I was planning on this being a Christmas present or something, but the House of Hades came out and BAM!
Feels.
Oh, god. Percabeth feels, Leo feels, Frazel feels, Nico feels (the worst), Jasper feels... all the feels.
So if you guys are feeling half the pain I am, I figured you could use a little pick-me-up-and-keep-me-there-until-the-Blood-Of-Ol ympus-comes-out. I know I can.
So, without further ado, I am insanely excited to present Brotherband Chronicles: The Stones of Mnesomyne to all of you! This is really just an prologue, but it's very, very important.
I hope you all enjoy it. And, to qoute Rick Riordan himself:
Sorry for the cliff hanger I left you guys with last time.
HAHAHAHAHA just kidding I'm not.
But seriously, I love you guys.
In the depths of the Underworld, closer to the pit than they would have liked, a figure moved with the stealth and cunning of a fox. Cloaked in all black with a hood obscuring his features, silent as a wraith and moving with utter confidence despite his position, the hooded man stepped to within ten feet of the awning pit that led straight to the pits of hell. Invisible hands of darkest and malice reached out, but the air flared temporarily silver and they immediately receded.
"No disturbance," the figure muttered, looking around edgily. "So why so much silence? What has become of the realm?"
And it was true; silence in the Underworld was deafening. There were no skeletal guards at the palace doors, no few souls wandering the palace and not a servant in sight. Hades himself wasn't around, nor was his distinctive aura that the man had been feeling for two thousand years.
"Asphodel," the man decided, stepping away from the pit, his stomach unclenching slightly as the gap between him and Tartarus widened. "Then Elysium. Then Punishment."
Then, thankfully, back to the surface. Back to sunlight and stars and fresh wind and noise, back to where things made sense. Back to freedom.
Walking through the deserted palace, the man didn't understand how his Uncle had stayed here for three thousand years while remaining his sanity. Well… what sanity he had, that was. The walls were pitch black and seemed to suck happiness away; the floor was slippery and polished to death— no pun intended— and the air itself seemed damp and thick.
The figure stepped out of the palace, passed the gates and onto the fields of Asphodel.
Whatever she thought she was going to see, this wasn't it.
Monsters. Everywhere. Thousands of monsters, wandering back and forth, snarling at each other, biting and slashing and growling. He wasn't threatened by monsters; he had fought more than his share, more than anyone's share, but the sheer volume of beasts wandering the plain was shocking.
There were spirits, of course, but not the normal ones. Tattered uniforms, ghostly weapons and empty eye sockets were the main features that he could make out. The skeletal warriors moved in between the monsters with so little fear the man felt a worm of fear in his stomach. Their relaxed pose showed that they were not only unfazed by the monsters but also used to them.
The most unsettling thing was the lack of normality. He had been to the Underworld, once, and the spirits wandering around were massive in volume and lost in direction. They bumped back and forth, showing each other aside, walking into trees, stumbling over loose patches of grass and generally not noticing how time was passing around them. Standing at the edge of his Uncle's domain, the figure saw none of these every-day, normal spirits. He saw only monsters and warriors.
"Elysium," he decided once again, and started to move through the monsters, the cloak hiding all of his features behind shadow. Both hands remained tucked into the folds of the robe and his feet made no sound of the black soil or the dead grass. He seemed to meld into the shadows as he went, moving in between the monsters and ghouls casually as a man on the way to his friends house.
But one of the Telekhines noticed him.
The monster's first mistake: drop a massive hand on his shoulder.
The monsters second mistake: say, in an oddly low voice, "Stop."
Silver steel flashed, impossibly quickly. Dual hunting knives cleaved through the air and the Telekhine disintegrated into dust so fast it was like he hadn't even been there. For a second, action within a fifty-foot circle seemed to halt as ghost and demons alike stopped to stare at their fallen comrade. The cloaked figure stood where he was, hands once again tucked out of sight.
A Dracaena said, "Did you sssssee that? He disssintegrated—" she got no farther. The man moved again, leaping forwards so quickly he was nothing more than a black blur, knives flashing quickly as once again a pile of dust formed on the ground.
