by Rick Riordan
Great, Percy thought.
He didn’t relish the idea of Gaia waiting for them on the other side, ready to teleport them into the middle of a mountain, but at least the Doors were a chance to get out of Tartarus. It wasn’t like they had a better option.
Bob helped them over the top of another ridge. Suddenly the Doors of Death were in plain view – a freestanding rectangle of darkness at the top of the next heart-muscle hill, about a quarter of a mile away, surrounding by a horde of monsters so thick Percy could’ve walked on their heads all the way across.
The Doors were still too far away to make out much detail, but the Titans flanking either side were familiar enough. The one on the left wore shining golden armour that shimmered with heat.
‘Hyperion,’ Percy muttered. ‘That guy just won’t stay dead.’
The one on the right wore dark-blue armour, with ram horns curling from the sides of his helmet. Percy had only seen him in dreams before, but it was definitely Krios, the Titan that Jason had killed in the battle for Mount Tam.
‘Bob’s other brothers,’ Annabeth said. The Death Mist shimmered around her, temporarily turning her face into a grinning skull. ‘Bob, if you have to fight them, can you?’
Bob hefted his broom, like he was ready for a messy cleaning job. ‘We must hurry,’ he said, which Percy noticed wasn’t really an answer. ‘Follow me.’
LXIII
PERCY
So far, their death mist camouflage plan seemed to be working. So, naturally, Percy expected a massive last-minute fail.
Fifty feet from the Doors of Death, he and Annabeth froze.
‘Oh, gods,’ Annabeth murmured. ‘They’re the same.’
Percy knew what she meant. Framed in Stygian iron, the magical portal was a set of elevator doors – two panels of silver and black etched with art deco designs. Except for the fact that the colours were inverted, they looked exactly like the elevators in the Empire State Building, the entrance to Olympus.
Seeing them, Percy felt so homesick he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t just miss Mount Olympus. He missed everything he’d left behind: New York City, Camp Half-Blood, his mom and stepdad. His eyes stung. He didn’t trust himself to talk.
The Doors of Death seemed like a personal insult, designed to remind him of everything he couldn’t have.
As he got over his initial shock, he noticed other details: the frost spreading from the base of the Doors, the purplish glow in the air around them and the chains that held them fast.
Cords of black iron ran down either side of the frame, like rigging lines on a suspension bridge. They were tethered to hooks embedded in the fleshy ground. The two Titans, Krios and Hyperion, stood guard at the anchor points.
As Percy watched, the entire frame shuddered. Black lightning flashed into the sky. The chains shook, and the Titans planted their feet on the hooks to keep them secure. The Doors slid open, revealing the gilded interior of an elevator car.
Percy tensed, ready to charge forward, but Bob planted a hand on his shoulder. ‘Wait,’ he cautioned.
Hyperion yelled to the surrounding crowd: ‘Group A-22! Hurry up, you sluggards!’
A dozen Cyclopes rushed forward, waving little red tickets and shouting excitedly. They shouldn’t have been able to fit inside those human-sized doors, but as the Cyclopes got close their bodies distorted and shrank, the Doors of Death sucking them inside.
The Titan Krios jabbed his thumb against the UP button on the elevator’s right side. The Doors slid closed.
The frame shuddered again. Dark lightning faded.
‘You must understand how it works,’ Bob muttered. He addressed the kitten in his palm, maybe so the other monsters wouldn’t wonder who he was talking to. ‘Each time the Doors open, they try to teleport to a new location. Thanatos made them this way, so only he could find them. But now they are chained. The Doors cannot relocate.’
‘Then we cut the chains,’ Annabeth whispered.
Percy looked at the blazing form of Hyperion. The last time he’d fought the Titan, it had taken every ounce of his strength. Even then Percy had almost died. Now there were two Titans, with several thousand monsters for backup.
‘Our camouflage,’ he said. ‘Will it disappear if we do something aggressive, like cutting the chains?’
‘I do not know,’ Bob told his kitten.
‘Mrow,’ said Small Bob.
‘Bob, you’ll have to distract them,’ Annabeth said. ‘Percy and I will sneak around the two Titans and cut the chains from behind.’
