The Lightning Thief: The Graphic Novel

by Rick Riordan

  He swallowed. “Yeah, sure. I never liked those shoes, anyway.”

  He tried to sound brave about it, but he was trembling as badly as Annabeth and I were. Whatever was in that pit was nobody’s pet. It was unspeakably old and powerful. Even Echidna hadn’t given me that feeling. I was almost relieved to turn my back on that tunnel and head toward the palace of Hades.

  Almost.

  The Furies circled the parapets, high in the gloom. The outer walls of the fortress glittered black, and the twostory-tall bronze gates stood wide open.

  Up close, I saw that the engravings on the gates were scenes of death. Some were from modern times—an atomic bomb exploding over a city, a trench filled with gas mask– wearing soldiers, a line of African famine victims waiting with empty bowls—but all of them looked as if they’d been etched into the bronze thousands of years ago. I wondered if I was looking at prophecies that had come true.

  Inside the courtyard was the strangest garden I’d ever seen. Multicolored mushrooms, poisonous shrubs, and weird luminous plants grew without sunlight. Precious jewels made up for the lack of flowers, piles of rubies as big as my fist, clumps of raw diamonds. Standing here and there like frozen party guests were Medusa’s garden statues— petrified children, satyrs, and centaurs—all smiling grotesquely.

  In the center of the garden was an orchard of pomegranate trees, their orange blooms neon bright in the dark. “The garden of Persephone,” Annabeth said. “Keep walking.”

  I understood why she wanted to move on. The tart smell of those pomegranates was almost overwhelming. I had a sudden desire to eat them, but then I remembered the story of Persephone. One bite of Underworld food, and we would never be able to leave. I pulled Grover away to keep him from picking a big juicy one.

  We walked up the steps of the palace, between black columns, through a black marble portico, and into the house of Hades. The entry hall had a polished bronze floor, which seemed to boil in the reflected torchlight. There was no ceiling, just the cavern roof, far above. I guess they never had to worry about rain down here.

  Every side doorway was guarded by a skeleton in military gear. Some wore Greek armor, some British redcoat uniforms, some camouflage with tattered American flags on the shoulders. They carried spears or muskets or M-16s. None of them bothered us, but their hollow eye sockets followed us as we walked down the hall, toward the big set of doors at the opposite end.

  Two U.S. Marine skeletons guarded the doors. They grinned down at us, rocket-propelled grenade launchers held across their chests.

  “You know,” Grover mumbled, “I bet Hades doesn’t have trouble with door-to-door salesmen.”

  My backpack weighed a ton now. I couldn’t figure out why. I wanted to open it, check to see if I had somehow picked up a stray bowling ball, but this wasn’t the time.

  “Well, guys,” I said. “I suppose we should . . . knock?”

  A hot wind blew down the corridor, and the doors swung open. The guards stepped aside.

  “I guess that means entrez-vous,” Annabeth said.

  The room inside looked just like in my dream, except this time the throne of Hades was occupied.

  He was the third god I’d met, but the first who really struck me as godlike.

  He was at least ten feet tall, for one thing, and dressed in black silk robes and a crown of braided gold. His skin was albino white, his hair shoulder-length and jet black. He wasn’t bulked up like Ares, but he radiated power. He lounged on his throne of fused human bones, looking lithe, graceful, and dangerous as a panther.

  I immediately felt like he should be giving the orders. He knew more than I did. He should be my master. Then I told myself to snap out of it.

  Hades’s aura was affecting me, just as Ares’s had. The Lord of the Dead resembled pictures I’d seen of Adolph Hitler, or Napoleon, or the terrorist leaders who direct suicide bombers. Hades had the same intense eyes, the same kind of mesmerizing, evil charisma.

  “You are brave to come here, Son of Poseidon,” he said in an oily voice. “After what you have done to me, very brave indeed. Or perhaps you are simply very foolish.”

  Numbness crept into my joints, tempting me to lie down and just take a little nap at Hades’s feet. Curl up here and sleep forever.

  I fought the feeling and stepped forward. I knew what I had to say. “Lord and Uncle, I come with two requests.”

