The Mark of Athena hoo-3

by Rick Riordan

  Annabeth’s ears buzzed.

  “The Mark of Athena,” she said. “It leads to a statue, doesn’t it? It leads to…to the statue.”

  Aphrodite smiled. “You are clever, like your mother. Understand, though, your siblings, the children of Athena, have been searching for centuries. None has succeeded in recovering the statue. In the meantime, they’ve been keeping alive the Greek feud with the Romans. Every civil war…so much bloodshed and heartbreak…has been orchestrated largely by Athena’s children.”

  “That’s…” Annabeth wanted to say impossible, but she remembered Athena’s bitter words in Grand Central Station, the burning hatred in her eyes.

  “Romantic?” Aphrodite offered. “Yes, I supposed it is.”

  “But…” Annabeth tried to clear the fog from her brain. “The Mark of Athena, how does it work? Is it a series of clues, or a trail set by Athena—”

  “Hmm.” Aphrodite looked politely bored. “I couldn’t say. I don’t believe Athena created the Mark consciously. If she knew where her statue was, she’d simply tell you where to find it. No…I’d guess the Mark is more like a spiritual trail of bread crumbs. It’s a connection between the statue and the children of the goddess. The statue wants to be found, you see, but it can only be freed by the most worthy.”

  “And for thousands of years,” Annabeth said, “no one has managed.”

  “Hold on,” Piper said. “What statue are we talking about?”

  The goddess laughed. “Oh, I’m sure Annabeth can fill you in. At any rate, the clue you need is close by: a map of sorts, left by the children of Athena in 1861—a remembrance that will start you on your path, once you reach Rome. But as you said, Annabeth Chase, no one has ever succeeded in following the Mark of Athena to its end. There you will face your worst fear—the fear of every child of Athena. And even if you survive, how will you use your reward? For war or for peace?”

  Annabeth was glad for the tablecloth, because under the table, her legs were trembling. “This map,” she said, “where is it?”

  “Guys!” Hazel pointed to the sky.

  Circling above the palmetto trees were two large eagles. Higher up, descending rapidly, was a flying chariot pulled by pegasi. Apparently Leo’s diversion with Buford the end table hadn’t worked—at least not for long.

  Aphrodite spread butter on a muffin as if she had all the time in the world. “Oh, the map is at Fort Sumter, of course.” She pointed her butter knife toward the island across the harbor. “It looks like the Romans have arrived to cut you off. I’d get back to your ship in a hurry if I were you. Would you care for some tea cakes to go?”

  T HEY DIDN’T MAKE IT TO THE SHIP.

  Halfway across the dock, three giant eagles descended in front of them. Each deposited a Roman commando in purple and denim with glittering gold armor, sword, and shield. The eagles flew away, and the Roman in the middle, who was scrawnier than the others, raised his visor.

  “Surrender to Rome!” Octavian shrieked.

  Hazel drew her cavalry sword and grumbled, “Fat chance, Octavian.”

  Annabeth cursed under her breath. By himself, the skinny augur wouldn’t have bothered her, but the two other guys looked like seasoned warriors—a lot bigger and stronger than Annabeth wanted to deal with, especially since Piper and she were armed only with daggers.

  Piper raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Octavian, what happened at camp was a setup. We can explain.”

  “Can’t hear you!” Octavian yelled. “Wax in our ears—standard procedure when battling evil sirens. Now, throw down your weapons and turn around slowly so I can bind your hands.”

  “Let me skewer him,” Hazel muttered. “Please.”

  The ship was only fifty feet away, but Annabeth saw no sign of Coach Hedge on deck. He was probably below, watching his stupid martial arts programs. Jason’s group wasn’t due back until sunset, and Percy would be underwater, unaware of the invasion. If Annabeth could get on board, she could use the ballistae; but there was no way to get around these three Romans.

  She was running out of time. The eagles circled overhead, crying out as if to alert their brethren: Hey, some tasty Greek demigods over here! Annabeth couldn’t see the flying chariot anymore, but she assumed it was close by. She had to figure out something before more Romans arrived.

  She needed help…some kind of distress signal to Coach Hedge, or even better—Percy.

  “Well?” Octavian demanded. His two friends brandished their swords.

