AN: I apologise for how long it's been since I last updated. I have got serious writer's block because it seemed to me like I'd taken on this challenge that was far too big. There is no way I could write everything that could have potentially happened in Chris's life because that would take so long. There's a reason why there are 5 books in the PJO series, I guess, and why what goes on in the labyrinth has a book to itself. So I'm sorry if it seems quite choppy but I can't say everything I want to so I'm going to put in the parts which I think works best from my plan.
(Also, hi new readers!)
Time passes incoherently in the labyrinth. I don't know whether we've been walking for hours or days or weeks. I think about Luke back on the Princess Andromeda. I wonder if enough time has passed for him to begin to worry about me. No, he wouldn't worry; Luke is not the worrying type. He is so thick-skinned that I'd be surprised if he worried about anyone, let alone someone as insignificant to him as me. Perhaps what I mean to say is that I wonder if he thinks about me, whether he considers my absence a loss or whether he's already sent out a replacement to take my place in search of a way to navigate the labyrinth.
Brother.
I ignore the word ringing in my head and decide it's most likely that it's the latter.
It doesn't matter anyway. What matters is my own personal quest. Well, mine and Mary's. Since leaving Janus, we encountered a few fights – automatons, a hydra, and inexplicably a small army of karpoi – so her wound had taken longer to heal than it should have with nectar and ambrosia. Because she can't attend to the dressing, it's been up to me to change the bandages and salves to stop it from getting infected. I don't want to admit it but it's not exactly a job I mind doing. It's nice, therapeutic even, unwinding the roll of bandages, feeling the cool of the slave on my fingers fading as my fingers brush against Mary's skin. I don't let myself think about it too much; something about it makes my hart pound too loud and that's a dangerous thing when either of us could die any minute.
"Old or new?" Mary asks.
It's a game that we've come up with in the past few days, or however long we've been down here. After going through the door Janus conjured from the air, we weren't met by any immediate threats to our death. Instead, we'd found ourselves standing at a crossroads: two long corridors branched off from where we stood, one old and crumbling and the other shiny and new. We'd agreed that it was more logical to follow the old path. We'd figured that if we followed the older routes, we'd get to the heart of the labyrinth quicker but we'd soon found ourselves in a modern warehouse-style room where we were promptly attacked by possessed automatons. (Long story, maybe for another time. Needless to say, it hadn't been a pleasant experience. I think my last pleasant experience ever may have been the last cheeseburger I ate on the ship before leaving). But since then, we'd figured that there was no logic in the labyrinth. No matter which way we went, nothing would make sense and we'd most certainly be greeted by some form of demigod-hungry creature. So we made a game out of it: old or new?
"We went new last time," I reply, "Old."
The corridor we'd been walking down had had stone walls, dimly lit with blazing torches in sconces. The floor had been old, bumpy and weathered, slippery with water from a non-existent source. I expect another sudden change. Much of the labyrinth had been erratic, running together old architecture and art from centuries apart. None of it makes sense. It is like the result of someone having tried to copy and paste lyrics from songs from all different genres: hectic, confusing and, too frequently, painful.
But surprisingly, we continue down the same dark path. I feel along the walls for something to hold on to in case I slip because the ground below has become increasingly slippery. I hope and even have the audacity to pray that it is water, not blood, that the ground is wet with.
"There's no end to this tunnel," Mary complains softly. I see her face is ashen, paler than usual. The ways she walks, slowly and putting little pressure on her injured side, suggests to me like she needs a rest.
"Maybe we should stop for today?" I suggest carefully. I don't want the suggestion to sound patronising. I have learned the hard way that a blow to Mary's pride can result in a long rant about how she's perfectly fine, thanks very much, and just because she's a girl and she's injured doesn't mean she's incapable, gods. "We've come a long way."
Mary scowls but there's no malice in it. I think in the past few days she's figured out my method of avoiding her tirades. She humours me, snapping and faking anger but the jokiness doesn't hide very effectively behind her words.