  Hades raised an eyebrow. When he sat forward in his throne, shadowy faces appeared in the folds of his black robes, faces of torment, as if the garment were stitched of trapped souls from the Fields of Punishment, trying to get out. The ADHD part of me wondered, off-task, whether the rest of his clothes were made the same way. What horrible things would you have to do in your life to get woven into Hades’s underwear?

  “Only two requests?” Hades said. “Arrogant child. As if you have not already taken enough. Speak, then. It amuses me not to strike you dead yet.”

  I swallowed. This was going about as well as I’d feared.

  I glanced at the empty, smaller throne next to Hades’s. It was shaped like a black flower, gilded with gold. I wished Queen Persephone were here. I recalled something in the myths about how she could calm her husband’s moods. But it was summer. Of course, Persephone would be above in the world of light with her mother, the goddess of agriculture, Demeter. Her visits, not the tilt of the planet, create the seasons.

  Annabeth cleared her throat. Her finger prodded me in the back.

  “Lord Hades,” I said. “Look, sir, there can’t be a war among the gods. It would be . . . bad.”

  “Really bad,” Grover added helpfully.

  “Return Zeus’s master bolt to me,” I said. “Please, sir. Let me carry it to Olympus.”

  Hades’s eyes grew dangerously bright. “You dare keep up this pretense, after what you have done?”

  I glanced back at my friends. They looked as confused as I was.

  “Um . . . Uncle,” I said. “You keep saying ‘after what you’ve done.’ What exactly have I done?”

  The throne room shook with a tremor so strong, they probably felt it upstairs in Los Angeles. Debris fell from the cavern ceiling. Doors burst open all along the walls, and skeletal warriors marched in, hundreds of them, from every time period and nation in Western civilization. They lined the perimeter of the room, blocking the exits.

  Hades bellowed, “Do you think I want war, godling?”

  I wanted to say, Well, these guys don’t look like peace activists. But I thought that might be a dangerous answer.

  “You are the Lord of the Dead,” I said carefully. “A war would expand your kingdom, right?”

  “A typical thing for my brothers to say! Do you think I need more subjects? Did you not see the sprawl of the Asphodel Fields?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Have you any idea how much my kingdom has swollen in this past century alone, how many subdivisions I’ve had to open?”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but Hades was on a roll now.

  “More security ghouls,” he moaned. “Traffic problems at the judgment pavilion. Double overtime for the staff. I used to be a rich god, Percy Jackson. I control all the precious metals under the earth. But my expenses!”

  “Charon wants a pay raise,” I blurted, just remembering the fact. As soon as I said it, I wished I could sew up my mouth.

  “Don’t get me started on Charon!” Hades yelled. “He’s been impossible ever since he discovered Italian suits! Problems everywhere, and I’ve got to handle all of them personally. The commute time alone from the palace to the gates is enough to drive me insane! And the dead just keep arriving. No, godling. I need no help getting subjects! I did not ask for this war.”

  “But you took Zeus’s master bolt.”

  “Lies!” More rumbling. Hades rose from his throne, towering to the height of a football goalpost. “Your father may fool Zeus, boy, but I am not so stupid. I see his plan.”

  “His plan?”

  “You were t
he thief on the winter solstice,” he said. “Your father thought to keep you his little secret. He directed you into the throne room on Olympus. You took the master bolt and my helm. Had I not sent my Fury to discover you at Yancy Academy, Poseidon might have succeeded in hiding his scheme to start a war. But now you have been forced into the open. You will be exposed as Poseidon’s thief, and I will have my helm back!”

  “But . . .” Annabeth spoke. I could tell her mind was going a million miles an hour. “Lord Hades, your helm of darkness is missing, too?”

  “Do not play innocent with me, girl. You and the satyr have been helping this hero—coming here to threaten me in Poseidon’s name, no doubt—to bring me an ultimatum. Does Poseidon think I can be blackmailed into supporting him?”

  “No!” I said. “Poseidon didn’t—I didn’t—”

  “I have said nothing of the helm’s disappearance,” Hades snarled, “because I had no illusions that anyone on Olympus would offer me the slightest justice, the slightest help. I can ill afford for word to get out that my most powerful weapon of fear is missing. So I searched for you myself, and when it was clear you were coming to me to deliver your threat, I did not try to stop you.”

