"Percy!"
Darkness closed around her, reaching for her from depths she couldn't fathom. It reached for her, wrapped around her, and forced its way inside of her stealing the breath from her lungs, choking her as she screamed.
Annabeth's throat was raw, her shrieks giving way to choking gasping sounds. Her eyes streamed and her nose ran down her face. Every breath felt like it was too much for the constricted feelings of her chest. The darkness threatened to work its way inside, like ice in her veins. Her forehead was slick with sweat and no matter how many times the daughter of wisdom blinked or how many breathes she tried to take, the vice like grip wouldn't leave her chest. Open or closed didn't matter, her eyes were unseeing no matter how many times she blinked. Darkness. All around her. Inside her. Above and below her. Her spirit might have returned to her body but part of Annabeth was still down there, down in the darkness.
A hand connected hard with her cheek, tossing her head to the side with a loud crack.
My cheek, she thought as the pain blossomed warm and hot. What is that noise?
It was only then the daughter of Athena realized that horrendous noise, the one like a wounded animal being tortured wasn't an animal at all.
It's me.
She swallowed and although her throat felt like razorblades, Annabeth could see once more. The darkness left a shiver up her spine but it had released its grip on her. Her hand raised to probe lightly at her stinging cheek and pressed a little too hard— maybe the pain would keep her present. Calypso was kneeling on the bed before her, both hands holding onto her shoulders in a vice like grip. It took a moment for Annabeth to take stock of her surroundings. I'm back… I'm on Ogygia. I'm not… Annabeth couldn't bring herself to finish the thought.Grey eyes finally locked with Calypso's but the forgotten goddess' look was guarded, eyes searching her own for an answer to a question that Annabeth must have missed.
"You were thrashing and shouting in your sleep." Her tone was neutral, still staring, still waiting.
Yes. You were dreaming… no, you were having a vision.
It slipped through her fingers as she attempted to grasp at it, like so many grains of sand on the wind. Something was wrong, she knew it in the way her heart was trying to break from her chest, and the salt of tears drying on her cheeks. Her breathing was shaky. It wasn't just a bad dream. The things she had seen… Annabeth lifted a hand to brush the sweat soaked curls from her face and behind her ear. They were dark. Camp… camp was being attacked. Reyna was fighting her way towards the home lands… Despite the sweat, Annabeth felt cold and clutched at the blanket of her bed. "I had… it was a nightmare."
"You were not having a nightmare. You were having a vision, Annie." Her name sounded sour as it formed on Calypso's lips. It was wrong, like the time she had tried to bake her father a cake and when she tried to read the ingredients put in too much baking soda. It was all you could taste, even over the sugar and cocoa. Nothing could mask it and as shadows danced across the goddess' features, eyes boring into Annabeth, the demigod's gaze focussed her full attention on her hostess. These shadows were normal, they were warm. Not like the other ones, the ones she felt (because it had gone beyond seeing them) from her vision. Fingernails dug into her shoulders harder stealing the breath from her lips.
"You were screaming for Percy." Calypso added.
The name was a black chasm that spanned between the two of them, only Annabeth hadn't realized she was grasping at the ledge with a web tangled around her ankle as it threatened to drag her down. For a moment she did nothing but blink, and where the daughter of Athena had not fallen, her gaze did. What could she say? What could she say about anything? That she hadn't exactly lied but she hadn't told the truth. That she was desperate and needed Calypso's help and it would be easier to explain when they were free of the island? When it was too late for her to really say no? Turn her back on her? That she should have been forthcoming and offered her the choice but Annabeth… wasn't sure that would work and so she was willing to make that choice for Calypso? That she was sorry except… she wasn't really sorry? That she would have done the same thing again if it meant helping her friends and saving the one she loved?
Her lips moved but words didn't come.
He's dying. He's injured, laying in a pool of his own blood and…
Annabeth fell backwards with the force of the smack to her face but soon caught herself and rolled away from the bed and the firelight, her fingers going to her belt where her knife was kept. The godly half of her was wired for combat, buzzing to life as her gaze lifted once more to find Calypso staring at her. It was only then as that ADHD part of her assessed her surroundings she realized her arms were bruised where she had been held, likely there were welts, and that wetness, eyes glanced down for only a second. Yes, Calypso had drawn blood where she'd been holding Annabeth so tight. Although her hostess' eyes had darkened and Annabeth crouched with her knife in her hand, there was no movement towards her.
"How do you know him?" When she did finally move it was to stand and an aura glowed around her. She might be powered down, less capable than other gods or goddesses, but Annabeth would not underestimate her ability; she could still perform some magic. She didn't know the extent or limitation of her powers. Before Annabeth could answer, Calypso's perfectly manicured hands lashed forward and from thin air came tendrils of rope thrashing at her, looking to bind her once more. Annabeth cut them with her knife but the ropes did not stop their pursuit of her, instead both attempting to grab at her and tie her down. She was not nearly so nimble and quick on her feet, ankle still healing from the damage done to it by Arachne and her web, but she ignored the hiss of pain as she threw herself into an acrobatic front flip.
