Author Note: This is only a work of fan fiction, not the real deal. I take no credit for the elements similar to and originating from the book The Lost Hero and the first published chapter of the actual The Son of Neptune; all the credit goes to Rick Riordan alone.
Chapter 3: Python
With the back of my neck cooling against the cabin and my breathing and heart rate slowly falling, I stared up at the stars. They were glowing bright tonight, with no clouds to hide them, and I could pick out more constellations than usual against the inky backdrop. Capricorn, Sagittarius, Aries, Taurus, Orion, and – I fumbled to a stop. I stared blankly at the sky for a minute, trying to dredge up the name of the girl with long hair running across the sky, bow in hand…
Zoë the Huntress.
My head ached like someone was bludgeoning me with the bronze club of the Furies. Before I could remember anything about her though, a voice called out to me down the aisle.
"Hey! Percy, right?" The boy was younger than me, short, and looked vaguely familiar. "Couldn't sleep either?" he asked in a friendly whisper. He moved like a gazelle, bouncing lightly on each step and moving quickly. There were a few ropes, carabiners, and a pair of climbing shoes in his hands.
I shook my head, trying to remember his name.
"I'm Bobby," he said, seeing my expression in the strained dimness of pre-dawn. "I guess you wouldn't remember me. We've never actually met." He offered a hand and I shook it, startled by his outgoing personality. "Wanna climb with me? Right now is the best time for it. The mountain shakes the least and there's nobody clogging the cliff face."
I nodded, taken by his openness. "All right, yeah," I said. We hiked up to the foothills of the mountain and strapped on harnesses, talking affably the whole way. Bobby was a nice kid; energetic, easy to please, and non-judgmental. When I told him about my amnesia, he seemed puzzled.
"Wait, so you just woke up, and you didn't remember anything at all?" He frowned, deep in thought. "Well, I'd say that someone had an outside hand in that. Generally amnesia isn't so complete, and it progressively gets worse, not the other way around."
"What do you mean?" I asked. I had never thought that someone else could get in my head and erase my memory banks. "That's kind of weird."
"Well, it could be the effects of a few things. First, it could be that some minor god played a trick on you. There's been a few cases of that over the years. They wipe the memories of some mortal and land them at the Wolf House for Lupa to find."
"But I'm not a mortal," I said, pointing out the obvious. We hitched our harnesses to the automatic belay system and started up the cliff.
"And lucky you aren't," Bobby said. "You'd be dog food. Anyway, it's also possible that you fell in the river Lethe. It's name means Oblivion, and it's supposed to wipe the minds of the dead as they enter the Underworld."
"Well, I went to the Underworld once and fell in a river, but it wasn't the Lethe," I said with a touch of humor. Bobby glanced at me quizzically but didn't reply.
"Yeah, that wouldn't be it anyway, because the Lethe doesn't ever let you have your memories back." He stopped to jam his thin climbing shoe in a crevice and push himself higher. "The only other thing I can think of is the Titaness Mnemosyne, Memory incarnate. But generally she minds her own business and doesn't bother demigods just for kicks. Plus, we crushed her in the last war and buried her under Mount Saint Helens, where Typhon used to sleep." At half-way up the mountainside, he told me over the rumbling of the mountain, "I mean, I guess some god could've stolen your memories, but that doesn't really make sense. There couldn't be a good reason for a god to do that, and without your memories, there's no way to tell anyway. I think you're just gonna have to ride this one out."
I shrugged and said, "Doesn't seem like I have much of a choice."
We climbed to the top, hit the finish bells, and belayed to the bottom. After a few more climbs, the sun peaked over the horizon and outshone the stars. With the new light, I was able to see my hand and footholds better, so I slipped less often. Yet every time the mountain shook with a rumbling growl deep inside, I stopped moving and had to cling to the cliff face to avoid falling. The noise and shaking reminded me of my first night at camp: something was in there, and it wasn't the sort of creature that would have a tea party with you. Unless, of course, you agreed to be the crumpets, and it got to charbroil you to perfection.
We hiked through the foothills to the main portion of camp a little later, sweaty but awake, and talking amiably. When I told Bobby about my challenge that afternoon, my stomach tying itself in knots as I spoke, he listened with a spark in his eye. We were just about to enter camp when he held me back in the woods of the foothills. He learned toward me and said quietly, "Listen, I don't know what you'll have to face today. But if they put a dragon in the arena with you…" He paused to think of the right phrasing. "Just promise me you won't look at its head. It'll read your mind if you make eye contact, and it'll do everything in its power to riddle and confuse you. That's how they get their prey to stop moving long enough to eat it." His expression was grim. He pulled up the sleeve of his purple shirt and bared a thick, fresh looking scar on his shoulder. "When I fought the dragon in the woods, it got me listening long enough to give me this. Just don't look at its face. Okay?"
I recognized Bobby now – he was the kid who had agreed to subdue the dragon on my first day. Secretly, I wanted to ask, How did you kill the dragon? But instead, I said, "Sure. By the way, did you get to move up an officer placement?"
He grimaced. "No. I thought I was pretty lucky to have escaped alive, let alone with just one wound, but the Captains didn't seem to think that coming back with a dead dragon and a shoulder in ribbons was good enough."
"Oh. That sucks," I said sympathetically.