  “You didn’t try to stop us? But—”

  “Return my helm now, or I will stop death,” Hades threatened. “That is my counterproposal. I will open the earth and have the dead pour back into the world. I will make your lands a nightmare. And you, Percy Jackson—your skeleton will lead my army out of Hades.”

  The skeletal soldiers all took one step forward, making their weapons ready.

  At that point, I probably should have been terrified. The strange thing was, I felt offended. Nothing gets me angrier than being accused of something I didn’t do. I’ve had a lot of experience with that.

  “You’re as bad as Zeus,” I said. “You think I stole from you? That’s why you sent the Furies after me?”

  “Of course,” Hades said.

  “And the other monsters?”

  Hades curled his lip. “I had nothing to do with them. I wanted no quick death for you—I wanted you brought before me alive so you might face every torture in the Fields of Punishment. Why do you think I let you enter my kingdom so easily?”

  “Easily?”

  “Return my property!”

  “But I don’t have your helm. I came for the master bolt.”

  “Which you already possess!” Hades shouted. “You came here with it, little fool, thinking you could you threaten me!”

  “But I didn’t!”

  “Open your pack, then.”

  A horrible feeling struck me. The weight in my backpack, like a bowling ball. It couldn’t be. . . .

  I slung it off my shoulder and unzipped it. Inside was a two-foot-long metal cylinder, spiked on both ends, humming with energy.

  “Percy,” Annabeth said. “How—”

  “I—I don’t know. I don’t understand.”

  “You heroes are always the same,” Hades said. “Your pride makes you foolish, thinking you could bring such a weapon before me. I did not ask for Zeus’s master bolt, but since it is here, you will yield it to me. I am sure it will make an excellent bargaining tool. And now . . . my helm. Where is it?”

  I was speechless. I had no helm. I had no idea how the master bolt had gotten into my backpack. I wanted to think Hades was pulling some kind of trick. Hades was the bad guy. But suddenly the world turned sideways. I realized I’d been played with. Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades had been set at each other’s throats by someone else. The master bolt had been in the backpack, and I’d gotten the backpack from . . .

  “Lord Hades, wait,” I said. “This is all a mistake.”

  “A mistake?” Hades roared.

  The skeletons aimed their weapons. From high above, there was a fluttering of leathery wings, and the three Furies swooped down to perch on the back of their master’s throne. The one with Mrs. Dodds’s face grinned at me eagerly and flicked her whip.

  “There is no mistake,” Hades said. “I know why you have come—I know the real reason you brought the bolt. You came to bargain for her.”

  Hades loosed a ball of gold fire from his palm. It exploded on the steps in front of me, and there was my mother, frozen in a shower of gold, just as she was at the moment when the Minotaur began to squeeze her to death.

  I couldn’t speak. I reached out to touch her, but the light was as hot as a bonfire.

  “Yes,” Hades said with satisfaction. “I took her. I knew, Percy Jackson, that you would come to bargain with me eventually. Return my helm, and perhaps I will let her go. She is not dead, you know. Not yet. But if you displease me, that will change.”

  I thought about the pearls in my pocket. Maybe they could get me out of this. If I could just get my mom free . . .

  “Ah, the pearls,” Hades said, and my blood froze. “Yes, my brother and his little tricks. Bring them forth, Percy Jackson.”

  My hand moved against my will and brought out the pearls.

  “Only three,” Hades said. “What a shame. You do realize each only protects a single person. Try to take your mother, then, little godling. And which of your friends will you leave behind to spend eternity with me? Go on. Choose. Or give me the backpack and accept my terms.”

  I looked at Annabeth and Grover. Their faces were grim.

  “We were tricked,” I told them. “Set up.”

  “Yes, but why?” Annabeth asked. “And the voice in the pit—”

  “I don’t know yet,” I said. “But I intend to ask.”

  “Decide, boy!” Hades yelled.

  “Percy.” Grover put his hand on my shoulder. “You can’t give him the bolt.”

