ANNABETH
Half-Blood Hill. Finally. Gods, I didn't realise how much I missed home. The Big House looked so welcoming from where I was.
I was trying to climb up, as hard as I could, but I couldn't seem to move. My limbs cried and wailed and screamed with every slow, agonizing movement. Whenever I made one step closer, the Camp seemed to that ten times farther.
"Hurry, hurry!" Grover yelled. Luke took my hand, trying to pull me up.
Wait.
I looked back. Thalia stood behind us, holding back an army of hellhounds with her shield, Aegis.
I can help! I can help!
At this point, I've dealt with worse. I could help Thalia! She didn't have to—
At the top of the hill, I could see the valley below—the warm lights of the cabins, the possibility of sanctuary. My heart sung at the sight—home.
I stumbled, twisting my ankle, and Luke scooped me up to carry me. When we looked back, the monsters were a few yards away—dozens of them surrounded Thalia.
Wait!
"Go!" Thalia yelled. "I'll hold them off!"
She brandished her spear, and forked lightning slashed through the monsters' ranks; but as the hellhounds fell, more took her place.
"We have to run!" Grover cried.
He led the way into camp, Luke running after him with me in his arms. I screamed and thrashed, struggling to escape his grasp.
"Thalia!" I screamed. Her blue eyes locked on mine, and I could see the hellhounds closing in around her. "Thalia, no! Luke, let me go! I can help! Thalia!"
And suddenly, we weren't at Camp anymore.
I was still on the hill, but next to Thalia's pine tree. I heard thunder and looked up to see a storm brewing overhead.
Thunder sounded again, shaking the valley. A blast of lightning split the tree down to its roots, opening a smoking crevice. In the darkness below stood Reyna, the praetor of New Rome, in a blood red cloak. Her golden armour glinted and she stared up at me, her face regal and distant.
"You have done well," she said, but it wasn't her voice saying it—it was Athena. "The rest of my journey must be on the wings of Rome."
Her dark eyes turned a stormy grey.
"I must stand here," she told me. "The Roman must bring me."
The hill shook. The ground rippled as the grass became folds of silk—the dress of a massive goddess. Gaea rose over the Camp, her sleeping face as large as a mountain.
Hellhounds poured over the hill. Giants, six-armed Earthborn, and wild Cyclopes charged from the beach, tearing down the dining pavilion and setting fire to the cabins and the building house. It was worse that the Battle of the Labyrinth—I had never seen such devastation of the Camp. There was no way the campers could hold them off.
"Hurry," Athena's voice echoed in my mound. "The message must be sent."
The ground split open at my feet and I screamed, trying to climb up, but something tugged at my leg. The weight grew heavier and heavier and then suddenly I wasn't holding onto the ground, I was holding onto Percy's hand.
"Help me," Percy grunted, trying to pull me up. "Annabeth… help… me…"
"Percy," I grunted out, trying to help as much as I could, but I couldn't.
A wave of hopelessness flooded my senses. I felt numb, inside and out. Suddenly, my leg didn't hurt, and Percy's tight grip on me didn't hurt. Being stretched didn't hurt. On the inside, I felt an excruciatingly painful sense of emptiness.
"Let me go," spilled out of my lips, but I wouldn't have been able to tell that I had been the one that said it.
And then I fell.
I shot up, gasping for air.
Note to self: Never EVER fall asleep in Tartarus.
"Annabeth okay?" Bob asked me. To be honest, I almost forgot that he was here, keeping watch.
"Yeah," I lied, fixing my position to sit more comfortably. "Yeah, Bob, I'm—I'm fine."
As I began to come back to my senses and the circumstances, a familiar smell hit my nose.
"Is that pizza?"
"Burnt offerings!" Bob said. "Sacrifices to Hermes from the mortal world come here in a cloud of smoke. I got M&M's!" He showed me the bag of peanut M&M's he had been eating. "You can have… uh… grapes! Or hot dog or…"
"Thank you, Bob," I said, forcing a smile on my face as I got some of the roast beef.
It was the best thing I had ever tasted. I don't know if it was because I hadn't eaten for so long or if it was genuinely the best roast beef I had.
It reminded me of home—of Camp Half-Blood.