  Very slowly, using only two fingers, Annabeth drew her dagger. Instead of dropping it, she tossed it as far as she could into the water.

  Octavian made a squeaking sound. “What was that for? I didn’t say toss it! That could’ve been evidence. Or spoils of war!”

  Annabeth tried for a dumb-blonde smile, like: Oh, silly me. Nobody who knew her would have been fooled. But Octavian seemed to buy it. He huffed in exasperation.

  “You other two…” He pointed his blade at Hazel and Piper. “Put your weapons on the dock. No funny bus—”

  All around the Romans, Charleston Harbor erupted like a Las Vegas fountain putting on a show. When the wall of seawater subsided, the three Romans were in the bay, spluttering and frantically trying to stay afloat in their armor. Percy stood on the dock, holding Annabeth’s dagger.

  “You dropped this,” he said, totally poker-faced.

  Annabeth threw her arms around him. “I love you!”

  “Guys,” Hazel interrupted. She had a little smile on her face. “We need to hurry.”

  Down in the water, Octavian yelled, “Get me out of here! I’ll kill you!”

  “Tempting,” Percy called down.

  “What?” Octavian shouted. He was holding on to one of his guards, who was having trouble keeping them both afloat.

  “Nothing!” Percy shouted back. “Let’s go, guys.”

  Hazel frowned. “We can’t let them drown, can we?”

  “They won’t,” Percy promised. “I’ve got the water circulating around their feet. As soon as we’re out of range, I’ll spit them ashore.”

  Piper grinned. “Nice.”

  They climbed aboard the Argo II, and Annabeth ran to the helm. “Piper, get below. Use the sink in the galley for an Iris-message. Warn Jason to get back here!”

  Piper nodded and raced off.

  “Hazel, go find Coach Hedge and tell him to get his furry hindquarters on deck!”

  “Right!”

  “And Percy—you and I need to get this ship to Fort Sumter.”

  Percy nodded and ran to the mast. Annabeth took the helm. Her hands flew across the controls. She’d just have to hope she knew enough to operate them.

  Annabeth had seen Percy control full-sized sailing ships before with only his willpower. This time, he didn’t disappoint. Ropes flew on their own—releasing the dock ties, weighing the anchor. The sails unfurled and caught the wind. Meanwhile Annabeth fired the engine. The oars extended with a sound like machine-gun fire, and the Argo II turned from the dock, heading for the island in the distance.

  The three eagles still circled overhead, but they made no attempt to land on the ship, probably because Festus the figurehead blew fire whenever they got close. More eagles were flying in formation toward Fort Sumter—at least a dozen. If each of them carried a Roman demigod…that was a lot of enemies.

  Coach Hedge came pounding up the stairs with Hazel at his hooves.

  “Where are they?” he demanded. “Who do I kill?”

  “No killing!” Annabeth ordered. “Just defend the ship!”

  “But they interrupted a Chuck Norris movie!”

  Piper emerged from below. “Got a message through to Jason. Kind of fuzzy, but he’s already on his way. He should be—oh! There!”

  Soaring over the city, heading in their direction, was a giant bald eagle, unlike the golden Roman birds.

  “Frank!” Hazel said.

  Leo was holding on to the eagle’s feet, and even from the ship, Annabeth
could hear him screaming and cursing.

  Behind them flew Jason, riding the wind.

  “Never seen Jason fly before,” Percy grumbled. “He looks like a blond Superman.”

  “This isn’t the time!” Piper scolded him. “Look, they’re in trouble!”

  Sure enough, the Roman flying chariot had descended from a cloud and was diving straight toward them. Jason and Frank veered out of the way, pulling up to avoid getting trampled by the pegasi. The charioteers fired their bows. Arrows whistled under Leo’s feet, which led to more screaming and cursing. Jason and Frank were forced to overshoot the Argo II and fly toward Fort Sumter.

  “I’ll get ’em!” yelled Coach Hedge.

  He spun the port ballista. Before Annabeth could yell, “Don’t be stupid!” Hedge fired. A flaming spear rocketed toward the chariot.

