The Mark of Athena (The Heroes of Olympus #3)

The Mark of Athena (The Heroes of Olympus #3) Page 20

“I wanted to hate her,” Piper admitted. “I was so afraid you’d go back to Camp Jupiter.”

Jason looked surprised. “That would never happen. Not unless you came with me. I promise.”

Piper held his hand. She managed a smile, but she was thinking: Another promise. An oath to keep with a final breath.

She tried to put those thoughts out of her mind. She knew she should just enjoy this quiet moment with Jason. But as she looked over the side of the ship, she couldn’t help remembering how much the prairie at night looked like dark water—like the drowning room she’d seen in the blade of her knife.

Chapter 13

Forget the chicken-nugget smoke screen. Percy wanted Leo to invent an anti-dream hat.

That night he had horrible nightmares. First he dreamed he was back in Alaska on the quest for the legion’s eagle. He was hiking along a mountain road, but as soon as he stepped off the shoulder he was swallowed by the bog—muskeg, Hazel had called it. He found himself choking in mud, unable to move or see or breathe. For the first time in his life, he understood what it was like to drown.

It’s just a dream, he told himself. I’ll wake up.

But that didn’t make it any less terrifying.

Percy had never been scared of water. It was his father’s element. But since the muskeg experience, he’d developed a fear of suffocation. He could never admit this to anyone, but it had even made him nervous about going in the water. He knew that was silly. He couldn’t drown. But he also suspected that if he didn’t control the fear, it might start controlling him.

He thought about his friend Thalia, who was scared of heights even though she was the daughter of the sky god. Her brother, Jason, could fly by summoning the winds. Thalia couldn’t, maybe because she was too afraid to try. If Percy started to believe he could drown…

The muskeg pressed against his chest. His lungs wanted to burst.

Stop panicking, he told himself. This isn’t real.

Just when he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, the dream changed.

He stood in a vast gloomy space like an underground parking garage. Rows of stone pillars marched off in every direction, holding up the ceiling about twenty feet above. Freestanding braziers cast a dim red glow over the floor.

Percy couldn’t see very far in the shadows, but hanging from the ceiling were pulley systems, sandbags, and rows of dark theater lights. Piled around the chamber, wooden crates were labeled PROPS, WEAPONS, and COSTUMES. One read: ASSORTED ROCKET LAUNCHERS.

Percy heard machinery creaking in the darkness, huge gears turning, and water rushing through pipes.

Then he saw the giant…or at least Percy guessed that he was a giant.

He was about twelve feet tall—a respectable height for a Cyclops, but only half as tall as other giants Percy had dealt with. He also looked more human than a typical giant, without the dragonlike legs of his larger kin. Nevertheless, his long purple hair was braided in a ponytail of dreadlocks, woven with gold and silver coins, which struck Percy as a giantish hairstyle. He had a ten-foot spear strapped to his back—a giantish weapon.

He wore the largest black turtleneck Percy had ever seen, black pants, and black leather shoes with points so long and curly, they might have been jester slippers. He paced back and forth in front of a raised platform, examining a bronze jar about the size of Percy.

“No, no, no,” the giant muttered to himself. “Where’s the splash? Where’s the value?” He yelled into the darkness, “Otis!”

Percy heard something shuffling in the distance. Another giant appeared out of the gloom. He wore exactly the same black outfit, right down to the curly shoes. The only difference between the two giants was that the second one’s hair was green rather than purple.

The first giant cursed. “Otis, why do you do this to me every day? I told you I was wearing the black turtleneck today. You could wear anything but the black turtleneck!”

Otis blinked as if he’d just woken up. “I thought you were wearing the yellow toga today.”

“That was yesterday! When you showed up in the yellow toga!”

“Oh. Right. Sorry, Ephie.”

His brother snarled. They had to be twins, because their faces were identically ugly.

“And don’t call me Ephie,” Ephie demanded. “Call me Ephialtes. That’s my name. Or you can use my stage name: The BIG F!”

Otis grimaced. “I’m still not sure about that stage name.”

“Nonsense! It’s perfect. Now, how are the preparations coming along?”

“Fine.” Otis didn’t sound very enthusiastic. “The man-eating tigers, the spinning blades…But I still think a few ballerinas would be nice.”

“No ballerinas!” Ephialtes snapped. “And this thing.” He waved at the bronze jar in disgust. “What does it do? It’s not exciting.”

“But that’s the whole point of the show. He dies unless the others rescue him. And if they arrive on schedule—”

“Oh, they’d better!” Ephialtes said. “July First, the Kalends of July, sacred to Juno. That’s when Mother wants to destroy those stupid demigods and really rub it in Juno’s face. Besides, I’m not paying overtime for those gladiator ghosts!”

