’t have that. They’d been in harm’s way for my sake enough already.

  Nero might’ve been the most minor of minor gods, but he still had divine strength. His glow was getting brighter as he approached the fasces—like Will, like me in my own godly moments of rage.…

  A thought came to me—or maybe something deeper than a thought, a sort of instinctive recognition. Like Caligula, Nero had always wanted to be the new sun god. He’d designed his giant golden Colossus to look like my body with his head on it. This fasces wasn’t just his symbol of power and immortality—it was his claim to godhood.

  What had he asked me earlier…? Are you worthy of being a god?

  That was the central question. He believed he made a better deity than I did. Perhaps he was right, or perhaps neither of us was worthy. There was one way to find out. If I couldn’t destroy the fasces myself, maybe with a little godly help…

  “Get out of the way!” I told Lu and Rachel.

  They glanced back at me like I was crazy.

  “RUN!” I told them.

  They broke to either side just before Nero would have plowed through them.

  The emperor stopped in front of me, his eyes flickering with power.

  “You lose,” he said. “Give it to me.”

  “Take it if you can.” I began to glow myself. Radiance intensified around me, as it had months ago in Indianapolis, but slower this time, building to a crescendo. The fasces pulsed in sympathy, beginning to superheat. Nero snarled and grabbed the handle of the ax.

  To our mutual surprise, the strength of my grip was equal to his. We played tug-of-war, swinging the blade back and forth, trying to kill each other, but neither of us could win. The glow around us increased like a feedback loop—bleaching the carpet under our feet, whitening the black marble columns. Germani had to stop fighting just to shield their eyes. Trogs screamed and retreated, their dark goggles insufficient protection.

  “You—cannot—take—it, Lester!” Nero said through clenched teeth, pulling with all his might.

  “I am Apollo,” I said, tugging the other direction. “God of the sun. And I—revoke—your—divinity!”

  The fasces cracked in two—the shaft shattering, the rods and golden blade exploding like a firebomb. A tsunami of flames washed over me, along with thousands of years of Nero’s pent-up rage, fear, and insatiable hunger—the twisted sources of his power. I stood my ground, but Nero hurtled backward and landed on the carpet, his clothes smoldering, his skin mottled with burns.

  My glow started to fade. I was unharmed…or at least, no more harmed than I’d been before.

  The fasces was broken, but Nero remained alive and intact. Had all this been for nothing, then?

  At least he wasn’t gloating anymore. Instead, the emperor sobbed in despair. “What have you done? Don’t you see?”

  Only then did he begin to crumble. His fingers disintegrated. His toga frayed into smoke. A glittery cloud plumed from his mouth and nose, as if he were exhaling his life-force along with his final breaths. Worst of all—this glitter didn’t simply vanish. It poured downward, seeping into the Persian rug, worming into cracks between the floor tiles, almost as if Nero were being pulled—clawed and dragged—into the depths, piece by piece.

  “You’ve given him victory,” he whimpered. “You’ve—”

  The last of his mortal form dissolved and soaked through the floor.

  Everyone in the room stared at me. The Germani dropped their weapons.

  Nero was finally gone.

  I wanted to feel joy and relief, but all I felt was exhaustion.

  “Is it over?” Lu asked.

  Rachel stood next to me, but her voice seemed to come from very far away: “Not yet. Not even close.”

  My consciousness was dimming, but I knew she was right. I understood the real threat now. I had to get going. There was no time to waste.

  Instead, I toppled into Rachel’s arms and passed out.

  I found myself hovering over a different throne room—the Council of the Gods on Mount Olympus. Thrones curved around Hestia’s great hearth, forming a U. My family, such as they were, sat watching a holographic image that floated above the flames. It was me, lying passed out in Rachel’s arms in Nero’s tower.

  So…I was watching them watch me watch them.…Nope. Too meta.

  “This is the most critical time,” Athena said. She was dressed in her usual armor and oversize helmet, which I’m pretty sure she stole from Marvin the Martian in Looney Tunes. “He is perilously close to failure.”

  “Hmph.” Ares sat back and crossed his arms. “I wish he’d get on with it, then. I have twenty golden drachma riding on this.”

  “That is so callous,” Hermes chided. “Besides, it’s thirty drachmas, and I gave you very good odds.” He pulled out a leather-bound notepad and a pencil. “Any final bets, people?”

  “Stop,” Zeus rumbled. He was dressed in a somber black three-piece suit, as if on his way to my funeral. His shaggy black beard was freshly combed and oiled. His eyes flickered with subdued lightning. He almost looked concerned for my situation.

  Then again, he was as good an actor as Nero.

  “We must wait for the final battle,” he announced. “The worst is yet to come.”

  “Hasn’t he proved himself already?” Artemis demanded. My heart ached, seeing my sister again. “He’s suffered more in these last few months than even you could have expected! Whatever lesson you were trying to teach him, dear Father, he’s learned it!”