‘Yes, fine,’ Bob said. ‘But that is only one problem. Once you are inside the Doors, someone must stay outside to push the button and defend it.’
Percy tried to swallow. ‘Uh … defend the button?’
Bob nodded, scratching his kitten under the chin. ‘Someone must keep pressing the UP button for twelve minutes, or the journey will not finish.’
Percy glanced at the Doors. Sure enough, Krios still had his thumb jammed on the UP button. Twelve minutes … Somehow, they would have to get the Titans away from those doors. Then Bob, Percy or Annabeth would have to keep that button pushed for twelve long minutes, in the middle of an army of monsters in the heart of Tartarus, while the other two rode to the mortal world. It was impossible.
‘Why twelve minutes?’ Percy asked.
‘I do not know,’ Bob said. ‘Why twelve Olympians or twelve Titans?’
‘Fair enough,’ Percy said, though he had a bitter taste in his mouth.
‘What do you mean the journey won’t finish?’ Annabeth asked. ‘What happens to the passengers?’
Bob didn’t answer. Judging from his pained expression, Percy decided he didn’t want to be in that elevator if the car stalled between Tartarus and the mortal world.
‘If we do push the button for twelve minutes,’ Percy said, ‘and the chains are cut –’
‘The Doors should reset,’ Bob said. ‘That is what they are supposed to do. They will disappear from Tartarus. They will appear somewhere else, where Gaia cannot use them.’
‘Thanatos can reclaim them,’ Annabeth said. ‘Death goes back to normal, and the monsters lose their shortcut to the mortal world.’
Percy exhaled. ‘Easy-peasy. Except for … well, everything.’
Small Bob purred.
‘I will push the button,’ Bob volunteered.
A mix of feelings churned in Percy’s gut – grief, sadness, gratitude and guilt thickening into emotional cement. ‘Bob, we can’t ask you to do that. You want to go through the Doors, too. You want to see the sky again and the stars and –’
‘I would like that,’ Bob agreed. ‘But someone must push the button. And once the chains are cut … my brethren will fight to stop your passage. They will not want the Doors to disappear.’
Percy gazed at the endless horde of monsters. Even if he let Bob make this sacrifice, how could one Titan defend himself against so many for twelve minutes, all the while keeping his finger on a button?
The cement settled in Percy’s stomach. He had always suspected how this would end. He would have to stay behind. While Bob fended off the army, Percy would hold the elevator button and make sure Annabeth got to safety.
Somehow, he had to convince her to go without him. As long as she was safe and the Doors disappeared, he could die knowing he’d done something right.
‘Percy …?’ Annabeth stared at him, a suspicious edge to her voice.
She was too smart. If he met her eyes, she would see exactly what he was thinking.
‘First things first,’ he said. ‘Let’s cut those chains.’
LXIV
PERCY
‘Iapetus!’ Hyperion bellowed. ‘Well, well. I thought you were hiding under a cleaning bucket somewhere.’
Bob lumbered forward, scowling. ‘I was not hiding.’
Percy crept towards the right side of the Doors. Annabeth sneaked towards the left. The Titans gave no sign of noticing them, but Percy took no chances. He kept Riptide in pen fo
rm. He crouched low, stepping as quietly as possible. The lesser monsters kept a respectful distance from the Titans, so there was enough empty space to manoeuvre around the Doors, but Percy was keenly aware of the snarling mob at his back.
Annabeth had decided to take the side Hyperion was guarding, on the theory that Hyperion was more likely to sense Percy. After all, Percy was the last one to have killed him in the mortal world. That was fine with Percy. After being in Tartarus for so long, he could barely look at Hyperion’s burning golden armour without getting spots in his eyes.
On Percy’s side of the Doors, Krios stood dark and silent, his ram-horned helmet covering his face. He kept one foot planted on the chain’s anchor and his thumb on the UP button.
Bob faced his brethren. He planted his spear and tried to look as fierce as possible with a kitten on his shoulder. ‘Hyperion and Krios. I remember you both.’
‘Do you, Iapetus?’ The golden Titan laughed, glancing at Krios to share the joke. ‘Well, that’s good to know! I heard Percy Jackson turned you into a brainwashed scullery maid. What did he rename you … Betty?’
‘Bob,’ snarled Bob.
