Chapter twelve: Peter
Hera's cabin was not someplace Peter would want to live. It was as cold as a freezer, with a circle of white columns around a central statue of the goddess, ten feet tall, seated on a throne in flowing golden robes. Peter had always thought of Greek statues as white with blank eyes, but this one was brightly painted so it looked almost human—except huge. Hera's piercing eyes seemed to follow Peter.
At the goddess's feet, a fire burned in a bronze brazier. Peter wondered who tended it if the cabin was always empty. A stone hawk sat on Hera's shoulder, and in her hand was a staff topped with a lotus flower.
The goddess's hair was done in black plaits. Her face smiled, but the eyes were cold and calculating, as if she were saying:
Mother knows best. Now don't cross me or I will have to step on you.
There was nothing else in the cabin—no beds, no furniture, no bathroom, no windows, nothing that anyone could actually use to live. For a goddess of home and marriage, Hera's place reminded Peter of a tomb.
No, this wasn't his mom. At least Peter was sure of that. He hadn't come in here because he felt a good connection, but because his sense of dread was stronger here. His dream—that horrible ultimatum he'd been handed—had something to do with this cabin.
He froze. They weren't alone. Behind the statue, at a little altar in the back, stood a figure covered in a black shawl. Only his hands were visible, palms up. He seemed to be chanting something like a spell or a prayer.
Arthur gasped. "Robert?"
The other guy turned. He dropped his shawl, revealing curly red hair and a freckled face that didn't go with the seriousness of the cabin or the black shawl at all. He looked about seventeen, a totally normal teen in a green tee and tattered jeans covered with marker doodles. Despite the cold floor, he was barefoot.
"Hey!" He ran to give Arthur a high five.
"I'm so sorry! I came as fast as I could."
They talked for a few minutes about Arthur's girlfriend and how there was no news, et cetera, until finally Arthur finally remembered Peter, who was standing there feeling uncomfortable.
"I'm being rude," Arthur apologized. "Rob, this is Peter, one of the half-bloods we rescued today. Peter, this is Robert Elliot Dare, our oracle."
"The friend who lives in the cave," Peter guessed.
Robert grinned. "That's me."
"So you're an oracle?" Peter asked. "You can tell the future?"
"More like the future mugs me from time to time," Robert said. "I speak prophecies. The oracle's spirit kind of hijacks me every once in a while and speaks important stuff that doesn't make any sense to anybody. But yeah, the prophecies tell the future."
"Oh." Peter shifted from foot to foot. "That's cool."
Robert laughed. "Don't worry. Everybody finds it a little creepy. Even me. But usually I'm harmless."
"You're a demigod?"
"Nope," Robert said. "Just mortal."
"Then what are you…" Peter waved his hand around the room.
Robert's smile faded. He glanced at Arthur, then back at Peter.
"Just a hunch. Something about this cabin and Paige's disappearance. They're connected somehow. I've learned to follow my hunches, especially the last month, since the gods went silent."
"Went silent?" Peter asked.
Robert frowned at Arthur. "You haven't told him yet?"
"I was getting to that," Arthur said. "Peter, for the last month…well, it's normal for the gods not to talk to their children very much, but usually we can count on some messages now and then. Some of us can even visit Olympus. I spent practically all semester at the Empire State Building."
"Excuse me?"
"The entrance to Mount Olympus these days."
"Oh," Peter said. "Sure, why not?"
"Arthur was redesigning Olympus after it was damaged in the Titan War," Robert explained. "He's an amazing architect. You should see the salad bar—"
"Anyway," Arthur said, "starting about a month ago, Olympus fell silent. The entrance closed, and no one could get in. Nobody knows why. It's like the gods have sealed themselves off. Even my mom won't answer my prayers, and our camp director, Dionysus, was recalled."
"Your camp director was the god of…wine?"
"Yeah, it's a—"
"Long story," Peter guessed. "Right. Go on."
"That's it, really," Arthur said. "Demigods still get claimed, but nothing else. No messages. No visits. No sign the gods are even listening. It's like something has happened—something really bad. Then Paige
disappeared."
"And Jane showed up on our field trip," Peter supplied. "With no memory."
"Who's Jane?" Robert asked.
"My—" Peter stopped himself before he could say "girlfriend ," but the effort made his chest hurt. "My friend. But Arthur, you said Hera sent you a dream vision."
"Right," Arthur said. "The first communication from a god in a month, and it's Hera, the least helpful goddess, and she contacts me, her least favorite demigod. She tells me I'll find out what happened to Paige if I go to the Grand Canyon skywalk and look for a girl with one shoe. Instead, I find you guys, and the girl with one shoe is Jane. It doesn't make sense."
"Something bad is happening," Robert agreed. He looked at Peter, and Peter felt an overwhelming desire to tell them about his dream, to confess that he knew what was happening—at least part of the story. And the bad stuff was only beginning.
"Guys," he said. "I—I need to—"
Before he could continue, Robert's body stiffened. His eyes began to glow with a greenish light, and he grabbed Peter by the shoulders.
Peter tried to back away, but Robert's hands were like steel clamps.
Free me, he said. But it wasn't Robert's voice. It sounded like an older woman, speaking from somewhere far away, down a long, echoing pipe. Free me, Peter McLean, or the earth shall swallow us. It must be by the solstice.
The room started spinning. Arthur tried to separate Peter from Robert, but it was no use. Green smoke enveloped them, and Peter was no longer sure if he was awake or dreaming. The giant statue of the goddess seemed to rise from its throne. It leaned over Peter, its eyes boring into him. The statue's mouth opened, its breath like horribly thick perfume. It spoke in the same echoing voice: Our enemies stir. The fiery one is only the first. Bow to his will, and their king shall rise, dooming us all. FREE ME!
Peter's knees buckled, and everything went black.
A/N:
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