Artemis threw of her cloak as she landed on the ground, rolling up and lashing out on both sides with her hunting knives. Two Hellhounds burst into dust and before anyone could move the goddess spun in a full circle, knives still out at her side, a blur of silver as a dozen monsters felled around her. For a moment nothing happened, then everyone and everything that saw what had happened attacked the moon goddess.
She shot straight up into the air, flipping head over heels and coming down on the back of a Cyclops, dissolving him. Her twin knives flashed faster than lightning and more monsters were reduced to ash, but they were coming in faster than even she could counter. She was about to be overwhelmed.
Then— hiss…. Smack!
The nearest monster burst into ashes almost simultaneously— six of them, Artemis saw, all within half a second of each other.
Her brother was sliping.
In a roar of light and sound and heat Apollo appeared on the scene, eyes blazing, burning bright and hand moving so quickly from his quiver to his bow it was just a gold blur.
"Don't—" smack "Touch—" Whizz. "My—" Hisss "Sister." His final arrow detonated in a blast of sounds and the monsters were thrown back, leaving the sun god standing there grinning.
"Losing your touch, sis!" he said cheerfully, barely even looking as he sent an arrow whizzing away at the first monster to recover and charge them.
"You're not loosing your cockiness," Artemis snapped, drawing her own bow. "Chariot?"
As if to answer her, the ceiling rumbled alarmingly as if something was trying to push its way through. Dust rained down from the cavernous ceiling and the ground itself rumbled.
Then in a burst of light Apollo's sun chariot smashed out of the rocks in a near-vertical dive, pulled up six feet above the ground and screamed towards them, leaving behind it a smoking trail of monster ashes.
"Hop on board," Apollo said as it pulled to a stop, steam rising off. The two beautiful gold horses pulling it stomped their hooves and reared a challenge at the gathered monsters and warriors that were slowly pressing in on the two Olympians. Realizing retreat was the best option, Artemis followed him up on the golden deck. He lashed the reins and the horses took off, yanking on the ropes and pulling the chariot out of danger.
"How are we getting out?" Artemis yelled over the roaring of the wind past her ears. Apollo grinned.
"Same way we got in, Sis!" he replied, pulling ht reins sharply up. The skyrocketed so fast that the world around them blurred, sounds and light and feeling all melting into one as they passed through the rock and magic and darkness that kept the underworld shaded and into the world above.
They had left with exactly what they were looking for.
Annabeth
Two days later
When Hermes visited, Jason was the first to draw his sword and place it against the gods' throat.
Hector, naturally, was second.
Clarisse was third.
Most of the crew, me included, were too stunned by the sudden appearance of the immortal figure to do much but stare. The arrival of a god was like having your world tipped upside down: all the blood rushed to your head, your vision got foggy and there was this rushing sound in his ears.
Hermes looked one part shocked and two parts peeved at the blades pressed against his throat. He let out a sigh of agitation, snapped his fingers and appeared behind Jason and Hector, tapping his foot impatiently. His caduceus morphed into a curved sword, six feet long and crackling with light blue energy.
"Are we done here?"
Jason looked like he was seriously considering turning and resuming his previous position, but Hector, ever the diplomat, lowered his blade and turned towards Hermes.
"What do you want, god of travelers?" he asked, no respect spared in the part of the Olympian. Hermes's eyes shot up.
"God of Travelers?" he demanded. "Prince of Troy, I will have you know—"
"I will have you know," Jason snapped, cutting off the god angrily, his blue eyes ablaze. "That my Captain is dead. My ship is crippled, my crew is half gone and a responsibility I never fathomed possible has been thrown upon me with the weight of a thousand skies. So I will tell you right now, Hermes, neither I nor my crew are in the mood for Olympus's riddles or games."
Angry mutterings broke out across the deck, and I felt resentment bubble in my own chest. It was their fault that Percy was dead. The gods had thrown us into battle with reckless regard for our lives, thinking we were just mortals, thinking that our pain was so short and worthless it wouldn't really affect us. If a thousand of us dying, half of that their own sons, meant Olympus got to live on, I felt sure the gods would barely bat an eye.
It was their fault Percy was dead.
And I had more than half a mind to show them just what kind of pain mortals could do.
"You're angry," Hermes conceded, and I rolled my eyes. If the god was just here to state to obvious then I was hoping a rogue wind would carry him overboard. "And I understand that."
