by Rick Riordan
“Tartarus kills demigods,” Bob said. “It heals monsters, but you do not belong. Tartarus will not heal Percy. The pit hates your kind.”
“I don’t care,” Annabeth said. “Even here, there has to be someplace he can rest, some kind of cure he can take. Maybe back at the altar of Hermes, or—”
In the distance, a deep voice bellowed—a voice that Percy recognized, unfortunately.
“I SMELL HIM!” roared the giant. “BEWARE, SON OF POSEIDON! I COME FOR YOU!”
“Polybotes,” Bob said. “He hates Poseidon and his children. He is very close now.”
Annabeth struggled to get Percy to his feet. He hated making her work so hard, but he felt like a sack of billiard balls. Even with Annabeth supporting almost all his weight, he could barely stand.
“Bob, I’m going on, with or without you,” she said. “Will you help?”
The kitten Small Bob mewed and began to purr, rubbing against Bob’s chin.
Bob looked at Percy, and Percy wished he could read the Titan’s expression. Was he angry, or just thoughtful? Was he planning revenge, or was he just feeling hurt because Percy had lied about being his friend?
“There is one place,” Bob said at last. “There is a giant who might know what to do.”
Annabeth almost dropped Percy. “A giant. Uh, Bob, giants are bad.”
“One is good,” Bob insisted. “Trust me, and I will take you…unless Polybotes and the others catch us first.”
JASON FELL ASLEEP ON THE JOB. Which was bad, since he was a thousand feet in the air.
He should have known better. It was the morning after their encounter with Sciron the bandit, and Jason was on duty, fighting some wild venti who were threatening the ship. When he slashed through the last one, he forgot to hold his breath.
A stupid mistake. When a wind spirit disintegrates, it creates a vacuum. Unless you’re holding your breath, the air gets sucked right out of your lungs. The pressure in your inner ears drops so fast, you black out.
That’s what happened to Jason.
Even worse, he instantly plunged into a dream. In the back of his subconscious, he thought: Really? Now?
He needed to wake up, or he would die; but he wasn’t able to hold on to that thought. In the dream, he found himself on the roof of a tall building, the nighttime skyline of Manhattan spread around him. A cold wind whipped through his clothes.
A few blocks away, clouds gathered above the Empire State Building—the entrance to Mount Olympus itself. Lightning flashed. The air was metallic with the smell of oncoming rain. The top of the skyscraper was lit up as usual, but the lights seemed to be malfunctioning. They flickered from purple to orange as if the colors were fighting for dominance.
On the roof of Jason’s building stood his old comrades from Camp Jupiter: an array of demigods in combat armor, their Imperial gold weapons and shields glinting in the dark. He saw Dakota and Nathan, Leila and Marcus. Octavian stood to one side, thin and pale, his eyes red-rimmed from sleeplessness or anger, a string of sacrificial stuffed animals around his waist. His augur’s white robe was draped over a purple T-shirt and cargo pants.
In the center of the line stood Reyna, her metal dogs Aurum and Argentum at her side. Upon seeing her, Jason felt an incredible pang of guilt. He’d let her believe they had a future together. He had never been in love with her, and he hadn’t led her on, exactly…but he also hadn’t shut her down.
He’d disappeared, leaving her to run the camp on her own. (Okay, that hadn’t exactly been Jason’s idea, but still…) Then he had returned to Camp Jupiter with his new girlfriend Piper and a whole bunch of Greek friends in a warship. They’d fired on the Forum and run away, leaving Reyna with a war on her hands.
In his dream she looked tired. Others might not notice, but he’d worked with her long enough to recognize the weariness in her eyes, the tightness in her shoulders under the straps of her armor. Her dark hair was wet, like she’d taken a hasty shower.
The Romans stared at the roof-access door as if they were waiting for someone.
When the door opened, two people emerged. One was a faun—no, Jason thought—a satyr. He’d learned the difference at Camp Half-Blood, and Coach Hedge was always correcting him if he made that mistake. Roman fauns tended to hang around and beg and eat. Satyrs were more helpful, more engaged with demigod affairs. Jason didn’t think he’d seen this particular satyr before, but he was sure the guy was from the Greek side. No faun would look so purposeful walking up to an armed group of Romans in the middle of the night.