He laughed derisively, which was a strange sound coming from such a young, kind kid. "Thanks. You're the only one who seems to think so. Everybody else thinks that I should've been demoted."
"Yeah, well, they're all jerks," I said, gesturing widely at the whole camp. "See you later."
I stepped away, but Bobby caught my arm. "Good luck in the coliseum today, man. And seriously. Thanks," he said, with genuine gratitude. He let me go with a nod and I made for the lake.
The lake was my cool haven for the rest of the morning. I blatantly ignored Reyna's insistence from the shore that I should spar with her or shoot some archery. The only shooting I did was through the water; high-speed, current-projected swimming, weaving through naiad reed huts, mossy deep water rocks, and bubbly water. I explored an underwater cave for a while, somehow able to see in the murk.
When I emerged at noon, I realized I hadn't eaten any breakfast. My stomach was growling fiercely, loud enough that the archers looked around for a wild animal to chase when I passed them. A very disgruntled Reyna accompanied me to the dining pavilion, where we devoured our roast lamb like rabid wolves. When I finished my last gulp of milk with honey, I swung off the stone bench with a sinking sensation in my stomach that had nothing to do with the heavy meal I'd just eaten. "See you in the arena," I risked saying. My voice was rusty from breathing water and not speaking all morning.
She smiled at me, seeming to know what I was thinking. "You'll do fine. You're a lot stronger than you think," she said.
"Who said otherwise?" I retorted quickly, pretending to be hurt.
Inwardly, I was glad for the encouragement. I walked out to the armory with the sinking in my stomach intensifying. By the time I got there, it felt like I was walking with nine-times gravity or something, my spirits were so low. Captain Alyssa narrowed her eyes at me critically, weighing me up as I approached the massive, obsidian doors. Just as I thought she was going to say something severe like, "Stand up straight," or "Stop moping around, you sack of lard," she smiled faintly and raised her eyebrows at me.
"Feeling nervous? That's okay, everybody does beforehand. I think you're a size eight." She walked into the building, filing through the aisles, searching for the correct row. Inside, towering racks of scaled torso armor, iron studded leather strap kilts, and knee-high leather sandals filled the interior of the first room. The vaulted ceiling made possible by the golden gnomon shape of the roof allowed for the racks to be higher than anyone could reach easily. While I wondered how they got armor down from the topmost tiers, Alyssa wandered off to a row a twenty feet away. I hurried to catch up and arrived in the aisle just as she jerked a set of torso armor off the rack. She fitted it on me without a word, the armor clanking loudly and resting painfully against the beaded necklace on my chest. Alyssa pulled a kilt from a stack and wordlessly wrapped it around my waist. It was uncomfortably tight until she adjusted it, and then it still felt awkward because I was still wearing jeans underneath.
Within a few minutes, she had outfitted me with all the essentials, including arm guards, sandals, an extra dagger, a white tunic, and a shield, because I said I didn't have one. She ordered me into a dressing room, which reminded me rather bizarrely of the one at Goodwill, and I changed into the armor. When I was fully converted, and feeling completely ridiculous in the getup, I pocketed Riptide in a nifty strap on the side of my kilt. I caught sight of myself in a mirror on my way out, and nearly melted from mortification. I looked exactly like the gorgons, only measurably less happy about it. The armor was heavy and uncomfortable, already chafing my shoulders and knees, as well as a slew of other, more unpleasant places.
Figuring I had better get on with it, I marched to the coliseum, the metal clanking loudly. There's no way the Romans did stealth missions in this, I thought, rolling my eyes. When I finally crossed all the practice fields, I was considering fighting in just my white tunic. My thoughts were interrupted by Lupa, however, who appeared at one of the many entrances. She prowled out to me and sized me up in the armor.
"Time to see what you're made of," she said, a hint of a sneer playing on her face and a chortle in her voice.
Maybe that was what set me off. An unnamed nervousness had been bubbling in me all morning, and it finally took form in anger. I was fed up with being underrated, tired of being looked down upon, sick of their smirks. Whatever it was, I stormed past Lupa wordlessly, pushing into the arena, my mouth setting in a hard line. The dusty floor of the arena creaked innocently under my sandaled feet, eagerly waiting to unleash whatever creatures were underneath it, as I strode out into the center. I stared defiantly into the crowd, which sat with a chilling silence in the stands. A Division Captain glared down arrogantly at me, about to speak, making me flare my nose and feel like a wanted to breathe fire.
"Perseus Jackson, you are here to challenge for your first class bar – "
I snapped, "Duh, I am. I'm the one who applied for this, I already know."
I think that stunned them a little. I didn't have time to think about it much before a trapdoor fell away in front of me, and a hydra clawed out of the hole with its four, double-jointed legs. Eleven heads hissed at me, acid-ducts shining in the roof of each mouth. I almost laughed; I was remembering a certain hobo who had put up a much fiercer fight than this beast would.
I dodged a few spurts of acid and flying teeth, then sliced all the heads off with one good lop from behind. I buried the heads under a makeshift stone (also known as the shield I wasn't going to use), one of two surefire ways to kill a hydra, and the beast fell to the ground with a quiet thud. It's form dissipated in gold ashes, pulled in different directions by the wind. Another trapdoor fell open, letting up a pack of hellhounds – something prickled in my mind, but I overrode the reaction – and I destroyed them, not even bothering with defense. The massive dogs leapt at me, and I hacked their bodies to golden ash. Easy.