‘Well, it’s about time you showed up, Bob. Krios and I have been stuck here for weeks –’
‘Hours,’ Krios corrected, his voice a deep rumble inside his helmet.
‘Whatever!’ Hyperion said. ‘It’s boring work, guarding these doors, shuffling monsters through at Gaia’s orders. Krios, what’s our next group, anyway?’
‘Double Red,’ said Krios.
Hyperion sighed. The flames glowed hotter across his shoulders. ‘Double Red. Why do we go from A-22 to Double Red? What kind of system is that?’ He glared at Bob. ‘This is no job for me – the Lord of Light! Titan of the East! Master of Dawn! Why am I forced to wait in the darkness while the giants go into battle and get all the glory? Now, Krios I can understand –’
‘I get all the worst assignments,’ Krios muttered, his thumb still on the button.
‘But me?’ Hyperion said. ‘Ridiculous! This should be your job, Iapetus. Here, take my place for a while.’
Bob stared at the Doors, but his gaze was distant – lost in the past. ‘The four of us held down our father, Ouranos,’ he remembered. ‘Koios and me and the two of you. Kronos promised us mastery of the four corners of the earth for helping with the murder.’
‘Indeed,’ Hyperion said. ‘And I was happy to do it! I would’ve wielded the scythe myself if I’d had the chance! But you, Bob … you were always conflicted about that killing, weren’t you? The soft Titan of the West, soft as the sunset! Why our parents named you the Piercer, I will never know. More like the Whimper.’
Percy reached the anchor hook. He uncapped his pen and Riptide grew to full length. Krios didn’t react. His attention was firmly fixed on Bob, who had just levelled the point of his spear at Hyperion’s chest.
‘I can still pierce,’ Bob said, his voice low and even. ‘You brag too much, Hyperion. You are bright and fiery, but Percy Jackson defeated you anyway. I hear you became a nice tree in Central Park.’
Hyperion’s eyes smouldered. ‘Careful, brother.’
‘At least a janitor’s work is honest,’ Bob said. ‘I clean up after others. I leave the palace better than I found it. But you … you do not care what messes you make. You followed Kronos blindly. Now you take orders from Gaia.’
‘She is our mother!’ Hyperion bellowed.
‘She did not wake for our war on Olympus,’ Bob recalled. ‘She favours her second brood, the giants.’
Krios grunted. ‘That’s true enough. The children of the pit.’
‘Both of you hold your tongues!’ Hyperion’s voice was tinged with fear. ‘You never know when he is listening.’
The elevator dinged. All three Titans jumped.
Had it been twelve minutes? Percy had lost track of time. Krios took his finger off the button and called out, ‘Double Red! Where is Double Red?’
Hordes of monsters stirred and jostled one another, but none of them came forward.
Krios heaved a sigh. ‘I told them to hang on to their tickets. Double Red! You’ll lose your place in the queue!’
Annabeth was in position, right behind Hyperion. She raised her drakon-bone sword over the base of the chains. In the fiery light of the Titan’s armour, her Death Mist disguise made her look like a burning ghoul.
She held up three fingers, ready to count down. They had to cut the chains before the next group tried to take the elevator, but they also had to make sure the Titans were as distracted as possible.
Hyperion muttered a curse. ‘Just wonderful. This will completely mess up our schedule.’ He sneered at Bob. ‘Make your choice, brother. Fight us or help us. I don’t have time for your lectures.’
Bob glanced at Annabeth and Percy. Percy thought he might start a fight, but instead he raised the point of his spear. ‘Very well. I will take guard duty. Which of you wants a break first?’
‘Me, of course,’ Hyperion said.
‘Me!’ Krios snapped. ‘I’ve been holding that button so long my thumb is going to fall off.’
‘I’ve been standing here longer,’ Hyperion grumbled. ‘You two guard the Doors while I go up to the mortal world. I have some Greek heroes to wreak vengeance upon!’
‘Oh, no!’ Krios complained. ‘That Roman boy is on his way to Epirus – the one who killed me on Mount Othrys. Got lucky, he did. Now it’s my turn.’
‘Bah!’ Hyperion drew his sword. ‘I’ll gut you first, Ram-head!’