"Who are you and what are you doing here on my island!?" Calypso shouted as she descended upon her. Annabeth fell flat on her face, her ankle unable to hold her weight as it rolled to the side. The ropes took hold of her then, disappearing into the ground as if they were part of it.
"If you do not answer me, I swear, you will live to regret it." The teenager who had offered her a place in her home was gone, replaced by a goddess who had every right to be suspicious of her. Caramel waves framed her face as she leaned over the trapped demigod.
"Okay, okay. I'll tell you the truth, I promise. I should have told you everything from the beginning but I honestly didn't know how, Calypso. I wasn't sure what you'd think or how you'd feel and I needed your help…" Annabeth's words were cut off as the rope dug in tighter. It seemed to spawn additional length from the ground as it wrapped around her middle and tightened, some of the breath being squeezed from her lungs. Where there weren't any words before, they're rushing from her now; she hardly needs even a breath as she rushed through all of it. "Annie is a nickname. I'm Annabeth, a daughter of Athena and Percy Jackson is my boyfriend." The words came faster, just as the tears did, and despite herself she struggles against the rope. "After the first war the gods offered him immortality and he refused it. Instead, he asked for a few things in return— one of them was to free you. There was so much to do after the war in New York: mourning., rebuilding, making new houses for all of the newly claimed children of the gods. That was another one of his conditions, that the gods and goddesses claim all of their children. He didn't forget about you, Calypso, and when he did it wasn't his fault. Hera took him without anyone knowing, wiped his memories, and for months I looked for him. He didn't remember me… he didn't remember you. Anything. And when he finally had his memories back, there was another prophecy. That's why I'm here… my friends and I are on a quest."
Her words are coming choked by the last sentence because the restraints are so tight around her, she's barely able to inhale. Her wrists have long since gone numb and although her hands are pressed flat to the ground, the ropes are still pulling tighter as if trying to snap her bones or drag her down into the earth itself. Try as she may, she can't move beyond thrashing her head back and forth or kicking out her legs (which does her no good, if anything, the ropes feel tighter). There's a moment of silence as Calypso regards her and then they restraints disappear just as they had come.
"How is he?" Calypso might look away as she asks, but her voice is soft around his name, like it's something precious. Annabeth didn't move from the floor, too afraid that her legs won't support her weight. Her mouth opens but where a voice should be there is emptiness. When Calypso turns around she finds Annabeth choking back sobs, her eyes void as her vision washes back over her.
Dark wasn't quite the right word, it was more like swimming in various shades of ink. Dark implied still but the ebony air played tag with itself, shadows chasing after shadows, some depths so much deeper than others. It set the hairs on the back of her neck (spirit neck?) on end and as she moved through them they reached back for her as if the shades might snatch her and clutch her to them, smother her as they breathed ice down her neck until she crystallized, unable to fight them off. They'd consume her, she knew, if she stayed still for too long. Annabeth would be a forgotten memory, like the souls lost to Hades robes except she might not exist at all… an echo.
Annabeth had pushed on, careful to keep her hands and feet to herself as she slipped around corners, following something though she wasn't sure what. Below her, far beneath, the screaming continued. It echoed in a way that made it seem like a memory of something that had happened, not something happening right then. Maybe it's part of the vision… what's to come? It felt different and she couldn't quite put her finger on the pulse of it. Everything felt different… wrong, somehow.
What are you trying to show me? She didn't dare to speak out loud but normally there was some one or some thing for her to see… not endless halls of darkness. The hallway came to an end and there stretched a spiraling staircase. The shrieks bounced on the walls clearly coming from below.
Yes, go towards the screaming, not away. What a great idea. Nothing could possibly go wrong.
Annabeth rolled her eyes at herself and taking a breath… took the steps down.
As she rounded the second corner, voices drifted up towards her. They were closer than the shouting and though they echoed on the stone walls toward her straining ears, they were obviously hushed. A shadowy figure came into sight and she hung back, looking as he clung to an equally dark sword. His fingers were nearly translucent and when the next shout echoed he froze momentarily and turned his gaze towards… a winged goddess. Annabeth wasn't sure how she knew from this vantage point. Perhaps it was the length of her hair, or the tattered remains of her garments, the way her spine stuck out from her back. Her blood ran cold when the goddess turned towards the specter of a boy. Her face erupted into a proboscis where a nose should have been, her mouth soaked with blood, and knotted hair (like seriously it hadn't seen a wash or a brush in about a century or two) barely concealed bare breasts as she turned to her companion.
"Go… I will distract them."
"Remember… we have a deal. Once we're out of here safely you get a one way ticket topside."