Another trapdoor fell. I don't know where the word came from, but it popped into my head: dracaenae, demonic snake-women. There were two of them, one in heavyweight gladiator trappings and the other with a net and trident. My body dredged up training I had received a long time ago – training I couldn't remember – and acted of its own accord. I toyed with them a little, dodging their thrusts and the net, then swiped Riptide through their midriffs. They were still looking at each other, surprised looks creeping onto their faces, when they melted into nothing.
I was three challenges in without even breaking a sweat. True, I was covered in golden monster ash, but a little dusting of your enemies' destroyed bodies never hurt anyone. I was exhilarated. With all the complex training I'd dedicated myself to over the past three weeks, I had forgotten how easy it was to kill monsters. I didn't bother using the neat sword techniques I had learned, or mess around with my ocean abilities. I just hacked the things to bits. It was actually kind of fun.
I vented my frustration of the entire morning on the next monster to appear from a trapdoor; only this time, the trapdoor was so huge, the entire coliseum floor shifted aside while a plate slid away in the center of the arena. A Sicilian scorpion rose on a lift out of the floor, which then slid back into place. Without waiting for the monster to cock back its tail for a strike, or even to focus its luminescent orange eyes on me, I barreled straight at it. I wasn't aware of doing it at the time, but I discarded by torso armor and kilt by loosening the straps on the sides while I ran at the creature. The scaly metal slammed to the wooden floor, and free of deadweight, I ran three times faster towards the softer underbelly of the bug. The creature seemed too surprised by my agility to do anything (it was probably also wondering how I managed to shed my exoskeleton) and therefore didn't manage to do anything before a did a baseball player's slide and stabbed Riptide up into its softer underbelly.
I had some vague recollection of doing something similar before, but because I felt that same prickle pretty much all the time, it didn't bother me. I was focused on the shocked expressions of the Roman campers that I saw through the swirling dust of the black scorpion. The campers seemed incredulous, like they couldn't believe I had the nerve to beat their favorite monster.
I grinned.
The next few challenges were equally simple. I ran around with no armor but the basic arm guards, sandals, and loose white tunic, brandishing Riptide and slicing monsters to dust. They were all the same in essence: ugly, scaly, multiple-limbed in ways they shouldn't be, freaky crossbreeds with a hundred teeth and skin that secreted viscous liquids. They were also all the same in that they exploded when I ran them through with Riptide.
It started reluctantly, but then gained intensity and volume – applause. Each time I killed a monster, the spectators started to cheer. By the time I beat my ninth challenge, the entire stadium roared, the monster dust seemed more like confetti, and the floor unveiled my next task before the cheers had stopped.
A huge bird rose into the arena, gleaming strangely in the afternoon sun, and a mound of twigs in a knee high pyramid rose from a trapdoor a few feet away from it. The bird, which I figured was probably a phoenix – based on the way the tips of its bronze, gold, and copper feathers kept igniting – screeched and strode over to the mound. Then, with a primly regal expression, it sat, crushing the nest under its long, flowing metallic tail.
The objective was clear – get the eggs in the nest away from the phoenix. Or at least, I thought it was. Then I realized phoenixes didn't lay eggs, they went up in flames and rose from the ashes. Perplexed, I looked around the stadium, wondering what I was supposed to do. The crowd below the Caesar's box was yelling and gesticulating wildly to turn around, so, suddenly cautious, I glanced behind me by looking in the shining reflection in Riptide.
I stared at the mirror image of one of the most hideous creatures I had ever seen. It looked like a giant peacock that had been cannibalizing other birds for a while; it had bloodshot black eyes, a razor sharp beak, and claws that would make a dracaenae run for its life. It only got worse when I slid the view Riptide gave me. Instead of colorful tail, a serpent's slithery end fused to the butt of the bird. I had only hear rumors that this creature existed: a basilisk. It was said that a basilisk had breath that was a noxious gas capable of poisoning a man to death with one lungful; eyes that could paralyze when looked at directly; and, despite being a bird, a hiss so powerful that it caused serious neurological damage and seizures. Thankfully, they were slow creatures, so if you came to face one and managed to avoid all of its main weapons, it was possible to get away. When I glanced up at the phoenix, it seemed even more smug look than it had before. All of its metal feathers were burning, and its regal eyes told me what I had to do: protect the baby phoenix that would soon appear from the basilisk behind me.
But how to kill something you can't look at, can't listen to, and can't breathe around? I ripped off one shoulder of my tunic (which wasn't hard, actually – it was already in tatters from all the other monsters) and wrapped it around my nose and mouth, tying it in the back. Then I drew my dagger and advanced backwards, watching the reflection in Riptide, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible, and dodging the swipes the basilisk made at my exposed neck.
I glanced quickly at the phoenix, checking on its safety, when it smiled wanly at me and burst into a twenty foot tall column of flames. The expression on the phoenix's face either meant that it felt safe under my protection, or that it was going to really enjoy watching me die.
