Disclaimer: All rights belong to Rick Riordan. I take no credit, and I do not mean to break any copyright rules. This is simply a work of fiction made for enjoyment. No money is being made.
Rating: T for dark themes and violence
Chapter 7
Annabeth picks up a glass bottle wrapped tightly to avoid breaking and pulls out the plug, sniffing. She's expecting the sharp tang of alcohol or the bitter smell of medicine, but she's pleasantly surprised when the aroma of her mother's raspberry juice hits her nose instead. Annabeth never knew exactly what her mother mixed in it to taste so good, but it was always a hit at events they hosted.
Her shoulders slump as an unexpected wave of homesickness washes over her.
Will Solace glances over from his worktable, where he's sterilizing all his tools. He must sense her sadness, because his face softens.
"It smells like my grandmother's coffee to me," he says, polishing a scalpel. "My mother used to take me and my siblings over every Sunday afternoon for drinks and cakes. I used to sit on my grandmother's lap and drink right out of her cup. My mother would scold me, but my grandmother didn't mind. She said that she wanted to enjoy it before I grew up and never came to visit anymore."
Annabeth leans against the wall, clutching the bottle tightly between white knuckles. It feels like a piece of home, and she doesn't want to let go of it.
"My mother's raspberry juice was the talk of every party," Annabeth says. "I'm not sure exactly what she mixed in; some sugar, a tiny bit of alcohol - not enough that us kids weren't allowed to drink it, though - lemon, vanilla….She always promised me that when I got married and started my own family, she'd teach me how to make it."
"It's nectar," Will says, nodding at it. "The drink of the gods. They don't need physical substance like we mortals do, but I imagine they need the memories it evokes. One tends to lose a lot after a few centuries. Everything begins to blur together."
Annabeth holds the bottle out in front of her as if it's poison. "What do you use the drink of the gods for? And where do you find it in the first place?"
"I use it for healing. A few sips can heal almost any wound - if it doesn't burn you up first."
She places it gingerly back on the shelf, any temptation of tasting it gone. "Seems risky."
"Our whole lives are just a series of risks." Will shrugs. "When my crewmates are lying on this table, dying of some supernatural wound, they're more than willing to risk internally combusting. At least then they die with the taste of their favorite thing on their lips." He tilts his head. "And it's usually much faster than poison or bleeding out."
"What about disease? I heard that's a major killer on the high seas."
Will spins around and faces her, looking quite offended. "That's because most ship doctors follow what they learned in medical school blindly. They don't take proper precautions and they don't listen to old wive's tales because they think they're above them. I'm not like most ship doctors, though. I've researched treatments from across different cultures and peoples. If something doesn't work, I don't keep trying it again and again. I work to find a better solution. And I actually clean my equipment, though most doctors don't see a problem with using the same knife on three people in a row."
"And it helps that you have magic drinks on your side," Annabeth adds.
Will cracks a smile. "That certainly doesn't help."
"It's strange, isn't it?" Annabeth asks. "People are scared to try new things, or listen to new ideas, so they persecute and shun the people who suggest them. But every once in a while, some rich person will make an outlandish claim and everyone takes his word as gospel."
"Every once in a while they're right," Will agrees. "Like Russian Roulette. More often than not, they simply repeat what some lowly person said and then they get all the credit."
"It's why people like us will never get far in the world." Annabeth remembers what her mother said before her wedding: "No man can know how smart you are. We do not live in a world where intelligence in women is prized." Her mother was right, but it wasn't the whole truth: they live in a world where intelligence in common people isn't prized.
From what Will had told her of his story, his family had been decently wealthy, and still no one wanted to listen to him.
"But that doesn't matter. We don't live in that world - not really. The world we live in is full of gods and monsters and staying alive is the only thing that's really important."
Annabeth doesn't like how he uses the word "we". She's not a part of this world - not permanently, at least. She's just a visitor. Maybe she will see through the veil of ignorance for the rest of her life, but she won't go searching for danger like Percy and his crew. She's not a tool of the gods; she's just a girl who was at the wrong place at the wrong time and got swept up into this mess.
Will folds up his case of tools and tucks them neatly into the drawer. He grabs a small wad of bandages and motions at the door.
"I have to redress Raj's shoulder. Do you want to come?"
Annabeth follows him up onto deck, though her thoughts remain wrapped up inside her mind as tightly as the bottle of nectar and twice as deadly.
The world she came from gave her no room for advancement. This world - the dangerous one, full of myths and legends - doesn't discriminate. No one on the ship thinks twice about the fact that she's a woman. Percy listens to her and acknowledges her intelligence. Frank, Beckendorf, and Will have taken her under their wings and taught her bits and pieces of their respective trades.
As much as she's homesick for her former life, she begins to wonder whether she might be happier here in the long run.
Annabeth is seated on the deck reading a book on astronomical navigation when the attack happens.