"N-Nico?" The specter of a boy tilted his head, ear in her direction but another bellow came from below and he flew, weightless, around the staircase. The shadows welcomed him with open arms. The goddess gave no indication that she felt the presence of a demigod's essence and, after a beat, followed after him. The screaming continued and her stomach rolled… that wasn't an animal. It pierced through her but as it died down from shrill to an almost guttural gurgle she could swear that she knew that sound… not the screams themselves but there was something in the tone of them. Like an instrument she had heard once. The floor might as well have fell out from under her.
Percy.
She was moving as quickly as she could, chasing after the specter. The ghoulish figure with the dark complexion had to be Nico — she pushed aside wondering how he looked that way or why or what it meant. She pushed the snippet of a conversation with the goddess even further. Nico was running towards the screaming, flying like a phantom, his hand on the rail as he practically sailed downwards. He looked dead… but he also looked like he was dissipating. The son of the Underworld was living up to his parentage and from the guise the not quite ghost not quite zombie was osmosing into the ether, losing a physical form. What possible use could he be to Percy?
Maybe he doesn't intend to be of any use. You heard him, he made a deal and that goddess didn't exactly look like the tooth fairy.
But at the same time: What is Tartarus doing to them?
This wasn't what she needed to see. No, she needed to see her boyfriend. She needed to see Percy and know what was happening to him. As her soul chased Nico she wished with all her might to see the son of Poseidon. She'd never attempted to control a dream or a vision or whatever you wanted to call it. It wasn't something that just anyone could do. As far as she knew, only children of Hypnos or the Oneiroi (Phobetor, Morpheus, Phantasos) could do so with any success or true skill and even then, it was a talent rather than a given. So maybe it was pot luck or maybe it wasn't so much her own doing as it was the will of the gods or the Fates or whatever, but Annabeth opened her eyes and she was in a room more brightly lit than the staircase. It was a dim light, the flickering dance of firelight, but it burned her eyes like she'd stepped from the night straight into mid day.
After a moment, she winced her eyes back open and took a step to look around. The fire was in one corner of the room with a rusty black cauldron hanging over it and from the acrid stench something was cooking inside it — or maybe more like burning. To the right was a geriatric god standing over a chopping board, a knife in his arthritically gnarled hand. He worked the knife with a deftness that should have been entirely impossible given his curved joints, but they didn't seem to bother him any. Annabeth had never seen such a sight— sure, gods and goddesses could appear any age but with his knobby knees and the walker resting within arms reach (complete with tennis balls attached to its feet, probably, she presumed, to keep it from scuffing across the stone floors)? He was one of the most ridiculous things she'd ever seen. It was a wonder her managed to stand at all.
"Are you sure you tenderized the meat enough? I think it's a little tough." Came a voice from behind his shoulder. There, stood not a foot away was another god. This one was far younger, perhaps in his early twenties. His hair hung stringy and black across his face, handlebar mustache curled upwards with wax scowling as the elderly god worked the meat. Some kind of dubstep crunkcore nonsense blared from an earbud that had clearly fallen out and when he moved he half danced half jigged. They were the most unreal pair she had ever seen. The other god promptly ignored him and went back to flaying the meat.
"If you don't take a step back the next hunk of meat I tenderize is going to be that flapping tongue."
Not quite ironic god danced just out of reach. "I don't get it. He's not all that big. I mean… maybe in a few years. Maybe if we let him play with some of the monsters from the abandoned wing and fed him really well… I think he'd taste much better then."
"Beggars can't be choosers, Mo."
The younger god half dub-stepped, half piouretted towards the older god, plucked a piece of the most odd looking raw meat she had seen in her life, and dropped it in his mouth raw. He smacked his lips. "A little too salty for my taste. Could use a wedge of lemon… maybe a little tartar sauce." He laughed at his own joke, whatever it was. It made Annabeth nauseous, the kind of nausea that comes on the cusp of realization. The soul of a girl drifted closer and despite herself, she hesitated. She shouldn't have. She should have been braver. She should have steeled herself. She should have already guessed it.
Annabeth's heart was hammering in her ears. She didn't dare to ask herself where the screaming had come from or why it had died down. She didn't dare to ask herself the one thing she should have: where was Percy?
"He's hurt Lottie! I've never seen anything like it… the blood! The gore! Ripped her jaw right off. I swear he's tied her up and stabbed her more times than a true crime drama! It tasted delicious— I mean it was atrocious!" Wailing came from the stairs, the winged goddess popping her head down with a grimace. "Come quickly!" Annabeth was positive she'd never seen the aged move that quickly unless they were worried about missing the blue plate special but he and the god called Mo were off quick leaving her alone in the room… alone except for the shadows. She turned, slower and with more dread than she'd ever admit. There, somewhere in the shadows, not quite part of them though they hung around him like so many predators waiting for carrion, was Percy laying in a pool of his own blood.
Annabeth no longer had to wonder what sort of meat they were flaying.