I saw a burnished reflection of the basilisk opening its mouth to hiss, and I prepared to drop my weapons and cover my ears, but no sound came out. Instead, a smoky white vapor leaked from its open maw, and I barely had time to take a deep breath before the mist enshrouded me. I knew that I could only hold my breath for a few minutes, less if I was fighting; so, acting tremendously brave, I ran forward and as far away from the milky haze as I could. I stopped, standing near the funeral pyre of the dying phoenix, and finally took a breath, gasping in luxuriously pure air. I flicked the dagger up to my face, deciding it made a better mirror than my main blade, and scanned the area for the bird-beast. It was hiding in its own foul fog, so I was going to have to go back in, whether I liked it or not.
I hyperventilated a few times to fill my lungs with excess oxygen, then took another breath and plunged back in, still walking backwards and never taking my eyes off the dagger. I spotted the tip of a smooth grey-green tail, and backed up towards it as slowly as I could. Just when I got close enough to reach out my fingers and touch the basilisk's tail, my muscles locked up.
I was three feet from the beast's head and I couldn't move. The strain in every part of my body increased as my muscles pulled harder on each other, threatening to tear. Then I heard it: a low sizzling, like the sound of gas escaping a pipe. The basilisk's hiss. I strained against my disobeying body, forcing my arms to rise. They refused my orders, staying stock still in their positions. My heart pumped harder as my eyes started into tunnel vision. With an enormous effort, I jerked my arms into motion, slamming my palms against my ears, barely clutching the dagger and Riptide in my seizing fingers.
The tension in my body vanished. Apparently, that took the strength out of me as well, and I unintentionally collapsed to the ground next to the basilisk. I gasped in a lungful of air as my muscles buckled, thankfully noticing that the velvety mist in the air had dissipated. Unfortunately, I was still lying at the foot of the beast, which had just realized that I was there. I faced me, an expression of triumph in its ferocious eyes, and closed its slightly open mouth. I knew it had stopped hissing then, so I unclenched my fingers from my face and reached forward shakily to stab the creature in the abdomen.
The beak opened wide and shot a milky burst of vapor in my face. Coughing and bleary eyed, I pierced Riptide into the basilisk's stomach and watched as it exploded into golden powder. I hadn't breathed in much of the poison, but it was still enough for an electric shock of pain to pulse in my chest.
I had to ignore it. The phoenix had already fallen below deck, it's ugly, bald head poking out of a bed of warm coals, and the trapdoor had opened. I pushed to my feet with enormous effort, leaving the dagger on the ground and only bothering to bring Riptide with me. I coughed and ripped the cloth off my face to breathe better, stepping towards the rising platform.
And came face-to-face with a unicorn. I'm not gonna lie, despite the pain in my chest, my hacking cough and everything else, I tossed my head back and laughed. It was a delicious sensation, laughing in the face of a monster. Though, I had to reconsider, did unicorns qualify as monsters? While I was mulling this over, the enraged horse attempted to gore me with its horn. As the foot long silver cone slid off my throat with a loud scraping noise, I grabbed the unicorn's mane and jerked the beast off-balance, simultaneously kicking at its front legs. My attack forced it to its knees, where it flopped over onto its side.
Just to be sure that this was the objective, I glanced around quickly. Nothing else in the arena. The campers were cheering me on, though in my pain, their voices were muffled. I brought down Riptide with a decisive slash, and was left kneeling in a puddle of dust.
That was eleven, I thought, wincing as the electrostatic piercing sensation shot through my chest again. After the last powerful throb, I felt the pain from the poison finally fading for good, my invincible body immune to any real damage.
Suddenly, as the floor of the coliseum rumbled and split in two, sliding into opposite edges and leaving a yawning gap, I knew what my twelfth challenge would be before it appeared. Bobby hadn't warned me about the dragon without reason.
Glass walls slid fifty feet into the air around the arena, to protect the spectators from the creature. The winches below hauled a massive beast into my sight. First a scaled head three times the size of me cleared the gap, its bright red slit-pupiled eyes bordered by spines of scale glancing around with curious intensity. I directed my gaze downward, away from the eyes, before they locked onto me. A long neck followed the head, with holes that constricted and loosened with each breath lining the muscled arch. Spikes of bone stood out along the back of the neck and gills lay flat against the base of its head.
A heavily muscled body, perfect for swimming, flying, or running followed, backward hinging legs and webbed feet with claws holding the beast upright. Leathery wings folded precisely along the curve of its spiked spine. A tail curled out of sight, its tip covered in thick barbs.
"Why didn't I ask how Bobby killed the dragon?" I asked aloud, cursing my politeness. I looked down, noticing water starting to immerse the arena, already up to my mid-calf. The glass wasn't there for protection – it was to contain the flooded battlefield. With added relief, I noticed it was salt water. An even better arena for me than a simple freshwater submersion. Strength poured back into me, and I couldn't hold back a grin. This might be easier than I thought.
The water gained speed, torrentially pouring into the tank. It was at my waist within seconds. I was thankful that I had the forethought (or obstinacy, whichever) to wear shorts under my tunic, because having a rather drafty skirt as the only clothing down below would've been bad in a giant pool. I shot through the water, which was now ten feet high and gaining. The dragon was only immersed up to the base of its head, still taking in the arena with little interest, and I used the time to approach the beast unseen. I glanced around underwater for a useful tool – like a length of giant metal chain, a shotgun, a tank, a nuclear bomb – with no luck.
