The Son of Neptune (20 page)

F
RANK MISSED HIS BOW
.

He wanted to stand on the porch and shoot the snakes from a distance. A few well-placed exploding arrows, a few craters in the hillside—problem solved.

Unfortunately, a quiver full of arrows wouldn’t do Frank much good if he couldn’t shoot them. Besides, he had no idea where the basilisks were. They’d stopped blowing fire as soon as he came outside.

He stepped off the porch and leveled his golden spear. He didn’t like fighting up close. He was too slow and bulky. He’d done okay during the war games, but this was real. There were no giant eagles ready to snatch him up and take him to the medics if he made a mistake.

You can be anything.
His mother’s voice echoed in his mind.

Great, he thought. I want to be good with a spear. And immune to poison—and fire.

Something told Frank his wish had not been granted. The spear felt just as awkward in his hands.

Patches of flame still smoldered on the hillside. The acrid smoke burned in Frank’s nose. The withered grass crunched under his feet.

He thought about those stories his mother used to tell—generations of heroes who had battled Hercules, fought dragons, and sailed monster-infested seas. Frank didn’t understand how he could have evolved from a line like that, or how his family had migrated from Greece through the Roman Empire all the way to China, but some unsettling ideas were starting to form. For the first time, he started to wonder about this Prince of Pylos, and his great-grandfather Shen Lun’s disgrace at Camp Jupiter, and what the family powers might be.

The gift has never kept our family safe,
Grandmother had warned.

A reassuring thought as Frank hunted poisonous fire- breathing devil snakes.

The night was quiet except for the crackle of brush fires. Every time a breeze made the grass rustle, Frank thought about the grain spirits who’d captured Hazel. Hopefully they’d gone south with the giant Polybotes. Frank didn’t need any more problems right now.

He crept downhill, his eyes stinging from the smoke. Then, about twenty feet ahead, he saw a burst of flame.

He considered throwing his spear. Stupid idea. Then he’d be without a weapon. Instead he advanced toward the fire.

He wished he had the gorgon’s blood vials, but they were back at the boat. He wondered if gorgon blood could cure basilisk poison.…But even if he had the vials and managed to choose the right one, he doubted he’d have time to take it before he crumbled to dust like his bow.

He emerged in a clearing of burned grass and found himself face-to-face with a basilisk.

The snake rose up on its tail. It hissed, and expanded the collar of white spikes around its neck.
Little crown,
Frank remembered. That’s what “basilisk” meant. He had thought basilisks were huge dragon like monsters that could petrify you with their eyes. Somehow the real basilisk was even more terrible. As tiny as it was, this extra-small package of fire, poison, and evil would be much harder to kill than a large, bulky lizard. Frank had seen how fast it could move.

The monster fixed its pale yellow eyes on Frank.

Why wasn’t it attacking?

Frank’s golden spear felt cold and heavy. The dragon-tooth point dipped toward the ground all on its own—like a dowsing rod searching for water.

“Stop that.” Frank struggled to the lift the spear. He’d have enough trouble jabbing the monster without his spear fighting against him. Then he heard the grass rustle on either side of him. The other two basilisks slithered into the clearing.

Frank had walked straight into an ambush.

F
RANK SWEPT HIS SPEAR BACK AND FORTH
.
“Stay back!” His voice sounded squeaky. “I’ve got .. . um…amazing powers—and stuff.”

The basilisks hissed in three-part harmony. Maybe they were laughing.

The spear tip was almost too heavy to lift now, as if the jagged white triangle of bone was trying to touch the earth. Then something clicked in the back of Frank’s mind: Mars had said the tip was a dragon’s tooth. Hadn’t there been some story about dragon’s teeth planted in the ground? Something he’d read in monster class at camp…?

The basilisks circled him, taking their time. Maybe they were hesitating because of the spear. Maybe they just couldn’t believe how stupid Frank was.

It seemed like madness, but Frank let the spear tip drop. He drove it into the ground.
Crack.

When he lifted it out, the tip was gone—broken off in the dirt.

Wonderful. Now he had a golden stick.

Some crazy part of him wanted to bring out his piece of firewood. If he was going to die anyway, maybe he could set off a massive blaze—incinerate the basilisks, so at least his friends could get away.

Before he could get up the courage, the ground rumbled at his feet. Dirt spewed everywhere, and a skeletal hand clawed the air. The basilisks hissed and backed up.

Frank couldn’t blame them. He watched in horror as a human skeleton crawled out of the ground. It took on flesh as if someone were pouring gelatin over its bones, covering them in glowing, transparent gray skin. Then ghostly clothes enveloped it—a muscle shirt, camo pants, and army boots. Everything about the creature was gray: gray clothes on gray flesh on gray bones.

It turned toward Frank. Its skull grinned beneath an expressionless gray face. Frank whimpered like a puppy. His legs shook so badly he had to support himself with the spear shaft. The skeleton warrior was waiting, Frank realized—waiting for orders.

“Kill the basilisks!” he yelped. “Not me!”

The skeletal warrior leaped into action. He grabbed the nearest snake, and though his gray flesh began to smoke on contact, he strangled the basilisk with one hand and flung down its limp body. The other two basilisks hissed with rage. One sprang at Frank, but he knocked it aside with the butt of his spear.