Krios raised his own blade. ‘You can try, but I won’t be stuck in this stinking pit any longer!’
Annabeth caught Percy’s eyes. She mouthed: One, two –
Before he could strike the chains, a high-pitched whine pierced his ears, like the sound of an incoming rocket. Percy just had time to think: Uh-oh. Then an explosion rocked the hillside. A wave of heat knocked Percy backwards. Dark shrapnel ripped through Krios and Hyperion, shredding them as easily as wood in a chipper.
STINKING PIT. A hollow voice rolled across the plains, shaking the warm fleshy ground.
Bob staggered to his feet. Somehow the explosion hadn’t touched him. He swept his spear in front of him, trying to locate the source of the voice. Small Bob the kitten crawled into his coveralls.
Annabeth had landed about twenty feet from the Doors. When she stood, Percy was so relieved she was alive it took him a moment to realize she looked like herself. The Death Mist had evaporated.
He looked at his own hands. His disguise was gone too.
TITANS, said the voice disdainfully. LESSER BEINGS. IMPERFECT AND WEAK.
In front of the Doors of Death, the air darkened and solidified. The being who appeared was so massive, radiating such pure malevolence, that Percy wanted to crawl away and hide.
Instead, he forced his eyes to trace the god’s form, starting with his black iron boots, each one as large as a coffin. His legs were covered in dark greaves; his flesh all thick purple muscle, like the ground. His armoured skirt was made from thousands of blackened, twisted bones, woven together like chain links and clasped in place by a belt of interlocking monstrous arms.
On the surface of the warrior’s breastplate, murky faces appeared and submerged – giants, Cyclopes, gorgons and drakons – all pressing against the armour as if trying to get out.
The warrior’s arms were bare – muscular, purple and glistening – his hands as large as crane scoops.
Worst of all was his head: a helmet of twisted rock and metal with no particular shape – just jagged spikes and pulsing patches of magma. His entire face was a whirlpool – an inward spiral of darkness. As Percy watched, the last particles of Titan essence from Hyperion and Krios were vacuumed into the warrior’s maw.
Somehow Percy found his voice. ‘Tartarus.’
The warrior made a sound like a mountain cracking in half: a roar or a laugh, Percy couldn’t be sure.
This form is only a small manifestation of my power, said the god. But it
is enough to deal with you. I do not interfere lightly, little demigod. It is beneath me to deal with gnats such as yourself.
‘Uh …’ Percy’s legs threatened to collapse under him. ‘Don’t … you know … go to any trouble.’
You have proven surprisingly resilient, Tartarus said. You have come too far. I can no longer stand by and watch your progress.
Tartarus spread his arms. Throughout the valley, thousands of monsters wailed and roared, clashing their weapons and bellowing in triumph. The Doors of Death shuddered in their chains.
Be honoured, little demigods, said the god of the pit. Even the Olympians were never worthy of my personal attention. But you will be destroyed by Tartarus himself!
LXV
FRANK
Frank was hoping for fireworks.
Or at least a big sign that read: WELCOME HOME!
More than three thousand years ago, his Greek ancestor – good old Periclymenus the shape-shifter – had sailed east with the Argonauts. Centuries later, Periclymenus’s descendants had served in the eastern Roman legions. Then, through a series of misadventures, the family had ended up in China, finally emigrating to Canada in the twentieth century. Now Frank was back in Greece, which meant that the Zhang family had completely circled the globe.
That seemed like cause for celebration, but the only welcoming committee was a flock of wild, hungry harpies who attacked the ship. Frank felt kind of bad as he shot them down with his bow. He kept thinking of Ella, their freakishly smart harpy friend from Portland. But these harpies weren’t Ella. They gladly would have chewed Frank’s face off. So he blasted them into clouds of dust and feathers.
The Greek landscape below was just as inhospitable. The hills were strewn with boulders and stunted cedars, all shimmering in the hazy air. The sun beat down as if trying to hammer the countryside into a Celestial bronze shield. Even from a hundred feet up, Frank could hear the drone of cicadas buzzing in the trees – a sleepy, otherworldly sound that made his eyes heavy. Even the duelling voices of the war gods inside his head seemed to have dozed off. They had hardly bothered Frank at all since the crew had crossed into Greece.