Instead, I sufficed with starting a whirlpool in the tank. I ordered the water to wrap around the dragon's rear left foot, then to swirl. Gradually, all of the water got sucked into it as it gained momentum. The dragon glanced down, now slightly irritated, and snapped its teeth at me, but it's move was slowed by the water and I dodged it easily. A few more seconds and the cyclone sucked the rest of the dragon into the twirling water. With an annoyed roar, it tried to claw its way out of the storm, its webbed feet failing to gain any ground against the whirlpool. I sent the vortex racing around the arena, smacking the dragon's head into the glass walls with each turn. I watched, waiting for the dragon to fall unconscious so I could try to stab it in the roof of the mouth, which I guessed might be a weak spot. But the reptile only became more enraged, clawing wildly at the water and baring its teeth.
The water calmed when I released it, slamming the dragon back to the ground and cracking a leak in the floor. No, I thought desperately as I started to lose the only advantage I had. The glass was springing leaks as well, not to mention the waves that dumped over the edges of the tank when the whirlpool sloshed to a halt. Hard terrain wasn't going to do me much good if all the water drained from the cracks in the glass and floor.
I scanned the emptying arena urgently, searching for something to give me an upper hand. In my haste, I forgot to avoid the gaze of the giant reptile, and its eyes caught me mid-scan. I stood there, transfixed by the golden tints in the glossy red eyes, while the arena emptied of water. To me, there were no spectators, there were no other monsters, there were no weapons in my hands. There was only the gaze of the monster and its voice slithering into my mind.
You think to beat me with a few petty waves? Thewords grew louder, sounding like a sigh. I am no stranger to Poseidon's tricks, demigod. It's disappointing that you rate me below any real efforts of destruction.
It's trying to trick me. Trying to lure me into a trap, eat me –
That boy called my kind riddlers? Pah! Sphinx take that disgusting title. I am Python, the first and greatest serpent, the wisest soothsayer, teller of the future and good counsel. You, demigod, appear to be in need of guidance.
It's reading my mind – I have to look away – I'm in danger –
You are also under the impression that I hunger for your blood. Foolish. I eat only the heroes who refuse what I have to say, refuse to listen, refuse to speak with me. If you are so worried, stop struggling.
What could a little advice hurt? If it tried to attack, I could always break eye contact and fight again – maybe –
Much better. Let me say this for you – your mind appears to have suffered the attack of a greater being. They have stolen your memories both for your own good and theirs. You may not ever want to retrieve your memories. Fully recovered, they will lead you along a long, dangerous path.
No, I need my memories back, no matter what – but it still might be telling the truth –
If you are so set along that idea, that you must find out your past, I recommend searching for my creator. She has the power to restore them, if only partially. When you find the path of your true ancestors, follow it. Do not let the ways of those nearest by remove you from your nature.
True ancestors, as opposed to – the people near me are trying to help –
They are trying to assimilate you into a culture that you are not a part of.
But I'm a demigod, this is my culture – Wait, can you tell me my future?
I cannot explain more than that. As for your future… the words faded slightly, then came back with new strength.
You will abandon the curse
when it's needed most,
you will seek to reverse
the flight of a ghost.
The hiss died away, then returned with a new tone.
As for the audience, demigod. I feel they want you to destroy me. To fulfill their wishes, you must look to the actions of Cadmus, who founded the city of Sparta. He will give you the answer, Greek.
Why would you sacrifice –
I will reform soon enough, Python hissed, sounding smug.
With shaky knees, I came back to myself. The entire coliseum was quiet, campers standing in their seats, leaning forward, their eyes stretching wide towards me like flowers to sunlight. More than one face was white as a ghost. The dragon's head, which I finally realized to be suspended two feet in front of me, broke eye contact and drew back, retreating to arch above its body.
I was still stunned from a realization Python had forced on me. I pushed it from my mind, to mull over later, and focused instead on his advice to defeat him. I thought for a moment, my memories tingling. It's teeth. Cadmus, in the old myths, had planted dragon's teeth in wet, loamy soil to give rise to a dozen Spartans. The only problem was getting hold of the dragon's teeth. I didn't want to go anywhere near them when they were still in Python's mouth. It was better than nothing, though, and the odds of thirteen on one definitely appealed to me.
My next move must've looked insane. It must have looked completely, utterly bonkers. But I did it anyway, knowing it was my only chance at winning fairly: I ran at Python, using the ankle-high water to shoot me into the air. I landed on the dragon's foot, and he arched his neck and snapped at me as I ran up his front leg. I climbed up his neck, wrangling his boney spines as I fought higher. He tossed his neck and head in attempts to throw me off, but I held tight at I climbed onto the top of his head. The crowd was back to screaming its approval as I slithered across his head, holding onto scales for dear life as he flailed.
I could tell the dragon's heart wasn't really in it though. He could've thrown me off by now, but had chosen to let me approach his mouth. I could still hear the smug tone of his voice as I clung to one of his nostrils and sliced Riptide through his gums. Four teeth fell like boulders to the water below, splashing loudly. Python roared in pain, redoubling his efforts to throw me off. He snorted, hot smoke raking across my hand that was anchored in his nose. I winced, but took another stab.
Several more teeth fell. I could see the water below already burbling, rising with foamy bulges as Grecian warriors rose from the ground. I hacked at Python's mouth as long as I could stand to hold on, then dropped to the ground with a splash. Eight men were rising from the water, their faces blank and eyes empty. In front of me, Python was spitting blood and fire, trying to scorch me unsuccessfully. When all twelve had risen, looking more like monkeys with their bulging pecs and chests covered in rugs of hair, I ordered them, "Skotóste ton dráko," my voice booming in the arena, loud and strong, even though I only vaguely understood my own words.