"You understand nothing," Jason snapped, and Hermes's eyes flashed dangerously.
"I lost my own son to her," his caduceus came around to point at me. "Not two months ago. He did not die a heroic death. He was given no time of mourning my you, not but the barest feast. So look into my eyes, son of Zeus, and tell me I don't know pain."
Jason dropped his gaze.
"Greece needs her flagship," Hermes continued, his gaze softening a bit. "And she needs it now. The British will not stop pushing, not even after you've wiped out half their army. They will reach out, to France and Spain and other countries of the like and do whatever they have to in order to crush Greece herself."
"We're badly crippled," Hector said. "If the British attack now—"
"They won't," the god interjected. "Not more many weeks, months even, while they gather their numbers. You need to strengthen your crew and keep Greece in peace."
"Greece was right peaceful when we left," Nico said. "Percy saw to that."
"And now Greece won't be," Hermes replied. "Your Prince dying has created a power void that has few legal and even fewer worthy candidates to fill it." Hector cleared his throat, and I could tell he was thinking about Calypso.
Calypso, who had her heart broken by Percy years ago when she asked for his hand in marriage and instead he ran to the Argo, leaving her and Greece and everything else behind so he could try to escape his fait. Rejection had filled Calypso with a burning passion of hate, and she had sworn vengeance on the Argo and her crew. Percy dying would create the perfect opportunity for her to get her revenge.
"So a diplomatic mission," Thalia summarized from where she was leaning against the rail. Her expression was calm enough, but I could tell by the way her spear was crackling and popping that she was barely holding herself together. "Good thing Percy isn't here; he would've hated that."
"With Percy here, we wouldn't need this diplomatic mission," Clarisse shot back.
"Prince or not, Greece calls," Hermes said firmly, drawing the attention back to him. "Now more than ever your country needs you." He hefted his caduceus like he was about to vanish, but Jason cut him off.
"Why?" the son of Jupiter asked. Hermes looked surprised.
"Why, what?"
"Why did Percy have to die?" Jason elaborated, and went on before Hermes could answer. "I know the prophecy said so, but you could have prevented it. You rained down the fires of Hades and Nyx on the British, but only once Percy was dead. Why did you let him die? Percy would've fought fate itself if it was for the good of Olympus, so why will Olympus do not the same?"
"Because…" Hermes struggled for an answer, looking as if he had a thousand things he wanted to say at once. "Because sometimes even heaven needs a hero, Jason Grace." And with that he dissolved in the wind.
Percy
Charon the boatman watched me carefully as we floated along the Styx, our boat moving silently in the black waters. There were plenty of other spirits surrounding me, pressing in on all sides, crowding to stay away from the deadly Styx waters, but the boatman never lifted his eyes from me.
Finally, he spoke.
"You're the one they talk about."
I looked up in surprise, not really expecting him to say anything. Maybe Charon had a habit of staring at random people while he was ferrying them to Hades; maybe I was just really good looking. Either way, the voice took me off guard.
"Excuse me?"
"The river reaches out to you," Charon said, gesturing with his long pole to the midnight-black waters of the Styx. "Not in compassion. In vengeance. You beat it once, and the River Styx wants its revenge."
Ah. So the river wanted round two. I was going to pass; my first encounter with the river had been fast, brutal and excruciatingly painful. I wasn't looking to touch it, ever again.
Being dead, must have Dulled my senses, because I didn't notice Charon was pulling something out of his robe until it was too late. The knife he had thrown was already bouncing off my skin by the time I reached for Riptide, and as I watched it hit the floor I had one thought:
I'm actually dead.
Holy Hades. You would think that would come earlier, but the fact I was really here, in the Underworld, at the end of all ends prepared to face the three spirits of judgment who would determine my faith for eternity, hit my like a lightning bolt. I couldn't breath for a second as the weight of the situation descended on me, threatening to crush my soul right there. For weeks we had sailed, the thought of my death hanging over the Argo like a heavy cloud, but I never really thought it would truly happen. Death was something that happened to other people; death never really took hold of you. It was an instinct of human nature: you felt immortal until you were at Hades' gate.