  Zeus glowered. “You do not understand all the forces at work here, Daughter. Apollo must face the final challenge, for all our sakes.”

  Hephaestus sat forward in his mechanical recliner, adjusting his leg braces. “And if he fails, what then? Eleven Olympian gods? That’s a terribly unbalanced number.”

  “It could work,” Aphrodite said.

  “Don’t you start!” Artemis snapped.

  Aphrodite batted her eyelashes, feigning innocence. “What? I’m just saying some pantheons have way less than twelve. Or we could elect a new twelfth.”

  “A god
of climate disasters!” Ares suggested. “That would be awesome. He and I could work well together!”

  “Stop it, all of you.” Queen Hera had been sitting back with a dark veil over her face. Now she lifted it. To my surprise, her eyes were red and swollen. She had been crying. “This has gone on long enough. Too much loss. Too much pain. But if my husband insists on seeing it through, the least you all can do is not talk about Apollo as if he’s already dead!”

  Wow, I thought. Who is this woman and what has she done with my stepmother?

  “Nonexistent,” Athena amended. “If he fails, his fate will be much worse than death. But whatever happens, it begins now.”

  They all leaned forward, staring at the vision in the flames as my body began to stir.

  Then I was back in my mortal form, looking up not at the Olympians, but at the faces of my friends.

  “I WAS DREAMING…” I POINTED WEAKLY at Meg. “And you weren’t there. Neither were you, Lu. Or Nico and Will…”

  Will and Nico exchanged worried looks, no doubt wondering if I had suffered brain damage.

  “We need to get you to camp,” Will said. “I’ll get one of the pegasi—”

  “No.” I struggled to sit up. “I—I have to leave.”

  Lu snorted. “Look at yourself, buddy. You’re in worse shape than I am.”

  She was right, of course. At the moment, I doubted my hands were working as well as Lu’s dagger attachments. My whole body shook with exhaustion. My muscles felt like worn-out tension cords. I had more cuts and bruises than the average rugby team. Nevertheless…

  “I have no choice,” I said. “Nectar, please? And supplies. More arrows. My bow.”

  “He’s right, unfortunately,” Rachel said. “Python…” She clenched her jaw as if forcing down a belch of serpent prophecy gas. “Python is getting stronger by the second.”

  Everyone looked grim, but no one argued. After all we’d been through, why would they? My confrontation with Python was just another impossible task in a day of impossible tasks.

  “I’ll gather some supplies.” Rachel kissed my forehead, then dashed off.

  “Bow and quiver coming up,” Nico said.

  “And ukulele,” Will added.

  Nico winced. “Do we really hate Python that much?”

  Will raised an eyebrow.

  “Fine.” Nico dashed off without kissing me on the forehead, which was just as well. He couldn’t have reached my forehead with the massive brim of his cowboy hat.

  Lu glowered at me. “You did good, cellmate.”

  Was I crying? Had there been any point in the last twenty-four hours when I hadn’t been crying? “Lu…You’re good people. I’m sorry I mistrusted you.”

  “Eh.” She waved one of her daggers. “That’s okay. I thought you were pretty useless, too.”

  “I—I didn’t say useless.…”

  “I should go check on the former imperial family,” she said. “They’re looking a little lost without General Sapling.” She winked at Meg, then lumbered off.

  Will pressed a vial of nectar into my hands. “Drink this. And this.” He passed me a Mountain Dew. “And here’s some salve for those wounds.” He handed the jar to Meg. “Could you do the honors? I have to find more bandages. I used up my supply outfitting Luguselwa Dagger-Hands.”

  He hurried away, leaving me alone with Meg.

  She sat next to me, cross-legged, and started finger-painting my ouchies with healing ointment. She had plenty of ouchies to choose from. I alternated drinking my nectar and Mountain Dew, which was sort of like alternating between premium gasoline and regular gasoline.

  Meg had thrown away her sandals, braving bare feet despite the arrows, rubble, bones, and discarded blades that littered the floor. Someone had given her an orange Camp Half-Blood shirt, which she’d put on over her dress, making her allegiance clear. She still looked older and more sophisticated, but she also looked like my Meg.

  “I’m so proud of you,” I said. I definitely was not weeping like a baby. “You were so strong. So brilliant. So— OW!”

  She poked the dagger wound in my side, effectively silencing my compliments. “Yeah, I know. I had to be. For them.”

  She chin-pointed to her wayward foster siblings, who had broken down in the wake of Nero’s death. A couple of them stormed around the room, throwing things and screaming hateful comments while Luguselwa and some of our demigods stood by, giving them space, watching to make sure the imperials didn’t hurt themselves or anyone else. Another child of Nero was curled up and sobbing between two Aphrodite campers who’d been pressed into service as grief counselors. Nearby, one of the youngest imperials appeared catatonic in the arms of a Hypnos camper, who rocked the child back and forth while singing lullabies.