He wore a green Nature Conservancy T-shirt with pictures of endangered whales and tigers and stuff. Nothing covered his shaggy legs and hooves. He had a bushy goatee, curly brown hair tucked into a Rasta-style cap, and a set of reed pipes around his neck. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, but considering the way he studied the Romans, noting their positions and their weapons, Jason figured this satyr had been in combat before.
At his side was a redheaded girl Jason recognized from Camp Half-Blood—their oracle, Rachel Elizabeth Dare. She had long frizzy hair, a plain white blouse, and jeans covered with hand-drawn ink designs. She held a blue plastic hairbrush that she tapped nervously against her thigh like a good luck talisman.
Jason remembered her at the campfire, reciting lines of prophecy that sent Jason, Piper, and Leo on their first quest together. She was a regular mortal teenager—not a demigod—but for reasons Jason never understood, the spirit of Delphi had chosen her as its host.
The real question: What was she doing with the Romans?
She stepped forward, her eyes fixed on Reyna. “You got my message.”
Octavian snorted. “That’s the only reason you made it this far alive, Graecus. I hope you’ve come to discuss surrender terms.”
“Octavian…” Reyna warned.
“At least search them!” Octavian protested.
“No need,” Reyna said, studying Rachel Dare. “Do you bring weapons?”
Rachel shrugged. “I hit Kronos in the eye with this hairbrush once. Otherwise, no.”
The Romans didn’t seem to know what to make of that. The mortal didn’t sound like she was kidding.
“And your friend?” Reyna nodded to the satyr. “I thought you were coming alone.”
“This is Grover Underwood,” Rachel said. “He’s a leader of the Council.”
“What council?” Octavian demanded.
“Cloven Elders, man.” Grover’s voice was high and reedy, as if he were terrified, but Jason suspected the satyr had more steel than he let on. “Seriously, don’t you Romans have nature and trees and stuff? I’ve got some news you need to hear. Plus, I’m a card-carrying protector. I’m here to, you know, protect Rachel.”
Reyna looked like she was trying not to smile. “But no weapons?”
“Just the pipes.” Grover’s expression became wistful. “Percy always said my cover of ‘Born to be Wild’ should count as a dangerous weapon, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”
Octavian sneered. “Another friend of Percy Jackson. That’s all I need to hear.”
Reyna held up her hand for silence. Her gold and silver dogs sniffed the air, but they remained calm and attentive at her side.
“So far, our guests speak the truth,” Reyna said. “Be warned, Rachel and Grover, if you start to lie, this conversation will not go well for you. Say what you came to say.”
From her jeans pocket, Rachel dug out a piece of paper like a napkin. “A message. From Annabeth.”
Jason wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. Annabeth was in Tartarus. She couldn’t send anyone a note on a napkin.
Maybe I’ve hit the water and died, his subconscious said. This isn’t a real vision. It’s some sort of after-death hallucination.
But the dream seemed very real. He could feel the wind sweeping across the roof. He could smell the storm. Lightning flickered over the Empire State Building, making the Romans’ armor flash.
Reyna took the note. As she read
it, her eyebrows crept higher. Her mouth parted in shock. Finally, she looked up at Rachel. “Is this a joke?”
“I wish,” Rachel said. “They’re really in Tartarus.”
“But how—”
“I don’t know,” Rachel said. “The note appeared in the sacrificial fire at our dining pavilion. That’s Annabeth’s handwriting. She asks for you by name.”
Octavian stirred. “Tartarus? What do you mean?”
Reyna handed him the letter.
Octavian muttered as he read: “Rome, Arachne, Athena—Athena Parthenos?” He looked around in outrage, as if waiting for someone to contradict what he was reading. “A Greek trick! Greeks are infamous for their tricks!”
Reyna took back the note. “Why ask this of me?”
Rachel smiled. “Because Annabeth is wise. She believes you can do this, Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano.”