  It exploded over the heads of the pegasi and threw them into a panic. Unfortunately it also singed Frank’s wings and sent him spiraling out of control. Leo slipped from his grasp. The chariot shot toward Fort Sumter, slamming into Jason.

  Annabeth watched in horror as Jason—obviously dazed and in pain—lunged for Leo, caught him, then struggled to gain altitude. He only managed to slow their fall. They disappeared behind the ramparts of the fort. Frank tumbled after them. Then the chariot dropped somewhere inside and hit with a bone-shattering CRACK! One broken wheel spun into the air.

  “Coach!” Piper screamed.

  “What?” Hedge demanded. “That was just a warning shot!”

  Annabeth gunned the engines. The hull shuddered as they picked up speed. The docks of the island were only a hundred yards away now, but a dozen more eagles were soaring overhead, each carrying a Roman demigod in its claws.

  The Argo II’s crew would be outnumbered at least three to one.

  “Percy,” Annabeth said, “we’re going to come in hard. I need you to control the water so we don’t smash into the docks. Once we’re there, you’re going to have to hold off the attackers. The rest of you help him guard the ship.”

  “But—Jason!” Piper said.

  “Frank and Leo!” Hazel added.

  “I’ll find them,” Annabeth promised. “I’ve got to figure out where the map is. And I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can do that.”

  “The fort is crawling with Romans,” Percy warned. “You’ll have to fight your way through, find our friends—assuming they’re okay—find this map, and get everybody back alive. All on your own?”

  “Just an average day.” Annabeth kissed him. “Whatever you do, don’t let them take this ship!”

  T HE NEW CIVIL WAR HAD BEGUN.

  Leo had somehow escaped his fall unharmed. Annabeth saw him ducking from portico to portico, blasting fire at the giant eagles swooping down on him. Roman demigods tried to chase him, tripping over piles of cannonballs and dodging tourists, who screamed and ran in circles.

  Tour guides kept yelling, “It’s just a reenactment!” Though they didn’t sound sure. The Mist could only do so much to change what mortals saw.

  In the middle of the courtyard, a full-grown elephant—could that be Frank?—rampaged around the flagpoles, scattering Roman warriors. Jason stood about fifty yards away, sword-fighting with a stocky centurion whose lips were stained cherry red, like blood. A wannabe vampire, or maybe a Kool-Aid freak?

  As Annabeth watched, Jason yelled, “Sorry about this, Dakota!”

  He vaulted straight over the centurion’s head like an acrobat and slammed the hilt of his gladius into the back of the Roman’s head. Dakota crumpled.

  “Jason!” Annabeth called.

  He scanned the battlefield until he saw her.

  She pointed to where the Argo II was docked. “Get the others aboard! Retreat!”

  “What about you?” he called.

  “Don’t wait for me!”

  Annabeth bolted off before he could protest.

  She had a hard time maneuvering through the mobs of tourists. Why did so many people want to see Fort Sumter on a sweltering summer day? But Annabeth quickly realized the crowds had saved their lives. Without the chaos of all these panicked mortals, the Romans would have already surrounded their outnumbered crew.

  Annabeth dodged into a small room that must have been part of the garrison. She tried to steady her breathing. She imagined what it would have been like to be a Union soldier on this island in 1861. Surrounded by enemies. Dwindling food and supplies, no reinforcements coming.

  Some of the Union defenders had been children of Athena. They’d hidden an important map here—something they didn’t want falling into enemy hands. If Annabeth had been one of those demigods, where would she have put it?

  Suddenly the walls glistened. The air became warm. Annabeth wondered if she was hallucinating. She was about to run for the exit when the door slammed shut. The mortar between the stones blistered. The bubbles popped, and thousands of tiny black spiders swelled forth.

  Annabeth couldn’t move. Her heart seemed to have stopped. The spiders blanketed the walls, crawling over one another, spreading across the floor and gradually surrounding her. It was impossible. This couldn’t be real.

  Terror plunged her into memories. She was seven years old again, alone in her bedroom in Richmond, Virginia. The spiders came at night. They crawled in waves from her closet and waited in the shadows. She yelled for her father, but her father was away for work. He always seemed to be away for work.

  Her stepmother came instead.

  I don’t mind being the bad cop, she had once told Annabeth’s father, when she didn’t think Annabeth could hear.