  In the space of an evening, the imperial children had gone from enemies to victims who needed help, and Camp Half-Blood was stepping up to the challenge.

  “They’ll need time,” Meg said. “And a lot of good support, like I got.”

  “They’ll need you,” I added. “You showed them the way out.”

  She gave me a one-shoulder shrug. “You really got a lot of wounds.”

  I let her work, but as I sipped my high-octane beverages, I considered that perhaps courage was a self-perpetuating cycle, like abuse. Nero had hoped to create miniature, tortured versions of himself because that made him feel stronger. Meg had found the strength to oppose him because she saw how much her foster siblings needed her to succeed, to show them another way.

  There were no guarantees. The imperial demigods had dealt with so much for so long, some of them might never be able to come back from the darkness. Then again, there had been no guarantees for Meg, either. There were still no guarantees that I would come back from what awaited me in the caverns of Delphi. All any of us could do was try, and hope that, in the end, the virtuous cycle would break the vicious one.

  I scanned the rest of the throne room, wondering how long I had been unconscious. Outside it was full dark. Emergency lights pulsed against the side of the neighboring building from the street far below. The thwump-thwump-thwump of a helicopter told me we were still making local news.

  Most of the troglodytes had vanished, though Screech-Bling and a few of his lieutenants were here, having what looked like a serious conversation with Sherman Yang. Perhaps they were negotiating a division of the spoils of war. I imagined Camp Half-Blood was about to be flush with Greek fire and Imperial gold weapons, while the trogs would have a fabulous new selection of haberdashery and whatever lizards and rocks they could find.

  Demigod children of Demeter were tending the overgrown dryads, discussing how best to transport them back to camp. Over by the emperor’s dais, some of the Apollo kids (my kids) conducted triage operations. Jerry, Yan, and Gracie—the newbies from camp—now all looked like seasoned pros, shouting orders to the stretcher-bearers, examining the wounded, treating campers and Germani alike.

  The barbarians looked glum and dejected. None seemed to have the slightest interest in fighting. A few sported injuries that should have made them crumble to ash, but they were no longer creatures of Nero, bound to the living world by his power. They were just humans again, like Luguselwa. They would have to find a new purpose for their remaining years, and I supposed none of them loved the idea of staying loyal to the cause of a dead emperor.

  “You were right,” I told Meg. “About trusting Luguselwa. I was wrong.”

  Meg patted my knuckles. “Just keep saying that. I’m right. You’re wrong. Been waiting months for you to realize it.”

  She gave me a little smirk. Again, I could only marvel at how much she’d changed. She still looked ready to do a cartwheel for no reason, or wipe her nose on her sleeve with zero shame, or eat an entire birthday cake just because yum, but she was no longer the half-wild alley-dwelling urchin I’d met in January. She’d grown taller and more confident. She carried herself like someone who owned this tower. And for all I knew, she might, now that Nero was dead, a
ssuming the whole place didn’t burn down.

  “I…” My voice failed me. “Meg, I have to—”

  “I know.” She looked away long enough to wipe her cheek, knocking her glasses cockeyed in the process. “You have to do this next part on your own, huh?”

  I thought about the last time I’d physically stood in the depths of Delphi, when Meg and I had inadvertently wandered there through the Labyrinth during a three-legged race. (Ah, those were simpler times.) The situation now was different. Python had grown too powerful. Having seen his lair in my dreams, I knew that no demigod could survive that place. The poisonous air alone would burn away flesh and melt lungs. I did not expect to survive there long myself, but in my heart, I had always known this would be a one-way trip.

  “I must do this alone,” I agreed.

  “How?”

  Leave it to Meg to distill the most important crisis of my four-thousand-year-plus life into a single unanswerable question.

  I shook my head, wishing I had an unquestionable answer. “I guess I have to trust that…that I won’t screw up.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Oh, shut it, McCaffrey.”

  She forced a smile. After a few more moments of putting salve on my wounds, she said, “So…this is good-bye?” She swallowed that last word.

  I tried to find my voice. I seemed to have lost it somewhere down in my intestines. “I—I will find you, Meg. Afterward. Assuming…”

  “No screw-ups.”

  I made a sound between a laugh and a sob. “Yes. But either way…”

  She nodded. Even if I survived, I would not be the same. The best I could hope for was to emerge from Delphi with my godhood restored, which was what I had wanted and dreamed about for the past half a year. So why did I feel so reluctant about leaving behind the broken, battered form of Lester Papadopoulos?

  “Just come back to me, dummy. That’s an order.” Meg gave me a gentle hug, conscious of my injuries. Then she got to her feet and ran off to check on the imperial demigods—her former family, and possibly her family yet to be.