by Rick Riordan
Maintaining the wind ropes took all of Jason’s concentration. The horses strained to break free. Only his willpower kept them in check.
Malta, he ordered. Straight to Malta.
By the time land finally appeared in the distance—a hilly island carpeted with low stone buildings—Jason was soaked in sweat. His arms felt rubbery, like he’d been holding a barbell straight out in front of him.
He hoped they’d reached the right place, because he couldn’t keep the horses together any longer. He released the wind reins. The venti scattered into particles of sand and steam.
Exhausted, Jason climbed down from the prow. He leaned against Festus’s neck. The dragon turned and gave him a chin hug.
“Thanks, man,” Jason said. “Rough day, huh?”
Behind him, the deck boards creaked.
“Jason?” Piper called. “Oh, gods, your arms…”
He hadn’t noticed, but his skin was dotted with blisters.
Piper unwrapped a square of ambrosia. “Eat this.”
He chewed. His mouth was filled with the taste of fresh brownies—his favorite treat from the bakeries in New Rome. The blisters faded on his arms. His strength returned, but the brownie ambrosia tasted more bitter than usual, as if it somehow knew that Jason was turning his back on Camp Jupiter. This was no longer the taste of home.
“Thanks, Pipes,” he murmured. “How long was I—?”
“About six hours.”
Wow, Jason thought. No wonder he felt sore and hungry. “The others?”
“All fine. Tired of being cooped up. Should I tell them it’s safe to come above deck?”
Jason licked his dry lips. Despite the ambrosia, he felt shaky. He didn’t want the others to see him like this.
“Give me a second,” he said. “…catch my breath.”
Piper leaned next to him. In her green tank top, her beige shorts, and her hiking boots, she looked like she was ready to climb a mountain—and then fight an army at the top. Her dagger was strapped to her belt. Her cornucopia was slung over one shoulder. She’d taken to wearing the jagged bronze sword she’d recovered from Zethes the Boread, which was only slightly less intimidating than an assault rifle.
During their time at Auster’s palace, Jason had watched Piper and Hazel spend hours sword fighting—something Piper had never been interested in before. Since her encounter with Khione, Piper seemed more wired, tensed up inside like a primed catapult, as if she were determined never to be caught off guard again.
Jason understood the feeling, but he worried she was being too hard on herself. Nobody could be ready for anything all the time. He should know. He’d spent the last fight as a freeze-dried throw rug.
He must have been staring, because she gave him a knowing smirk. “Hey, I’m fine. We’re fine.”
She perched on her tiptoes and kissed him, which felt as good as the ambrosia. Her eyes were flecked with so many colors Jason could’ve stared into them all day, studying the changing patterns, the way people watched the northern lights.
“I’m lucky to have you,” he said.
“Yeah, you are.” She pushed his chest gently. “Now, how do we get this ship to the docks?”
Jason frowned across the water. They were still half a mile from the island. He had no idea whether they could get the engines working, or the sails.…
Fortunately, Festus had been listening. He faced front and blew a plume of fire. The ship’s engine clattered and hummed. It sounded like a massive bike with a busted chain—but they lurched forward. Slowly, the Argo II headed toward the shore.
“Good dragon.” Piper patted Festus’s neck.
The dragon’s ruby eyes glinted as if he was pleased with himself.
“He seems different since you woke him,” Jason said. “More…alive.”
“The way he should be.” Piper smiled. “I guess once in a while we all need a wake-up call from somebody who loves us.”
Standing next to her, Jason felt so good, he could almost imagine their future together at Camp Half-Blood, once the war was over—assuming they lived, assuming there was still a camp left to return to.
When the choice comes again, Notus had said, storm or fire—remember me. And do not despair.
The closer they got to Greece, the more dread settled in Jason’s chest. He was starting to think Piper was right about the storm or fire line in the prophecy—one of them, Jason or Leo, would not come back from this voyage alive.
Which was why they had to find Leo. As much as Jason loved his life, he couldn’t let his friend die for his sake. He could never live with the guilt.
Of course he hoped he was wrong. He hoped they both came out of this quest okay. But if not, Jason had to be prepared. He would protect his friends and stop Gaea—whatever it took.