The afternoon is warm, the sun high in the air and the ocean calm. On deck, Frank and Percy are squaring off, golden spear against bronze sword. A few of the crewmembers are standing around and watching. Beckendorf and Will are standing on the top deck chatting, Beckendorf twisting some wires and gears around in his hands mindlessly.
Annabeth turns the page and traces her fingers over a map of the constellations, committing them to memory. Above her, the sails strain against the strong wind blowing them eastward.
Something changes. It's a subtle shift, but everyone feels it. Annabeth closes her book and stands, a feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach. Percy and Frank lower their weapons and glance around. Beckendorf and Will fall silent. The other crewmembers reach out and grab hold of the nearest rope or railing.
Annabeth glances at the sails, which have fallen flat. She shifts her eyes over to Percy, who's staring at her. His eyes suddenly widen. The sun, which had been warm against her back, disappears. She sees a shadow looming over her own on the deck, and her heart skips a beat.
Percy's eyes harden. "Don't turn around," he says slowly. Annabeth swallows and clutches the book tightly in her hands, her knuckles turning white with the strain. If she thought it would help, she'd squeeze her eyes shut as well.
She hears the water shift and the boat creak as it tips starboard. Her back presses against the railing. The rest of the crew is on the port side, watching her with terror. She hears the slither of something moving and sees a crusty green tentacle slide past her inquisitively, just a breath from her foot. Annabeth barely dares to breathe.
A loud groaning sound rumbles behind her and a vacuum opens, pulling her backward. She slides down against the railing towards the deck of the ship to avoid being sucked overboard. The overpowering stench of brine and rotten fish and old seaweed surrounds her, and its all she can do not to retch.
"Now!" Percy shouts, and in one fluid motion Frank grabs his bow, knocks an arrow, and sends it flying over Annabeth's head. A half dozen more follow in quick succession. The groaning turns into an outraged roar that nearly bursts Annabeth's eardrums. She falls to her hands and knees and crawls to the other side of the ship as quickly as she can.
She's just a meter from Percy when a tentacle wraps around her ankle. This time she lets out an undignified shriek as she's dragged backward. She fumbles at her belt for her knife and twists so she can jab at the appendage. The tentacle releases and shrivels up as sticky green blood oozes out of the injury.
Annabeth climbs to her feet and runs, but the battle is everywhere now. Dozens of tentacles have crept over the railings, searching for unlucky sailors. Everyone is fighting for their lives, stabbing and hacking. Frank is shooting arrows at the head, but the creature has ducked below the water.
Annabeth stands next to Beckendorf and slices at any tentacles sneaking their way. Beckendorf has turned the wires and gears he was messing around with into a tiny flying machine with propellers that shoots tiny darts out, causing the tentacles to flinch long enough for him to smash them with his massive hammer.
Percy wades into the deepest nest of tentacles, each swing cutting into three or four at once. He scowls as he works.
Will is running around, ducking and weaving between tentacles as he tends to the wounded, lifting his arm around them and escorting them below-decks. Unfortunately Annabeth sees a few carried overboard - no doubt straight into the creature's maw.
"This isn't working!" Percy shouts over the battle. "We're just making it angry!"
"We need to draw out its head!" Annabeth shouts back.
Beckendorf's eyes widen. "I have an idea," he says, then sprints to the hatch and disappears below-decks.
The creature pulls the ship to starboard, but a wave of water rights them. Percy has his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his hand clenched in a fist. Annabeth wonders if he's praying.
A tentacle curled around the legs of an unlucky sailor zips past her, knocking her off her feet. Her dagger goes flying across the deck. She picks herself up, but before she can retrieve her weapon, a tentacle wraps tightly around her waist. The force of the appendage knocks the breath out of her lungs and she struggles futilely as she's lifted into the air.
She's lifted far over the boat until she's positioned over the water. She punches and claws at the tentacle around her to no avail. She's in the enemy's element without a weapon. Any minute now she's going to be a monster snack.
"Annabeth!" Beckendorf's voice booms over the din of the battle. "Catch!"
He tosses a glowing green jar at her. His aim is perfect: with just a little straining she's able to raise her hands and catch it in the air. She stares at it for a moment, not realizing what he's given her.
"Throw it in the kraken's mouth!" Frank cries as he stabs the tip of his spear into an attacking tentacle.
The water five meters beneath her parts as the kraken lifts its head to the surface. Its horrible mouth opens, revealing rows and rows of razor sharp teeth surrounding a pitch black gullet. Rags and broken weapons are caught in between the teeth. The stench nearly makes her lose consciousness, but her fear and adrenaline keep her mind clear.
Annabeth passes the glowing jar between her hands. She has the feeling it's some sort of explosive, which would either kill or at least drive away the kraken, but would also probably kill her. Then again, if she doesn't throw it, it will eat her anyway. Better to die a hero than monster munch.