Together, my henchmen and I charged the dragon. Python blew fire at us but didn't do any harm; he tried to throw us off, but we clambered onto his hide like ants on rotten fruit. Each of the hairy men stabbed the tough hide several times when they saw me doing it, copying like true monkeys. Each time I sunk Riptide in the hide, a geyser of hot golden monster ash spewed from the wound.
In a few minutes, the greatest serpent of all had been reduced to nothing. The warriors looked to me, bleeding and confused, like, You said kill dragon. Where dragon? They would've run off looking for more, too, if a few words hadn't stumbled quietly from my mouth of their own accord: "Sas efcharistó. Eísai gínei." I thought it meant something like, "Thanks for your help, you can leave," but I didn't really translate it; I felt it. The warriors looked relieved, melting into the soggy floor of the arena. The glass tank retreated underground, the last dredges of seawater spilling under the trapdoors.
The campers, normally so disciplined and fearful of Lupa, roared like lions, applauding like they were trying to crush bricks between their hands and jumping up and down like their feet were on fire. Three figures broke free of the mass, vaulting down the walls and landing in the arena floor. They ran at me wildly, crazy grins spreading on their faces as they approached.
Reyna got to me first. She was breathing hard, but she smiled at me, showing all her teeth with flushed pink cheeks. She didn't say anything for a moment, just stared at me, and in the time it took for her to gather her wits, Bobby had sprinted up next to me. He grabbed me by the shoulder and grinned, saying, "Man, you didn't tell me you're a boss," he said cheerfully, clapping me on the shoulder. "How'd you do that? One second, you were staring down the dragon and we all thought you were lizard-meat, and then the next you yelled like that dude from 300 and charged the thing with an army of hairy dudes! You're insane," he beamed at me.
"Yeah, well, you know," I said casually, shrugging. "Just kickin' it old school." Really old school. Like, Greek old, I thought, smirking.
The last figure trotted up to me. It was a pretty eleven year old girl, with auburn hair French braided in flowers and tied with dried grass. She brushed a short lock out of her face and said to me, "Hi," with a pleasant smile and breezy voice. "I'm Hazel, daughter of Ceres." Then, with a fire I didn't think possible coming from a flower-child, she said intensely, "You freakin' rocked that arena. Will you teach me how to do some of that stuff? I wanna be able to slay monsters like you can!" She mimed violently wringing necks and splitting heads.
"Uh, sure," I said, startled.
Reyna finally said, with a glint in her eye, "You look good in a skirt, water boy."
The hull of a nearly complete ship rested on a pedestal in Bunker Nine. The masts, sails, gauges, instruments, oars, main deck, and ropes were still in the works or being laid out in well-organized rows. Of course they would be. Annabeth prowled among to building materials and campers, categorizing meticulously and directing to streamline the process as much as possible. Leo Valdez and the other Hephaestus kids huddled in a hurried but purposeful mass around the golden hull, currently discussing the best structure for the thwarts to support the keel.
When Leo left the campers to their craft and approached the fixtures Annabeth was overseeing, he approached the daughter of Athena with some caution. She'd been getting progressively snappier at everyone to disturb her thoughts over the past three months. They all knew she was just concerned for her boyfriend – and possibly the Great Prophecy, which foretold a rather grim future – but her irritation was starting to effect overall morale. Leo said warily, "Annabeth?"
"Yeah?" she said, turning. She wore her characteristically distantly focused look, like she was thinking deeply about something that would affect the course of the universe. "Oh, it's you, Leo," she said, coming out of her glower. "What do you need?" she asked eagerly, wanting to help in any way necessary.
"Well," he started somewhat awkwardly, seeing the tension to work in her eyes, "I think – you should – maybe – well, take a break. You've been at this longer than the rest of us, and – we don't want you to get overworked," he finished somewhat lamely. Annabeth glared at him disbelievingly, her eager expression morphing into a deep frown. He sighed. Humans were so impossible. "Actually, it's that you're scaring some of the younger kids. They could do with a break from you."
Annabeth's eyes softened, losing some of their unnervingly intense quality. How that Percy kid could actually stand to go out with a person like this was a mystery to him – then again, he couldn't really get along with anyone that well. Machines were better. So what did he know? "I'm sorry Leo. I don't mean to be… off-putting. Anyway, I was just thinking – half this stuff, we don't need. It would be much faster to just leave it off." She gestured to the gleaming metal instruments on the work floor.
"What? Which ones?" he asked, wishing she had volunteered this information sooner. If they didn't need them, they wouldn't have wasted time building them.
"Well, the compass, the oars, the sextant, world clock, and theodolite to begin with…"
"Annabeth," said a deep voice. It was accompanied with the soft clops of horse hooves hitting the cement floor. Chiron sounded tired, exhausted from working with Annabeth. "You know you need those to measure latitude, longitude, and your velocity. You can't get rid of those even if – Well, we don't know if Percy is even going to be there. He might not be, so you can't count on his abilities and ignore critical instruments in the case that he is missing from the Roman camp as well."