Do not despair.
Yeah. Easy for an immortal wind god to say.
As the island got closer, Jason saw docks bristling with sails. From the rocky shoreline rose fortress-like seawalls—fifty or sixty feet tall. Above that sprawled a medieval-looking city of church spires, domes, and tightly wedged buildings, all made of the same golden stone. From where Jason stood, it looked as if the city covered every inch of the island.
He scanned the boats in the harbor. A hundred yards ahead, tied to the end of the longest dock, was a makeshift raft with a simple mast and a square canvas sail. On the back, the rudder was wired to some sort of machine. Even from this distance, Jason could see the glint of Celestial bronze.
Jason grinned. Only one demigod would make a boat like that, and he’d moored it as far out in the harbor as possible, where the Argo II couldn’t fail to spot it.
“Get the others,” Jason told Piper. “Leo is here.”
THEY FOUND LEO AT THE TOP of the city fortifications. He was sitting at an open-air café, overlooking the sea, drinking a cup of coffee and dressed in…wow. Time warp. Leo’s outfit was identical to the one he’d worn the day they first arrived at Camp Half-Blood—jeans, a white shirt, and an old army jacket. Except that jacket had burned up months ago.
Piper nearly knocked him out of his chair with a hug. “Leo! Gods, where have you been?”
“Valdez!” Coach Hedge grinned. Then he seemed to remember he had a reputation to protect and he forced a scowl. “You ever disappear like that again, you little punk, I’ll knock you into next month!”
Frank patted Leo on the back so hard it made him wince. Even Nico shook his hand.
Hazel kissed Leo on the cheek. “We thought you were dead!”
Leo mustered a faint smile. “Hey, guys. Nah, nah, I’m good.”
Jason could tell he wasn’t good. Leo wouldn’t meet their eyes. His hands were perfectly still on the table. Leo’s hands were never still. All the nervous energy had drained right out of him, replaced by a kind of wistful sadness.
Jason wondered why his expression seemed familiar. Then he realized Nico di Angelo had looked the same way after facing Cupid in the ruins of Salona.
Leo was heartsick.
As the others grabbed chairs from the nearby tables, Jason leaned in and squeezed his friend’s shoulder.
“Hey, man,” he said, “what happened?”
Leo’s eyes swept around the group. The message was clear: Not here. Not in front of everyone.
“I got marooned,” Leo said. “Long story. How about you guys? What happened with Khione?”
Coach Hedge snorted. “What happened? Piper happened! I’m telling you, this girl has skills!”
“Coach…” Piper protested.
Hedge began retelling the story, but in his version Piper was a kung fu assassin and there were a lot more Boreads.
As the coach talked, Jason studied Leo with concern. This café had a perfect view of the harbor. Leo must have seen the Argo II sail in. Yet he sat here drinking coffee—which he didn’t even like—waiting for them to find him. That wasn’t like Leo at all. The ship was the most important thing in his life. When he saw it coming to rescue him, Leo should have
run down to the docks, whooping at the top of his lungs.
Coach Hedge was just describing how Piper had defeated Khione with a roundhouse kick when Piper interrupted.
“Coach!” she said. “It didn’t happen like that at all. I couldn’t have done anything without Festus.”
Leo raised his eyebrows. “But Festus was deactivated.”
“Um, about that,” Piper said. “I sort of woke him up.”
Piper explained her version of events—how she’d rebooted the metal dragon with charmspeak.
Leo tapped his fingers on the table, like some of his old energy was coming back.
“Shouldn’t be possible,” he murmured. “Unless the upgrades let him respond to voice commands. But if he’s permanently activated, that means the navigation system and the crystal…”
“Crystal?” Jason asked.
Leo flinched. “Um, nothing. Anyway, what happened after the wind bomb went off?”
Hazel took up the story. A waitress came over and offered them menus. In no time they were chowing down on sandwiches and sodas, enjoying the sunny day almost like a group of regular teenagers.