"Whatever, Rodriguez," she says, rolling her eyes, "If you're tired. When did you turn into such a princess?"
I bite back a smile and look around our surroundings instead. I don't want Mary to think that I actually like her or think she's funny. Something about that is scarier than whatever monster lies at the end of the corridor. What I find is that the corridor is much too narrow for us to lie down. If a monster came barrelling down it while we were asleep, it wouldn't give us enough time to get up and we'd most likely be trampled to death in our sleep.
"But maybe we should carry on until it widens out a bit," Mary says, voicing my thoughts.
We continue on in silence until the corridor opens out into a wide cavern. It is almost like we are back in the room where we encountered Janus. The ceiling is invisible but it must exit because chains hang down like some vicious party streamers from the ceiling, creating a kind of net above our heads hundreds of feet above us. The walls are lined with shelves which are heavily stocked with tools like saws, wrenches, blow torches and more...except they're all ten times bigger than human tools. Whatever lives here is huge. And smelly. The air reeks of old sweat and rotting food.
I groan. "Just this once, could we not have stumbled across a five-star hotel with beds and down comforters and room service?"
"Shut up, Princess Rodriguez," Mary whispers, "Listen."
The room is buzzing with the sound of heavy machinery but the noise which rings even louder sounds like...snoring?
"Whatever lives here is sleeping," Mary says quietly, "Which means we can probably hide behind a machine and sleep here for tonight as long as we're up early. Well, earlier than the monster, anyway."
"Sounds good to me."
We find a machine which looks like it won't shoot fire or kill us if we sleep behind it. It's a small camp but it'll suffice since it's big enough for us to roll out or sleeping bags and blankets. I munch on some travel mix and wish for some hot food, even my mom's chilli con carne. I realise how much I miss it, how much I miss the taste of it and even the smell of it. The smell of chilli means mom and mom means being safe. Nothing bad had ever happened to me when I was at home with her. I like to think she is my good-luck charm; she stops the monsters from getting to me. I wonder where she is now, what she's doing. I wonder if she quit her job and got a new one, one where her boss wouldn't treat her like dirt. I wonder if she's sent letters to Camp Half-Blood, letters which are unread and unanswered because I'm not there. I'm not sure if the Camp has even told her I'm gone. She might not even know I'm alive. I wonder if she worries about me, if she wants me home safe, or whether she's glad that she doesn't have to worry about being called into school to deal with her delinquent kid. I want to believe she misses me. I know I miss her.
As if she was reading my thoughts, Mary says, "I miss home-cooked meals." She sighs and sounds like she misses her past like I miss mine. I try to think of what life must have been like for her before Camp Half-Blood but she's hard to read and I can't guess. "Even the camp barbecue. I hate having trail mix and ambrosia every night. I hate not having a bed to sleep in. I hate this choice I made."
That takes me by surprise. I choke on my trail mix and have to cough several times before I can breathe again. On the boat, we weren't allowed to say anything against our cause, against Kronos. There were some kids that did and I remember seeing them the day after they'd been caught saying bad things with black eyes and gashes on their faces and arms. Some never even came back; I hate to think what might have happened to them. We needed to know, twenty-four seven, that we had made a good choice. The right choice, the choice which would liberate us from the gods' oppression and lead to a brighter future. To hear Mary speak like this still makes me scared even though we're thousands of miles away from the boat.
"Mary..." I say slowly, beginning a sentence but not knowing how to continue it. But it doesn't matter anyway because Mary puts up a hand t silence me.
"No," she says so quietly that I have to strain to hear her over the whir of the machinery, "I want to say this. I have to say this. I hate that I chose to join Kronos's army. I did it for my mom and at the time it felt right but I knew from the second that I got on that boat that I'd made the wrong decision. It's been killing me inside knowing that – I can't stand being wrong, Chris, you know that. I keep feeling like this is not what anybody would put kids through. I know that we did some intense training at camp but...what went on aboard the ship, especially to the weaker or rebellious kids...no great god would want that. If Kronos is this all powerful Titan, he wouldn't need kids to fight his battles. He wouldn't need to take control of a band of children. He'd have more power at his hands – he'd have his own hands for gods' sakes! I don't want to do this anymore. This quest has made me realise that this isn't what I want. This isn't the path I was meant to follow and I won't find victory at the end of this road. If I get out of here alive, I swear I'm leaving this army. I swear I'm leaving."