“Well, then, they all die,” Otis said, “and we start the destruction of Rome. Just like Mother wants. It’ll be perfect. The crowd will love it. Roman ghosts adore this sort of thing.”

Ephialtes looked unconvinced. “But the jar just stands there. Couldn’t we suspend it above a fire, or dissolve it in a pool of acid or something?”

“We need him alive for a few more days,” Otis reminded his brother. “Otherwise, the seven won’t take the bait and rush to save him.”

“Hmm. I suppose. I’d still like a little more screaming. This slow death is boring. Ah, well, what about our talented friend? Is she ready to receive her visitor?”

Otis made a sour face. “I really don’t like talking to her. She makes me nervous.”

“But is she ready?”

“Yes,” Otis said reluctantly. “She’s been ready for centuries. No one will be removing that statue.”

“Excellent.” Ephialtes rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “This is our big chance, my brother.”

“That’s what you said about our last stunt,” Otis mumbled. “I was hanging in that block of ice suspended over the River Lethe for six months, and we didn’t even get any media attention.”

“This is different!” Ephialtes insisted. “We will set a new standard for entertainment! If Mother is pleased, we can write our own ticket to fame and fortune!”

“If you say so,” Otis sighed. “Though I still think those ballerina costumes from Swan Lake would look lovely—”

“No ballet!”

“Sorry.”

“Come,” Ephialtes said. “Let’s examine the tigers. I want to be sure they are hungry!”

The giants lumbered off into the gloom, and Percy turned toward the jar.

I need to see inside, he thought.

He willed his dream forward, right to the surface of the jar. Then he passed through.

The air in the jar smelled of stale breath and tarnished metal. The only light came from the dim purple glow of a dark sword, its Stygian iron blade set against one side of the container. Huddled next to it was a dejected-looking boy in tattered jeans, a black shirt, and an old aviator jacket. On his right hand, a silver skull ring glittered.

“Nico,” Percy called. But the son of Hades couldn’t hear him.

The container was completely sealed. The air was turning poisonous. Nico’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. He appeared to be meditating. His face was pale, and thinner than Percy remembered.

On the inner wall of the jar, it looked as though Nico had scratched three hash marks with his sword—maybe it had been three days that he’d been imprisoned?

It didn’t seem possible he could have survived so long without suffocating. Even in a dream, Percy was already starting to feel panicky, struggling to get enough oxygen.

Then he noticed something between Nico’s feet—a small collection of glistening objects no bigger than baby teeth.

Seeds, Percy realized. Pomegranate seeds. Three had been eaten and spit out. Five were still encased in dark red pulp.

“Nico,” Percy said, “where is this place? We’ll save you.…”

The image faded, and a girl’s voice whispered: “Percy.”

At first, Percy thought he was still asleep. When he’d lost his memory, he’d spent weeks dreaming about Annabeth, the only person he remembered from his past. As his eyes opened and his vision cleared, he realized she was really there.

She was standing by his berth, smiling down at him.

Her blond hair fell across her shoulders. Her storm-gray eyes were bright with amusement. He remembered his first day at Camp Half-Blood, five years ago, when he’d woken from a daze and found Annabeth standing over him. She had said, You drool when you sleep.

She was sentimental that way.

“Wh—what’s going on?” he asked. “Are we there?”

“No,” she said, her voice low. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“You mean…” Percy’s heart started to race. He realized he was in his pajamas, in bed. He probably had been drooling, or at least making weird noises as he dreamed. No doubt he had a severe case of pillow hair and his breath didn’t smell great. “You sneaked into my cabin?”

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Percy, you’ll be seventeen in two months. You can’t seriously be worried about getting into trouble with Coach Hedge.”

“Uh, have you seen his baseball bat?”

“Besides, Seaweed Brain, I just thought we could take a walk. We haven’t had any time to be together alone. I want to show you something—my favorite place aboard the ship.”

Percy’s pulse was still in overdrive, but it wasn’t from fear of getting into trouble. “Can I, you know, brush my teeth first?”

“You’d better,” Annabeth said. “Because I’m not kissing you until you do. And brush your hair while you’re at it.”

For a trireme, the ship was huge, but it still felt cozy to Percy—like his dorm building back at Yancy Academy, or any of the other boarding schools he’d gotten kicked out of. Annabeth and he crept downstairs to the second deck, which Percy hadn’t explored except for sickbay.

She led him past the engine room, which looked like a very dangerous, mechanized jungle gym, with pipes and pistons and tubes jutting from a central bronze sphere. Cables resembling giant metal noodles snaked across the floor and ran up the walls.

“How does that thing even work?” Percy asked.

“No idea,” Annabeth said. “And I’m the only one besides Leo who can operate it.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“It should be fine. It’s only threatened to blow up once.”

“You’re kidding, I hope.”