Frank grabbed a tourist brochure stuck under the napkin dispenser. He began to read it. Piper patted Leo’s arm, like she couldn’t believe he was really here. Nico stood at the edge of the group, eyeing the passing pedestrians as if they might be enemies. Coach Hedge munched on the salt and pepper shakers.
Despite the happy reunion, everybody seemed more subdued than usual—like they were picking up on Leo’s mood. Jason had never really considered how important Leo’s sense of humor was to the group. Even when things were super serious, they could always depend on Leo to lighten things up. Now, it felt like the whole team had dropped anchor.
“So then Jason harnessed the venti,” Hazel finished. “And here we are.”
Leo whistled. “Hot-air horses? Dang, Jason. So basically, you held a bunch of gas together all the way to Malta, and then you let it loose.”
Jason frowned. “You know, it doesn’t sound so heroic when you put it that way.”
“Yeah, well. I’m an expert on hot air. I’m still wondering, why Malta? I just kind of ended up here on the raft, but was that a random thing, or—”
“Maybe because of this.” Frank tapped his brochure. “Says here Malta was where Calypso lived.”
A pint of blood drained from Leo’s face. “W-what now?”
Frank shrugged. “According to this, her original home was an island called Gozo just north of here. Calypso’s a Greek myth thingie, right?”
“Ah, a Greek myth thingie!” Coach Hedge rubbed his hands together. “Maybe we get to fight her! Do we get to fight her? ’Cause I’m ready.”
“No,” Leo murmured. “No, we don’t have to fight her, Coach.”
Piper frowned. “Leo, what’s wrong? You look—”
“Nothing’s wrong!” Leo shot to his feet. “Hey, we should get going. We’ve got work to do!”
“But…where did you go?” Hazel asked. “Where did you get those clothes? How—”
“Jeez, ladies!” Leo said. “I appreciate the concern, but I don’t need two extra moms!”
Piper smiled uncertainly. “Okay, but—”
“Ships to fix!” Leo said. “Festus to check! Earth goddesses to punch in the face! What are we waiting for? Leo’s back!”
He spread his arms and grinned.
He was making a brave attempt, but Jason could see the sadness lingering in his eyes. Something had happened to him…something to do with Calypso.
Jason tried to remember the story about her. She was a sorceress of some sort, maybe like Medea or Circe. But if Leo had escaped from an evil sorceress’s lair, why did he seem so sad? Jason would have to talk to him later, make sure his buddy was okay. For now Leo clearly didn’t want to be interrogated.
Jason got up and clapped him on the shoulder. “Leo’s right. We should get going.”
Everybody took the cue. They started wrapping up their food and finishing their drinks.
Suddenly, Hazel gasped. “Guys…”
She pointed to the northeast horizon. At first, Jason saw nothing but the sea. Then a streak of darkness shot into the air like black lightning—as if pure night had torn through the daytime.
“I don’t see anything,” Coach Hedge grumbled.
“Me neither,” Piper said.
Jason scanned his friends’ faces. Most of them just looked confused. Nico was the only other one who seemed to have noticed the black lightning.
“That can’t be…” Nico muttered. “Greece is still hundreds of miles away.”
The darkness flashed again, momentarily leaching the color from the horizon.
“You think it’s Epirus?” Jason’s whole skeleton tingled, the way he felt when he got hit by a thousand volts. He didn’t know why he could see the dark flashes. He wasn’t a child of the Underworld. But it gave him a very bad feeling.
Nico nodded. “The House of Hades is open for business.”
A few seconds later, a rumbling sound washed over them like distant artillery.
“It’s begun,” Hazel said.
“What has?” Leo asked.
When the next flash happened, Hazel’s gold eyes darkened like foil in fire. “Gaea’s final push,” she said. “The Doors of Death are working overtime. Her forces are entering the mortal world en masse.”
“We’ll never make it,” Nico said. “By the time we arrive, there’ll be too many monsters to fight.”
Jason set his jaw. “We’ll defeat them. And we’ll make it there fast. We’ve got Leo back. He’ll give us the speed we need.”
He turned to his friend. “Or is that just hot air?”
Leo managed a crooked grin. His eyes seemed to say: Thanks.