I would think that maybe it is. Every meal at Camp, we'd burn food for our godly parents. Maybe it tasted like the roast beef from Camp Half-Blood because it was from Camp Half-Blood.
Before I could think about it too much, I shook it off. I needed to focus on the now.
I needed to get to the Doors of Death, and I had no idea where we are or how to get back to where we were without the risk of getting lost.
I looked at Bob, who was happily munching on the M&M's. As much as I didn't want to trust a Titan, he was my best shot at getting out alive. Maybe even the best shot at getting me out in a decent enough condition to not just immediately collapse in the mortal world. He knew rest stops, and I needed an ally.
"Bob?" I asked, breaking the silence. He looked at me. "You wouldn't happen to know how to get to the Doors of Death, would you?"
"Bob knows!" He said happily. "Into the Dark Lands. The Doors of Death… hmm, walking straight to them would be bad. Too many monsters there. Even Bob not sweep that many. They would kill Annabeth in about two seconds." He frowned. "I think seconds. Time is hard."
"Right," I grumbled. "So is there another way?"
"Hiding," he answered. "The Death Mist could hide you."
The Death Mist? Never heard of it. But if it was used to hide, then I would guess that it would be similar to the Mist in the mortal world.
"So, how do we get it?"
"It is dangerous," Bob warned. "But if the lady will give you Death Mist, it might hide you. If we can avoid Night. The lade is very close to Night. That is bad."
"The lady?" I asked, hoping he would expound on what he meant, but he didn't.
"Yes," he said. He appointed ahead of me into the inky blackness. "We should go."
You might be thinking that I should be thrilled that there would be a stealthy way to get out of here, considering I had virtually no weapon or quick way to heal myself if I got hurt. But looking at the darkness he had been pointing at—well, to say I was less than thrilled would be an understatement.
But, as I find helpful to keep saying in my pilgrimage in Tartarus, it's the best chance I had.
On top of that, I had been thinking about my nightmare—Thalia's tree splintered by lighting, Gaea raising on the hillside, monsters flooding Camp Half-Blood.
Those couldn't have been normal nightmares. On top of that, Athena telling me about where she should stand, saying the Roman should bring her—
The Parthenos. It had to be.
I stared at the black altar—Hermes' altar. The god of travellers, guide to the spirits of the dead, god of communication.
It was the best chance I had.
"Do you have a pen?" I asked Bob, who shook his head. I walked to a pile of trash and picked out a reasonably clean paper napkin.
Hurry. The message must be sent.
"Bob, offerings burned in the mortal world arrive here, right?"
"Yes?" Bob answered.
"So what if I burn something on the altar here?"
"Uh…"
"That's alright," I dismissed. "It's never been done."
If it could appear at Camp Half-Blood, it just might work.
Doubtful that it would, but it might. And might was good enough for me.
"I need a pen," I said, frustrated. "Or something to write with or—"
Before there were pens, there were quills. Before that, people used a number of objects that were pointy. Carved turtle shells, reeds. Really, all I needed was something pointy and something to use as ink.
I took my glass dagger and sharpened it against the altar. Sorry, Hermes. I was sure that if I were to ever see him again, I'd have to apologize profusely and give him a thousand offerings, but it was desperate times.
I cut my hand, allowing some blood to pour out of it.
"Annabeth no!" Bob said.
"It's alright. I'm okay," I assured him, dipping the sharp end of my makeshift dagger into my blood and beginning to write on the napkin in big enough letters to make sure that even if it smudged a little, the message was legible.
CONNOR,
GIVE THIS TO RACHEL. NOT A PRANK. DON'T BE A MORON.
LOVE,
ANNABETH
I took a deep breath. I was asking Rachel Dare to do something ridiculously dangerous, but it was the only way I could think of to communicate with the Romans without bloodshed.
"Now I just need to burn it," I said. At that, the point of Bob's speak shot from his broom handle. It sparked against the altar and erupted in a silvery fire. "Thanks."
"We should go now," Bob advised. "Really, really go. Before we are killed."
I stared at the wall of darkness Bob had pointed to and walked next to him. He touched the wound on my hand and healed it.
"Thank you," I told him.
"Bob helps!" He answered.
He did. And somewhere in the darkness, there was Death Mist to help me stealthily get out of Tartarus.
"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "I'm ready."