  It’s only your imagination, her stepmother said about the spiders. You’re scaring your baby brothers.

  They’re not my brothers, Annabeth argued, which made her stepmother’s expression harden. Her eyes were almost as scary as the spiders.

  Go to sleep now, her stepmother insisted. No more screaming.

  The spiders came back as soon as her stepmother had left the room. Annabeth tried to hide under the covers, but it was no good. Eventually she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. She woke up in the morning, freckled with bites, cobwebs covering her eyes, her mouth, and nose.

  The bites faded before she even got dressed, so she had nothing to show her stepmother except cobwebs, which her stepmother thought was some sort of clever trick.

  No more talk of spiders, her stepmother said firmly. You’re a big girl now.

  The second night, the spiders came again. Her stepmother continued to be the bad cop. Annabeth wasn’t allowed to call her father and bother him with this nonsense. No, he would not come home early.

  The third night, Annabeth ran away from home.

  Later, at Camp Half-Blood, she learned that all children of Athena feared spiders. Long ago, Athena had taught the mortal weaver Arachne a hard lesson—cursing her for her pride by turning her into the first spider. Ever since, spiders had hated the children of Athena.

  But that didn’t make her fear easier to deal with. Once, she’d almost killed Connor Stoll at camp for putting a tarantula in her bunk. Years later, she’d had a panic attack at a water park in Denver, when Percy and she were assaulted by mechanical spiders. And the past few weeks, Annabeth had dreamed of spiders almost every night—crawling over her, suffocating her, wrapping her in webs.

  Now, standing in the barracks at Fort Sumter, she was surrounded. Her nightmares had come true.

  A sleepy voice murmured in her head: Soon, my dear. You will meet the weaver soon.

  “Gaea?” Annabeth murmured. She feared the answer, but she asked: “Who—who is the weaver?”

  The spiders became excited, swarming over the walls, swirling around Annabeth’s feet like a glistening black whirlpool. Only the hope that it might be an illusion kept Annabeth from passing out from fear.

  I hope you survive, child, the woman’s voice said. I would prefer you as my sacrifice. But we must let the weaver take her revenge…

  Gaea’s voice faded. On the far wall, in the ce
nter of the spider swarm, a red symbol blazed to life: the figure of an owl like the one on the silver drachma, staring straight at Annabeth. Then, just as in her nightmares, the Mark of Athena burned across the walls, incinerating the spiders until the room was empty except for the smell of sickly sweet ashes.

  Go, said a new voice—Annabeth’s mother. Avenge me. Follow the Mark.

  The blazing symbol of the owl faded. The garrison door burst open. Annabeth stood stunned in the middle of the room, unsure whether she’d seen something real, or just a vision.

  An explosion shook the building. Annabeth remembered that her friends were in danger. She’d stayed here much too long.

  She forced herself to move. Still trembling, she stumbled outside. The ocean air helped clear her mind. She gazed across the courtyard—past the panicked tourists and fighting demigods—to the edge of the battlements, where a large mortar pointed out to sea.

  It might have been Annabeth’s imagination, but the old artillery piece seemed to be glowing red. She dashed toward it. An eagle swooped at her, but she ducked and kept running. Nothing could possibly scare her as much as those spiders.

  Roman demigods had formed ranks and were advancing toward the Argo II, but a miniature storm had gathered over their heads. Though the day was clear all around them, thunder rumbled, and lightning flashed above the Romans. Rain and wind pushed them back.

  Annabeth didn’t stop to think about it.

  She reached the mortar and put her hand on the muzzle. On the plug that blocked the opening, the Mark of Athena began to glow—the red outline of an owl.

  “In the mortar,” she said. “Of course.”

  She pried at the plug with her fingers. No luck. Cursing, she drew her dagger. As soon as the Celestial bronze touched the plug, the plug shrank and loosened. Annabeth pulled it off and stuck her hand inside the cannon.

  Her fingers touched something cold, smooth, and metal. She pulled out a small disk of bronze the size of a tea saucer, etched with delicate letters and illustrations. She decided to examine it later. She thrust it in her pack and turned.

  “Rushing off?” Reyna asked.