"But the whole quest will be pointless without him anyway," she argued. "You know we won't pull off the quest without him. Jason will be flying the ship to the Roman camp, and he knows where he is in the air. Once we get there, we'll pick up Percy, and he knows where he is in the water. So maps, compasses, theodolites, sextants; they all seem pretty redundant. Plus, distances don't work the same when divine magic interferes, which is most of the time, so the instruments could be easily fooled. We can save time this way," she insisted.
Leo had to admit, it was a sound argument. Except… "What happens if Percy and Jason are both unconscious or something? How will we know where to go?" he said.
Annabeth frowned, burning holes in his forehead with the look of disgust she cast his way. "Fine. Waste time, then. Just go ahead and let the giants rise, why don't you. Give them a treasure map to Olympus, if you're so keen on helping them destroy the gods," she spat. She stormed out of the bunker, steam practically shooting out her ears.
"That's out of line – " Chiron started to call after her, for once sounding impatient with Annabeth.
"Nah, let her go," Leo advised sagely. He didn't particularly care what she thought, as long as she didn't think she needed to feed him to Peleus, the camp's guardian dragon. "Bugs like that need to work their way out of the system."
"She's not a machine, Leo. You can't predict the thoughts and actions of a person," Chiron retorted darkly. "You would do well to remember that around Annabeth." With a frown, the centaur trotted away, overseeing the work Annabeth had left behind.
"Yo, Leo! What angle do you want these struts?"
He turned to Mike and showed him the angle on the diagrams, his mind back to business.
Annabeth pushed out of the bunker, her mind storming with dark thoughts. She only voiced a few of her choicest thoughts on the subject of the ship with Leo. She kept her more sinister thoughts to herself, mulling over the prophecy and Percy. She wasn't terribly worried about him; he was invulnerable and an excellent swordsman. She knew it was impossible to erase muscle memory, so his fighting skills would be developed enough to keep him alive, even if he never landed in the Roman camp. She did, however, feel the smallest tinge of fear for their relationship; she knew it was petty, given the circumstances for him, but she couldn't help it. What would happen if he fell for some flimsy Roman girl or dryad while his memories were blank? She sighed, resigned to the fact she couldn't do anything about it even if that was happening at this very moment. Her boyfriend – she paused: she would have to stop calling him that, in case things didn't go well – her friend was on his own.
A sound stirred her from her thoughts. She looked up to see she had just emerged from the woods and a short satyr was trotting awkwardly towards her, waving his arms like a dying fish. "Annabeth! Thank the gods I found you!" His voice was excited, full of the smile spread lopsidedly across his face. Her heart pumped faster, a thousand impossible scenes flashing in her mind –
"I got through to Percy last night! I meant to catch you before you went out to the bunker this morning, but apparently you get up really early – "
"Come on, Grover, what did he say?" she gasped, cutting over his silly ramblings.
"Well, something was wrong with the empathy link. It was really fuzzy, and everything I said didn't go through very well, I think. I got through to him for about twenty minutes. I made as much sound as I could, but I don't think he could hear me, it was weird. It's never done that before. He was definitely looking at me, and he saw me, but it was like he didn't understand. He just stared blankly at me the whole time, and I tried everything…" He drifted off when her saw her expression and he abruptly looked ashamed rather than excited. "I'm sorry, I know I'm terrible at magic, but I don't think anybody could get through to him more than that – I think it's the divine barrier set in place between the Greek and Romans. I could only get through because Percy used to be a Greek…"
"No, Grover, this is great!" she said, with real enthusiasm. "It's progress. It's great! Keep working at it, maybe he'll be able to answer. And you're not terrible at nature magic, it's like you said – the division of the Greek and Romans is getting in the way." She smiled, elated. Progress! After three months of silence, suddenly there was contact!
"You think we're really going to find him?" Grover asked nervously. He started to chew on a tin can he pulled from his jacket pocket.
"Definitely. We're getting closer every day," she said, full of real conviction. She went back to the bunker, leaving Grover standing there looking equally happy, her day and determination refreshed.
The setting sun tinged the coliseum red. Instead of sitting in the stands this meeting though, he stood on the dusty arena floor, still in the tatters of his white tunic and sandals, having capped Riptide and shed his arm guards at the first available moment. He and the other campers were now back in the arena after a fulfilling dinner of unusually flavorful pasta, enjoying the warmth of the fire in the cool evening breeze. Lupa approached from her position by the fire and addressed him directly.
"As you are all most certainly aware, we were pleasantly surprised today in the arena. Jackson destroyed the monsters with techniques that remind me strongly of an ancient fighting style, surprising ease, and, of course, his curse of Achilles." The campers said nothing, didn't even move, waiting for her verdict excitedly. "Not to mention his strange speech patterns," she said slowly, clearly hoping to cause a stir. While the campers must have noticed me speaking in Greek, for the moment they didn't seem particularly concerned. Instead, they waited in the flashing firelight. "Perseus Jackson," Lupa said, sighing in apparent frustration with her campers and proceeding to what they wished to hear, "Today you have earned your first class bar. However, after some consideration with the six Tribunes, they have convinced me to award you four class bars for your admirable behavior, quick thinking in battle, and surprising strength." Her tone made it clear that she was not a fan of this decision. It didn't matter; the entire camp was on its feet cheering. Lupa cleared her throat and the campers settled down gradually. When they were quiet enough, she said, "Jackson, your arm." I put forward my left arm, like Reyna had on my first night, and watched with interest as she touched her nose to the vein in my wrist.