The Argo… what would become of her, now that I was gone? Jason was a warrior matched by none other, but he wasn't built to be a Captain. He thought too much, considered every decision with a meticulous process that sometimes had no place in the insanity of battle. No, Jason wasn't cut out to be a Captain.
And Annabeth… I didn't even want to think about her. We were on the verge of having something, something special, and then fate swooped in and plucked me away like a feather in the wind. It wasn't fair.
Oddly, it was Charon who saved me. His voice cut like a whip through the fog that was closing on all sides, loud and clear as a bell. "Even in death, you are invincible."
"I am?" I asked dumbly, staring down at my body. I would have thought just like Achilles that once penetrated, my steel skin would disappear and leave me a regular mortal again. Instead, it seemed, I had literally carried the curse with me to the grave— something that was irrelevant. I didn't plan on doing any fighting in the afterlife. I would sit back and wait for Annabeth— but not too closely, for I didn't want her to meet her doom any sooner than she needed to.
"I wonder what they'll make of that," Charon said. I was about to ask him what he meant but before I could we were deposited on the shore. The spirits rose sluggishly to their feet and I was glad to find that I had more mobility than them; I was able to hop off the boat first and make my way to the gates of the Underworld, guarded by the massive three-headed dog Cerberus.
From what I had gleaned by story, I thought that the gates would be divided into three lines: Asphodel, Elysium and Punishment. Instead I saw only one large, slow-moving queue that snake all the back to almost where I was.
I joined it, having no other option. I was thankful to have my wits with me, unlike the lost and muttering souls that were all around, but at the same time it was a burden. While the others had no clue what they were doing or why they were here, I was painfully aware of both the past and the present: what life I had left behind and the daunting prospect that was ahead of me. Death was eternal; death was never ending.
I wouldn't try for rebirth. There was always the chance I might run into one of the crew of the Argo and not have them recognize me, or worse, be reincarnated as a British. Even though I was dead, I knew I had lived a good life and had no intent of wiping the memories of it clean.
Time slipped by in a haze as the line slowly shuffled forwards until finally I was at the front. Two skeletal guards let me through into the chamber where the three spirits of judgment faced me— black robes, gold plated masks and blank expressions, staring at me with no emotion at all.
I knew that hiding behind one of those masks was Minos, former king of Greece. He was said to be a harsh judger of spirits, but I was confident even he would not be able to deny me Elysium; I had done enough service in my lifetime that I felt I was obligated in to the best section of the Underworld.
They didn't even have to ask me questions: the probed my thoughts with their minds, reaching into the darkest corners of my brain, finding secrets and desires and thoughts no one alive knew about. I felt one of them hit a wall: my Achilles spot. I could feel him straining against the barrier, trying to find the thought, trying to uncover my deepest secret.
An image of Annabeth flared and he backed off, contenting himself with searching through other parts of my brain. Odd thoughts that weren't mine detached themselves into my brain: worthy…. Expand the army… mass recruit… worthy… is he worthy… military… lead… worthy…
After a minute or two it stopped. The three spirits stood still, staring at me with their blank masks for a long, long moment.
Then the middle one began to laugh.
It was a deep, throaty chuckle, laced with malice and disbelief, and sent a shiver of uncertainty down mine spine. I was tempted to reach for Riptide in my pocket, but that would only get me thrown to the Fields of Punishment.
The middle one's laugh died off and it stood up, unfolding a seven-foot frame, features covered by robe and mask. It stalked towards me, malice written on every line of its body. I tensed.
"I never thought," it spoke, voice disguised by the mask. "Never would have dreamed so soon, so very, very soon. I guess you weren't half the warrior you thought yourself to be, Perseus." I felt my muscles coil with anticipation.
The figure reached up, paused for one second and removed his mask. I felt my jaw go slack with shock, the energy drain out of my muscles into a puddle on the floor. All I could do was stare with amazement.
No. It couldn't be.
"Welcome to the Underworld, brother," Atlas spat, a crazy grin spreading across his face. "I think you'll find things have changed just the tiniest bit."
I guess old habits die hard, because here's another cliffhanger for ya'll to enjoy. What do you think? Love it, hate it, hate me, hate Rick? Drop and review and please do me a huge favour by helping me get this thing off the ground and sailing like the Argo.
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