Jason felt like he’d been slapped. Nobody ever used Reyna’s full name. She hated telling anyone what it was. The only time Jason had ever said it aloud, just trying to pronounce it correctly, she’d given him a murderous look. That was the name of a little girl in San Juan, she told him. I left it behind when I left Puerto Rico.
Reyna scowled. “How did you—”
“Uh,” Grover Underwood interrupted. “You mean your initials are RA-RA?”
Reyna’s hand drifted toward her dagger.
“But that’s not important!” the satyr said quickly. “Look, we wouldn’t have risked coming here if we didn’t trust Annabeth’s instincts. A Roman leader returning the most important Greek statue to Camp Half-Blood—she knows that could prevent a war.”
“This isn’t a trick,” Rachel added. “We’re not lying. Ask your dogs.”
The metallic greyhounds didn’t react. Reyna stroked Aurum’s head thoughtfully. “The Athena Parthenos…so the legend is true.”
“Reyna!” Octavian cried. “You can’t seriously be considering this! Even if the statue still exists, you see what they’re doing. We’re on the verge of attacking them—destroying the stupid Greeks once and for all—and they concoct this stupid errand to divert your attention. They want to send you to your death!”
The other Romans muttered, glaring at their visitors. Jason remembered how persuasive Octavian could be, and he was winning the officers to his side.
Rachel Dare faced the augur. “Octavian, son of Apollo, you should take this more seriously. Even Romans respected your father’s Oracle of Delphi.”
“Ha!” Octavian said. “You’re the Oracle of Delphi? Right. And I’m the Emperor Nero!”
“At least Nero could play music,” Grover muttered.
Octavian balled his fists.
Suddenly the wind shifted. It swirled around the Romans with a hissing sound, like a nest of snakes. Rachel Dare glowed in a green aura, as if hit by a soft emerald spotlight. Then the wind faded and the aura was gone.
The sneer melted from Octavian’s face. The Romans rustled uneasily.
“It’s your decision,” Rachel said, as if nothing had happened. “I have no specific prophecy to offer you, but I can see glimpses of the future. I see the Athena Parthenos on Half-Blood Hill. I see her bringing it.” She pointed at Reyna. “Also, Ella has been murmuring lines from your Sibylline Books—”
“What?” Reyna interrupted. “The Sibylline Books were destroyed centuries ago.”
“I knew it!” Octavian pounded his fist into his palm. “That harpy they brought back from the quest—Ella. I knew she was spouting prophecies! Now I understand. She—she somehow memorized a copy of the Sibylline Books.”
Reyna shook her head in disbelief. “How is that possible?”
“We don’t know,” Rachel admitted. “But, yes, that seems to be the case. Ella has a perfect memory. She loves books. Somewhere, somehow, she read your Roman book of prophecies. Now she’s the only source for them.”
“Your friends lied,” Octavian said. “They told us the harpy was just muttering gibberish. They stole her!”
Grover huffed indignantly. “Ella isn’t your property! She’s a free creature. Besides, she wants to be at Camp Half-Blood. She’s dating one of my friends, Tyson.”
“The Cyclops,” Reyna remembered. “A harpy dating a Cyclops…”
“That’s not relevant!” Octavian said. “The harpy has valuable Roman prophecies. If the Greeks won’t return her, we should take their Oracle hostage! Guards!”
Two centurions advanced, their pila leveled. Grover brought his pipes to his lips, played a quick jig, and their spears turned into Christmas trees. The guards dropped them in surprise.
“Enough!” Reyna shouted.
She didn’t often raise her voice. When she did, everyone listened.
“We’ve strayed from the point,” she said. “Rachel Dare, you’re telling me Annabeth is in Tartarus, yet she’s found a way to send this message. She wants me to bring this statue from the ancient lands to your camp.”
Rachel nodded. “Only a Roman can return it and restore peace.”
“And why would the Romans want peace,” Reyna asked, “after your ship attacked our city?”
“You know why,” Rachel said. “To avoid this war. To reconcile the gods’ Greek and Roman sides. We have to work together to defeat Gaea.”
Octavian stepped forward to speak, but Reyna shot him a withering look.
“According to Percy Jackson,” Reyna said, “the battle with Gaea will be fought in the ancient lands. In Greece.”
