ANNABETH
I thought of Hesoid as I fell. He was this old Greek poet who thought that it would take nine days to fall from earth to Tartarus.
I hoped to the gods he was wrong. Ever since I had let go of Percy, I lost track of time. I had been falling and falling and falling even more. It was lonely.
I couldn't see anything. Just darkness. The cavern had closed, getting rid of the warm sunlight that had given me some comfort in the beginning. Now I had only the sound of the wind and the darkness.
Well, that and the increasing temperature, which told her that she would have to land soon, right? That is, if there was even something to land on.
A part of me wondered if I was already dead and that this was some sort of eternal punishment for doing gods know what. Falling for an eternity sounded like some sort of punishment that the gods would give. It was terribly frustrating. I wished for some sort of stimulant to tell me that there would be a change. That I wasn't just stuck here, falling endlessly. Well, a stimulant that wasn't just the rise in temperature.
My ankle was throbbing, but I couldn't tell if it was still wrapped in the spiderwebs that pulled me here in the first place—not that it mattered now anyways.
I huffed as I thought about it. It was all really Arachne's fault. Despite being trapped in her own webbing, getting smashed by a car, and plunged into the depths of Tartarus, she still managed to get her revenge. She's determined, I'll give her that.
I didn't know if she was still alive. If she was, I was hoping to all the gods that I wouldn't meet her once I landed—assuming I would land, of course. Well, assuming I would land and live.
I could feel a tear escape my eye as my heart ached at the whole ordeal. I never expected my life to be easy—most demigods didn't live long and happy lives. I never expected to be any different, but, still, it wasn't fair. It wasn't reasonable for me to be upset at this, but I was. I expected something terrible. Greek heroes didn't exactly get happy endings—their lives just screamed irony and tragedy. Tragedy which was invented by the greeks themselves.
Still, it hurt. It wasn't fair. Just after I got the statue—just when I succeeded—just when I had been reunited with Percy—just when things were just starting to get better, this happens.
Even the gods couldn't give a punishment worse.
I was reminded of Tantalus, from who the word tantalizing comes from. Tantalus was the son of Zeus and an Oceanid named Pluto. He was favored by many of the gods and often dined with them on Mount Olympus. However, he committed a number of crimes against the gods—the last of which being that he killed his own son and then served him to the gods at a dinner party.
Zeus punished Tantalus to an eternity of lack and desperation in Tartarus (I wonder if I'll run into him). Tantalus was made to stand in a pool of clean, cool water with a fruit tree nearby, with the branches full of delicious fruit. It's said that the water retreats whenever he tries to take a drink and that the fruits would always be just out of his grasp.
That being said, Gaea wasn't like the gods. She was older, much more vicious, and much more blood thirsty. I bet she loved this.
I sighed, pressing my hand to my beating heart and closing my eyes. I thought of a pair of sea green eyes and jet black hair. A lopsided smile that was enough to make me smile myself.
"I love you," I whispered. I knew he couldn't hear me—it was impossible—but it was for my own sanity. If I was going to die, I would want those to be my last words. Though he couldn't hear me, I knew that he had to know. Some part of him just had to.
It takes twelve seconds for a person to reach terminal velocity when falling at low altitude, so I should have reached terminal velocity eons ago. If I land at terminal velocity, I'd die. That is, if Hesiod was right about it being nine days. It sure felt like nine days, but who could say for sure? Time goes by slower when you're not having fun.
I felt something whip me, causing me to hiss.
Then I felt it again, and again, and again.
I opened my eyes and saw a number of webs spaced apart, each web causing me to slow down more and more before I hit the ground. I could barely keep my eyes long enough to see the webs before I would be forced to close them to keep the webs from hitting my eyes.
Wait, I thought, if there are webs—intact webs—then that must mean—
I wasn't able to finish the thought as the cold shocked the air out of me.
I felt like I had been turned to stone, like one of Medusa's victims. I was sinking and—and falling. Down, down, down into the cold, cold water.
Why struggle? A voice popped into my head. You're going to die anyways. You can't possibly make it out of here alive. You'll never leave this place.
It would be easier.
I could just close my eyes and just stop. I could just keep falling and sinking.
I could just—
No.
My eyes opened. I couldn't see much, but I knew I needed to swim. Up, up, up.
I can't die. I need to seal the Doors. It's not about me.
I'll need to stay. I'll probably need to stay here forever. So, yeah, I'll most probably die. The odds were against me. But the others need me. Percy needs me.
I can't die yet.
My head broke through the water and I gasped. The air flooded into my lungs, and each cell in my body sung in rejoice.
This was a river. It had to be a river. Rivers meant land somewhere.
I swam perpendicular to the current, to the side, kicking and kicking, fighting against every single voice that told me to stop. The whole world needed me to keep swimming. Percy needed me to keep swimming.
It's all pointless. You're born. You suffer. You die. For what? For nothing. The voices went on and on, lamenting about the pointlessness of life and the pain it brings. I had to fight against it.
Percy pictured our life together. He pictured a future where we lived, where we'd work out. I wanted that future. I wanted a happy ending and—by the gods—I was going to get it.
I hauled myself onto the shore, shivering before my knees buckled, making me fall onto the black sand. I tried to sit, but I hissed in pain. The land wasn't made of sand—it was broken, jagged glass.
I felt like crying. I felt like sobbing and screaming and falling apart and just laying down and giving up. I didn't wanna do it. Everything here was ready to kill me.
The air stunk. It smelled like acid. The water was literally misery. The ground was made of sharp, broken glass. Everything here was made to hurt and kill me. I'd give myself an hour, tops.
I sighed and stood up, forcing myself to get myself together. To think, not feel. There was time for feeling later.
My backpack was gone, along with Daedalus' laptop. My dagger was missing, which killed me, but I couldn't cry about that now. I had no food, no water, nothing.
So, all in all, it was a great day.
The black glass beach stretched about fifty years then dropped off the edge of a cliff. I couldn't see what was below it, but I could see that the edge flickered with red light.
I remembered something about Tartarus and fire, but I couldn't quite remember what—
I had fallen into webs.
I remembered. Before I had fallen into the River Cocytus, I had fallen into webs, which could only have meant that Arachne was still alive.
Not only was she alive, but that she was already here, and that she wanted me to stay alive.
I looked around, looking for anything watching me, but I couldn't see anything. It was surprisingly quiet for it being Tartarus—home of monsters.
I took that to be a bad thing. For now, though, it was what was keeping me alive. Arachne wanted me alive for gods know what, and had to be doing something to keep the area around me undisturbed. She must be planning some sort of revenge for me.
And here I was, weaponless.
I tore a strip of my shirt and used it to wrap around the black glass under me. I pulled as hard as I could until I fell back, landing on more, sharp, black glass. I groaned as I got up again.
I looked at my hand, which now held a sizeable shard of glass with a strip of cloth acting as a handle for it. This'll have to do, for now. I shivered, trying harder and harder to ignore the cold, despite the hot and humid air. Holding the makeshift glass dagger in one hand, I rubbed my other hand up and down my forearm to create friction, which only made me stop and hiss in pain. It stung.
I looked down at my hand and realized it had still been bleeding from when I climbed out of the Cocytus—a fact that was a complete oddity to me. It should have healed by now—
Tartarus was killing me—literally killing me. That was what I was remembering.
I needed to get to Phlegethon.