“Time to fly, boys and girls,” he said. “Uncle Leo’s still got a few tricks up his sleeves!”
PERCY WASN’T DEAD YET, but he was already tired of being a corpse.
As they trudged toward the heart of Tartarus, he kept glancing down at his body, wondering how it could belong to him. His arms looked like bleached leather pulled over sticks. His skeletal legs seemed to dissolve into smoke with every step. He’d learned to move normally within the Death Mist, more or less, but the magical shroud still made him feel like he was wrapped in a coat of helium.
He worried that the Death Mist might cling to him forever, even if they somehow managed to survive Tartarus. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life looking like an extra from The Walking Dead.
Percy tried to focus on something else, but there was no safe direction to look.
Under his feet, the ground glistened a nauseating purple, pulsing with webs of veins. In the dim red light of the blood clouds, Death Mist Annabeth looked like a freshly risen zombie.
Ahead of them was the most depressing view of all.
Spread to the horizon was an army of monsters—flocks of winged arai, tribes of lumbering Cyclopes, clusters of floating evil spirits. Thousands of baddies, maybe tens of thousands, all milling restlessly, pressing against one another, growling and fighting for space—like the locker area of an overcrowded school between classes, if all the students were ’roid-raging mutants who smelled really bad.
Bob led them toward the edge of the army. He made no effort to hide, not that it would have done any good. Being ten feet tall and glowing silver, Bob didn’t do stealth very well.
About thirty yards from the nearest monsters, Bob turned to face Percy.
“Stay quiet and stay behind me,” he advised. “They will not notice you.”
“We hope,” Percy muttered.
On the Titan’s shoulder, Small Bob woke up from a nap. He purred seismically and arched his back, turning skeletal then back to calico. At least he didn’t seem nervous.
Annabeth examined her own zombie hands. “Bob, if we’re invisible…how can you see us? I mean, you’re technically, you know…”
“Yes,” Bob said. “But we are friends.”
“Nyx and her children could see us,” Annabeth said.
Bob shrugged. “That was in Nyx’s realm. That is different.”
“Uh…right.” Annabeth didn’t sound reassured, but they were here now. They didn’t have any choice but to try.
Percy stared at the swarm of vicious monsters. “Well, at least we won’t have to worry about bumping into any other friends in this crowd.”
Bob grinned. “Yes, that is good news! Now, let’s go. Death is close.”
“The Doors of Death are close,” Annabeth corrected. “Let’s watch the phrasing.”
They plunged into the crowd. Percy trembled so badly, he was afraid the Death Mist would shake right off him. He’d seen large groups of monsters before. He’d fought an army of them during the Battle of Manhattan. But this was different.
Whenever he’d fought monsters in the mortal world, Percy at least knew he was defending his home. That gave him courage, no matter how bad the odds were. Here, Percy was the invader. He didn’t belong in this multitude of monsters any more than the Minotaur belonged in Penn Station at rush hour.
A few feet away, a group of empousai tore into the carcass of a gryphon while other gryphons flew around them, squawking in outrage. A six-armed Earthborn and a Laistrygonian giant pummeled each other with rocks, though Percy wasn’t sure if they were fighting or just messing around. A dark wisp of smoke—Percy guessed it must be an eidolon—seeped into a Cyclops, made the monster hit himself in the face, then drifted off to possess another victim.
Annabeth whispered, “Percy, look.”
A stone’s throw away, a guy in a cowboy outfit was cracking a whip at some fire-breathing horses. The wrangler wore a Stetson hat on his greasy hair, an extra-large set of jeans, and a pair of black leather boots. From the side, he might have passed for human—until he turned, and Percy saw that his upper body was split into three different chests, each one dressed in a different-color Western shirt.
It was definitely Geryon, who had tried to kill Percy two years ago in Texas. Apparently the evil rancher was anxious to break in a new herd. The idea of that guy riding out of the Doors of Death made Percy’s sides hurt all over again. His ribs throbbed where the arai had unleashed Geryon’s dying curse back in the forest. He wanted to march up to the three-bodied rancher, smack him in the face, and yell, Thanks a lot, Tex!