The kraken's teeth widen, the black hole of the gullet opening wider. The tentacle around her loosens, and Annabeth screams. She reaches back her arm and chucks the jar just as the tentacle releases her.
One moment she's free-falling through the air, heading straight towards a thousand razor sharp teeth. The next moment a wave - and a body - crashes into her from the side, directing her away from the path leading to the monster's mouth.
She crashes into the sea with a sharp slap. Salty water fills her mouth and eyes, which she reflexive shuts. All the sounds around her are muted by the water, but she can still hear the dull thuds of an explosion. She forces her eyes open to see green lights flash in several places.
Suddenly she shoots out of the water and through the air. She hits the deck and rolls, coughing out water from her lungs on her hands and knees.
When she can breath again, she turns over and sits against the mast. Around her, sailors are moaning and clutching injuries or staring shocked out over the water. The wind picks up again, but otherwise everything is eerily silent.
Annabeth glances up to see Percy standing over her, perfectly dry. He smiles wearily when her eyes make contact with his.
"Not too bad for your first major monster," he says. Then he suddenly lists to the side, his eyes drooping. Annabeth reaches up just in time to lower him gently onto the deck. She shakes him, but he doesn't respond.
"Will?" she calls out, glancing wildly around. "Will!"
The doctor comes running over. He turns Percy over and checks his forehead and his wrist.
"He's fine," Will says, and Annabeth releases a pent-up breath. "He just over-exerted himself. It took most of his energy to keep the ship upright, not to mention rescuing you from being kraken-kibble."
Annabeth frowns. "Keeping the ship upright?"
"Yeah. Krakens usually appear on one side of the side and tip it towards them, so that the sailors fall into their mouth. But Percy kept the ship level on the water, so the kraken had to use its tentacles to find its prey. Probably why it was so irritated." Will straightens up. "I have a lot of wounded to attend to. Maybe get Beckendorf or Frank to take him to his cabin so he can rest?"
He runs off in the direction of more calls for help. Annabeth roams her eyes around the deck. She sees the glint of bronze in the sunlight and retrieves her fallen dagger, sliding it back into its sheath around her belt. Then she finds Frank, who helps her carry Percy back to the captain's cabin.
Frank disappears back on deck to direct the recovery efforts. Annabeth pulls off Percy's boots and drapes a blanket over him. He looks so much younger when his eyes are closed. He also looks so much more vulnerable. There's an edge to his eyes that warns of danger; with his eyes closed, Annabeth can see traces of the boy he once was.
Annabeth sits on the end of his bed for a long time. She knows she should be out on deck helping Will with the wounded or Beckendorf with repairs or running messages for Frank, but after her near death experience, she needs to take a break.
She tries to sort out in her mind exactly what happened. There was the battle, and then she'd been captured by a tentacle, and Beckendorf had thrown her some sort of bomb in a jar - though what sort of bomb can burn underwater, she's not sure - which she had thrown into the kraken's open jaws.
After that, everything became blurry. Annabeth had fallen, but instead of being kraken food or getting caught in the middle of the explosion, a wave had swept her to the side. But it hadn't just been a wave; Annabeth had felt a body slam into her. And when she'd been flailing around in the water watching the explosions, she'd felt arms reach for her. Then she had, impossibly, shot out of the water and back onto the deck of the ship - just in time to see Percy standing over her.
Her mind spins and she considers the implications of her thoughts. A few more puzzle pieces fall into place, completing one small section - the section with sea green eyes and wavy black hair.
The oracle: "Beware, Perseus, son of the sea."
When they met the old man in Africa: "Nereus. He's a son of the sea who has the gift of prophecy."
A flash of memory: Percy emerging from his wrestling match with Nereus underwater breathing normally and completely dry.
The first night she met Percy: "The ship was a gift from my father."
Their first day out at sea: "I am doing work. I'm keeping this ship together."
A few minutes ago: "He just over-exerted himself. It took most of his focus to keep the ship upright, not to mention rescuing you from being kraken-kibble."
The sand dollar attached to the leather cord around his neck.
In Baelo Claudia: "I can feel traces of salt on these ruins. Not just sea spray - this salt is more concentrated….It was Poseidon, god of the sea...I've seen the trident myself."
"...part of my blood."
At first Annabeth thinks she's crazy. There's no way the idea in her head could be true. But if salt monsters and shape-shifting men and oracles and kraken are real, why can't this be as well?
She stares down at the sleeping captain and realizes exactly why he's captain, even though Frank is bigger and Beckendorf is older and Will is more educated. She understands why he looks so comfortable at the bow of the ship, the sea spray in his face, his familiarity and ease in a world of gods and spirits and monsters and magic.
She understands how his easy smile and the hint of a brewing storm in his eyes manage to co-exist.
Above all, she understands his sense of duty.
"This one is...personal."
"Family issues?"
"You could say that."
Percy Jackson isn't just a metaphorical son of the sea. He's a son of the sea god.