It burned ferociously for a moment, then the sensation faded, leaving behind a tally of four crosshatches, the letters SPQR, and the outline of my dad's trident. How the burn managed to imprint on my impenetrable skin, I wasn't sure, but I supposed it had something to do with the goddess Lupa's magic. It was probably stronger than the magic of the Styx, a nymph.
"Additionally, the Tribunes feel your unique skills can be put to good use. They wish for you to deal with the beast in the mountain, because you are most likely the only camper that can. Of course, if you succeed and cause no injures to yourself or other campers, you will be eligible for more class advancement, deigned by the Captains and Tribunes. They wish for this to be done as soon as possible. Tonight or tomorrow at least. You may take a group of your choice with you for aid, if you wish.
"Moving on," she said, clearly an indirect order for me to return to my seat. "I want an update from the Vulcan Division…"
After the campfire, when we were left in the darkness of the night, the stars gleaming above, I flooded out of the arena with the rest of the campers. Several of them were approaching to congratulate me, and Reyna snorted and rolled her eyes next to me as they said bland words like, "I knew you were good from the start" and "I loved your fight with the basilisk". I paused outside the practice fields and the campers went their own ways to resume training. Reyna crossed her arms and refused to move, with Bobby and Hazel standing uncertainly behind her.
She said, "So. Who are you taking with on your mission?"
I had thought about it the entire time at campfire. I said confidently, "You, Bobby and Hazel of course. You're good with accuracy and healing, Bobby's good with fighting, and Hazel can cover everything else, right?"
Hazel frowned severely. She was about to correct me fiercely when a son of Mars pushed past her and forced his way towards me. He glared, standing over six feet tall and flexing his arms, and said obnoxiously, "You're a fraud. You only made it through those tasks today because you bathed in the Styx." His voice was deep and booming. In the darkness, I couldn't really tell, but he looked to be roughly seventeen.
I stood my ground, even though he was offensively close to my face. "Back off, man. If you've got a problem, at least have the decency to take it out with me in the daylight."
"Jason could've done that without the curse of Achilles," he mumbled bitterly, forming fists, but turned and made his way to his sparring partner. I breathed again, having been afraid to in those few seconds. His body odor might have knocked me out.
"Don't listen to him. Dakota's just…" Hazel said, her face taut. "…not handling it well."
Reyna interrupted the unhappy cloud that had formed over the group. "Anyway, we'll need someone else from Apollo, too. I'm kind of awful at healing."
Hazel mimicked Reyna's falsely light mood. "No kidding," she snorted. "You suck."
Reyna said quickly, "I'll go get Gwen. She'd be happy to help." She trotted into the practice fields and faded into the murky night. Bobby crossed his arms to ward off the cool night air and Hazel shuffled her feet uncomfortably.
"You didn't know him," Bobby said distantly, staring intently at a sparring group to avoid eye contact. "But you would've liked Jason. Everybody did."
"Does," corrected Hazel fiercely.
"Yeah, well, we haven't come any closer to finding him, have we?" Bobby said angrily into the air. He grit his teeth an explained, "Jason disappeared two months before you came to the camp, Percy. Even with everyone looking, our entire Division of Minerva's children chasing every rabbit trail, we haven't gotten the slightest wind of him in three months. Nothing. I doubt we'll ever find him." Bobby fell silent coldly, the same furious, hopeless air surrounding him as when he had explained that the dragon had nearly killed him.
Hazel glanced at me and explained further, with a slightly downtrodden expression that was out-of-character for her, "He was Praetor of the First Legion, Captain of his Division, and Lupa's favorite. But that wasn't what made him important – he was our leader, he was kind to everyone, regardless of how much they avoided him, and he was a really loyal friend. When he led the attack on Mount Othrys, the battle seemed easy with him in front." She sighed, but then recovered her intense personality. "But we will find him. We have to."
"I believe you guys," I said. "I'll do everything I can to help." They smiled a little vaguely, but didn't say anything.
While I sincerely felt their pain, I also felt slightly saddened by their concern over Jason. I doubted anyone felt that way about me. Annabeth maybe – but in the ring today, when I fought the hydra, I had been struck by another memory. It was just a flash, but I had seen Annabeth crouching in a little shelter near a creek, staring sadly at me, like I wasn't good enough. She'd been talking about someone she loved – someone she cared for much more intensely than me – just before we were attacked by a hydra in a bizarrely colored shirt.
It depressed me. The one person that I knew I felt real feelings for – she probably wasn't even looking for me. She was probably more concerned about whoever that other person was. I fought off a dark cloud threatening to engulf me and I smiled with false brightness at Reyna, who was jogging back into view with Gwen.
"Well, I have to say that I'm pleased to have been chosen for this," the college age girl said. She looked older than she was in the starlight, her mature expression reflecting her complete lack of fear. "I'll be glad to see that beast destroyed."
"I think we should just go now," I said. "It'll be better to just get it done."
"Dude, you look like death. Can't it wait till morning?" Bobby asked with concern.
"Nah," I said dismissively, rubbing tiredly at my eyes. I knew people had felt this way before, ordering me to bed, but I refused to give in to their opinions. We'd do this my way. And my way meant getting it over with tonight.
"Then let's get going. I'm not getting any younger here," said Gwen.