  “I know that.”

  “Leave me here,” he said. “Use the third pearl on your mom.”

  “No!”

  “I’m a satyr,” Grover said. “We don’t have souls like humans do. He can torture me until I die, but he won’t get me forever. I’ll just be reincarnated as a flower or something. It’s the best way.”

  “No.” Annabeth drew her bronze knife. “You two go on. Grover, you have to protect Percy. You have to get your searcher’s license and start your quest for Pan. Get his mom out of here. I’ll cover you. I plan to go down fighting.”

  “No way,” Grover said. “I’m staying behind.”

  “Think again, goat boy,” Annabeth said.

  “Stop it, both of you!” I felt like my heart was being ripped in two. They had both been with me through so much. I remembered Grover dive-bombing Medusa in the statue garden, and Annabeth saving us from Cerberus; we’d survived Hephaestus’s Waterland ride, the St. Louis Arch, the Lotus Casino. I had spent thousands of miles worried that I’d be betrayed by a friend, but these friends would never do that. They had done nothing but save me, over and over, and now they wanted to sacrifice their lives for my mom.

  “I know what to do,” I said. “Take these.”

  I handed them each a pearl.

  Annabeth said, “But, Percy . . .”

  I turned and faced my mother. I desperately wanted to sacrifice myself and use the last pearl on her, but I knew what she would say. She would never allow it. I had to get the bolt back to Olympus and tell Zeus the truth. I had to stop the war. She would never forgive me if I saved her instead. I thought about the prophecy made at Half-Blood Hill, what seemed like a million years ago. You will fail to save what matters most in the end.

  “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I’ll be back. I’ll find a way.”

  The smug look on Hades’s face faded. He said, “Godling . . . ?”

  “I’ll find your helm, Uncle,” I told him. “I’ll return it. Remember about Charon’s pay raise.”

  “Do not defy me—”

  “And it wouldn’t hurt to play with Cerberus once in a while. He likes red rubber balls.”

  “Percy Jackson, you will not—”

  I shouted, “Now, guys!”

  We smashed the pearls at our feet. For a scary momen
t, nothing happened.

  Hades yelled, “Destroy them!”

  The army of skeletons rushed forward, swords out, guns clicking to full automatic. The Furies lunged, their whips bursting into flame.

  Just as the skeletons opened fire, the pearl fragments at my feet exploded with a burst of green light and a gust of fresh sea wind. I was encased in a milky white sphere, which was starting to float off the ground.

  Annabeth and Grover were right behind me. Spears and bullets sparked harmlessly off the pearl bubbles as we floated up. Hades yelled with such rage, the entire fortress shook and I knew it was not going to be a peaceful night in L.A.

  “Look up!” Grover yelled. “We’re going to crash!”

  Sure enough, we were racing right toward the stalactites, which I figured would pop our bubbles and skewer us.

  “How do you control these things?” Annabeth shouted.

  “I don’t think you do!” I shouted back.

  We screamed as the bubbles slammed into the ceiling and . . . Darkness.

  Were we dead?

  No, I could still feel the racing sensation. We were going up, right through solid rock as easily as an air bubble in water. That was the power of the pearls, I realized—What belongs to the sea will always return to the sea.

  For a few moments, I couldn’t see anything outside the smooth walls of my sphere, then my pearl broke through on the ocean floor. The two other milky spheres, Annabeth and Grover, kept pace with me as we soared upward through the water. And—ker-blam!

  We exploded on the surface, in the middle of the Santa Monica Bay, knocking a surfer off his board with an indignant, “Dude!”

  I grabbed Grover and hauled him over to a life buoy. I caught Annabeth and dragged her over too. A curious shark was circling us, a great white about eleven feet long.

  I said, “Beat it.”

  The shark turned and raced away.

  The surfer screamed something about bad mushrooms and paddled away from us as fast as he could.

  Somehow, I knew what time it was: early morning, June 21, the day of the summer solstice.

  In the distance, Los Angeles was on fire, plumes of smoke rising from neighborhoods all over the city. There had been an earthquake, all right, and it was Hades’s fault. He was probably sending an army of the dead after me right now.