“That’s where the giants are,” Rachel agreed. “Whatever magic, whatever ritual the giants are planning to wake the Earth Mother, I sense it will happen in Greece. But…well, our problems aren’t limited to the ancient lands. That’s why I brought Grover to talk to you.”
The satyr tugged his goatee. “Yeah…see, over the last few months, I’ve been talking to satyrs and nature spirits across the continent. They’re all saying the same thing. Gaea is stirring—I mean, she’s right on the edge of consciousness. She’s whispering in the minds of naiads, trying to turn them. She’s causing earthquakes, uprooting the dryads’ trees. Last week alone, she appeared in human form in a dozen different places, scaring the horns off some of my friends. In Colorado, a giant stone fist rose out of a mountain and swatted some Party Ponies like flies.”
Reyna frowned. “Party Ponies?”
“Long story,” Rachel said. “The point is: Gaea will rise everywhere. She’s already stirring. No place will be safe from the battle. And we know that her first targets are going to be the demigod camps. She wants us destroyed.”
“Speculation,” Octavian said. “A distraction. The Greeks fear our attack. They’re trying to confuse us. It’s the Trojan Horse all over again!”
Reyna twisted the silver ring she always wore, with the sword and torch symbols of her mother, Bellona.
“Marcus,” she said, “bring Scipio from the stables.”
“Reyna, no!” Octavian protested.
She faced the Greeks. “I will do this for Annabeth, for the hope of peace between our camps, but do not think I have forgotten the insults to Camp Jupiter. Your ship fired on our city. You declared war—not us. Now, leave.”
Grover stamped his hoof. “Percy would never—”
“Grover,” Rachel said, “we should go.”
Her tone said: Before it’s too late.
After they had retreated back down the stairs, Octavian wheeled on Reyna. “Are you mad?”
“I am praetor of the legion,” Reyna said. “I judge this to be in the best interest of Rome.”
“To get yourself killed? To break our oldest laws and travel to the ancient lands? How will you even find their ship, assuming you survive the journey?”
“I will find them,” Reyna said. “If they are sailing for Greece, I know a place Jason will stop. To face the ghosts in the House of Hades, he will need an army. There is only one place where he can find that sort of help.”
In Jason’s dream, the building seemed to tilt under his feet. He remem
bered a conversation he’d had with Reyna years ago, a promise they had made to each other. He knew what she was talking about.
“This is insanity,” Octavian muttered. “We’re already under attack. We must take the offensive! Those hairy dwarfs have been stealing our supplies, sabotaging our scouting parties—you know the Greeks sent them.”
“Perhaps,” Reyna said. “But you will not launch an attack without my orders. Continue scouting the enemy camp. Secure your positions. Gather all the allies you can, and if you catch those dwarfs, you have my blessing to send them back to Tartarus. But do not attack Camp Half-Blood until I return.”
Octavian narrowed his eyes. “While you’re gone, the augur is the senior officer. I will be in charge.”
“I know.” Reyna didn’t sound happy about it. “But you have my orders. You all heard them.” She scanned the faces of the centurions, daring them to question her.
She stormed off, her purple cloak billowing and her dogs at her heels.
Once she was gone, Octavian turned to the centurions. “Gather all the senior officers. I want a meeting as soon as Reyna has left on her fool’s quest. There will be a few changes in the legion’s plans.”
One of the centurions opened his mouth to respond, but for some reason he spoke in Piper’s voice: “WAKE UP!”
Jason’s eyes snapped open, and he saw the ocean’s surface hurtling toward him.
JASON SURVIVED—BARELY.
Later, his friends explained that they hadn’t seen him falling from the sky until the last second. There was no time for Frank to turn into an eagle and catch him; no time to formulate a rescue plan.
Only Piper’s quick thinking and charmspeak had saved his life. She’d yelled WAKE UP! with so much force that Jason felt like he’d been hit with defibrillator paddles. With a millisecond to spare, he’d summoned the winds and avoided becoming a floating patch of demigod grease on the surface of the Adriatic.
Back on board, he had pulled Leo aside and suggested a course correction. Fortunately, Leo trusted him enough not to ask why.