I let her words ring through me. How often had I felt the same way? Felt like this road was the wrong one? Felt that this way of life was unfair, cruel? Mary has the guts to say this all out loud and I've kept it all bottled up. But now, I think that if Mary can think about leaving, I can too. I'll leave. If we get out of the labyrinth, I won't go back to Luke. I'll go see my mom. I'll tell her sorry. Maybe I'll go back to Camp if they'll have me. Maybe I'll go to high school and even college...
"What are you thinking?" Mary asks quietly. I realise I haven't responded to anything she's said and I feel guilty.
"I'm thinking that I want to get out, too," I say, "And when I do, I'll go see my mom."
Mary smiles. It's a rare, genuine smile which makes the corners of her eyes crinkle. She looks so much better than she did before, as if she has finally lost a heavy burden from her shoulders. She looks beautiful.
"When I leave," she says, "I'll have breakfast at Tiffany's; I've always wanted to."
"I'll learn how to make chilli."
"I'll start running again and win some races – I'll will all the races."
"I'll make some friends."
"That's not fair," Mary cuts in, frowning, "You already have friends."
I think about it. Jacinto and Mark seem like people from a history book they're from so long ago. I doubt they remember me or even think about me much. I might have considered Luke as someone I could call a friend, once upon a time, but not anymore. My roommate, Ethan Nakamura's a nice guy, but I don't know if he's a friend. Mary...I don't know if I want to label Mary as a friend. So I say, "No I don't, not really."
"Stupid, I'm your friend, ok?"
"Only you could make being friends sound like a threat," I laugh. I try to joke about but I feel a surge of warmth towards Mary. I don't want to say how grateful I am because I'm not sure what it might lead to. I'm scared of what might happen if I say I like her and of what might not. I'm scared she'll like me back and then we'll be separated. I'm scared she'll be freaked out and keep a distance.
But I want to say it. I want to tell her. I might never get the chance and I know that you end up regretting the things you didn't say more than the things you did. I regret not telling my mom I was joining this army. I regret not telling Luke that this isn't a cause I want to die for. I don't want to regret not telling Mary that I like her. So I'll say it.
"Okay," I say, "When I leave, I'll go on a date with a girl for the first time. We'll go get coffee and I'll tell her that I really like her so we should do this more often. She'll agree. She'll be pretty and smart and really good at winning races. After she wins all the gold medals, we'll go to my apartment that I'll buy and eat chilli."
When I look at Mary, she's not smiling. Her eyes are watery and I think I have offended her. But then she leans forwards and wraps her arms around my neck. I should think about the fact that somewhere, a monster is waiting to kill us. I should think about the war brewing against the gods. I should think of everything that is at stake but I don't.
I think about how the last time anyone hugged me was my mom when she dropped me off at Camp Half-Blood for the last time. I think about how I've missed this warmth, this being with a person and feeling like you love them. I think about how Mary smells like apricots and also a little like me. I think about how her arms feel around my neck, like they're protecting me, like home. I think about how perfectly her head fits into space between my shoulder and my head. I think about how her tears are making my t-shirt damp and about how I don't mind. I think about how I'd be fine just doing this forever.
"It was mean, Chris," she says, her voice muffled against my shoulder, "It was mean of you to say that."
"I know," I say, surprised by how my voice chokes, "I'm sorry."
"Do you mean it, though? When we leave, can we really do that? Because I would."
"Yes, we can do that," I say and it tastes like a lie.
And then we're kissing. It feels like I have never been more alive, like I'm finally waking up happy after being alone all this time. It tastes like trail mix and hope and like the promise of coffee dates and a new apartment and a future outside this labyrinthine maze.
But it ends all too soon.