The other snake belched fire directly in the skeleton’s face. The warrior marched forward and stomped the basilisk’s head under his boot.

Frank turned toward the last basilisk, which was curled at the edge of the clearing studying them. Frank’s Imperial gold spear shaft was steaming, but unlike his bow, it didn’t seem to be crumbling from the basilisk’s touch. The skeleton warrior’s right foot and hand were slowly dissolving from poison. His head was on fire, but otherwise he looked pretty good.

The basilisk did the smart thing. It turned to flee. In a blur of motion, the skeleton pulled something from his shirt and flung it across the clearing, impaling the basilisk in the dirt. Frank thought it was a knife. Then he realized it was one of the skeleton’s own ribs.

Frank was glad his stomach was empty. “That…that was
gross.
”

The skeleton stumbled over to the basilisk. It pulled out its rib and used it to cut off the creature’s head. The basilisk dissolved into ashes. Then the skeleton decapitated the other two monster carcasses and kicked all the ashes to disperse them. Frank remembered the two gorgons in the Tiber—the way the river had pulled apart their remains to keep them from re-forming. “You’re making sure they don’t come back,” Frank realized.

“Or slowing them down, anyway.”

The skeleton warrior stood at attention in front of Frank. Its poisoned foot and hand were mostly gone. Its head was still burning.

“What—what are you?” Frank asked. He wanted to add,
Please don’t hurt me
.

The skeleton saluted with its stump of a hand. Then it began to crumble, sinking back into the ground.

“Wait!” Frank said. “I don’t even know what to call you! Tooth Man? Bones? Gray?”

As its face disappeared beneath the dirt, the warrior seemed to grin at the last name—or maybe that was just its skeletal teeth showing. Then it was gone, leaving Frank alone with his pointless spear.

“Gray,” he muttered. “Okay ... but...”

He examined the tip of his spear. Already, a new dragon tooth was starting to grow out of the golden shaft.

You get three charges out of it,
Mars had said,
so use it wisely.

Frank heard footsteps behind him. Percy and Hazel ran into the clearing. Percy looked better, except he was carrying a-tie-dyed man satchel from R.O.F.L.—definitely
not
his style. Riptide was in his hand. Hazel had drawn her
spatha.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Percy turned in a circle, looking for enemies. “Iris told us you were out here battling the basilisks by yourself, and we were like,
What?
We came as fast as we could. What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” Frank admitted.

Hazel crouched next to the dirt where Gray disappeared. “I sense death. Either my brother has been here or…the basilisks are dead?”

Percy stared at him in awe. “You killed them
all
?”

Frank swallowed. He already felt like enough of a misfit without trying to explain his new undead minion.

Three charges
. Frank could call on Gray twice more. But he’d sensed malevolence in the skeleton. It was no pet. It was a vicious, undead killing force, barely controlled by the power of Mars. Frank got the feeling it would do what he said—but if his friends happened to be in the line of fire, oh well. And if Frank was a little slow giving it directions, it might start killing whatever was in its path, including its master.

Mars had told him the spear would give him breathing room until he learned to use his mother’s talents. Which meant Frank needed to learn those talents—
fast.

“Thanks a lot, Dad,” he grumbled.

“What?” Hazel asked. “Frank, are you okay?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said. “Right now, there’s a blind man in Portland we’ve got to see.”

P
ERCY ALREADY FELT LIKE THE
lamest demigod in the history of lame. The purse was the final insult.

They’d left R.O.F.L. in a hurry, so maybe Iris hadn’t meant the bag as a criticism. She’d quickly stuffed it with vitamin-enriched pastries, dried fruit leather, macrobiotic beef jerky, and a few crystals for good luck. Then she’d shoved it at Percy:

Here, you’ll need this. Oh, that looks good.
The purse—sorry,
masculine accessory bag
—was rainbow tie-dyed with a peace symbol stitched in wooden beads and the slogan
Hug the Whole World
. Percy wished it said
Hug the Commode.
He felt like the bag was a comment on his mas sive, incredible uselessness. As they sailed north, he put the man satchel as far away from him as he could, but the boat was small.

He couldn’t believe how he’d broken down when his friends had needed him. First, he’d been dumb enough to leave them alone when he had run back to the boat, and Hazel had gotten kidnapped. Then he’d watched that army marching south and had some kind of nervous breakdown.

Embarrassing? Yeah. But he couldn’t help it. When he’d seen those evil centaurs and Cyclopes, it had seemed so wrong, so backward, that he thought his head would explode. And the giant Polybotes…that giant had given him a feeling the opposite of what he felt when he stood in the ocean. Percy’s energy had drained out of him, leaving him weak and feverish, like his insides were eroding.

Iris’s medicinal tea had helped his body feel better, but his mind still hurt. He’d heard stories about amputees who had phantom pains where their missing legs and arms used to be. That’s how his mind felt—like his missing memories were aching.

Worst of all, the farther north Percy went, the more those memories faded. He had started to feel better at Camp Jupiter, remembering random names and faces. But now even Annabeth’s face was getting dimmer. At R.O.F.L., when he’d tried to send an Iris-message to Annabeth, Fleecy had just shaken her head sadly.

It’s like you’re dialing somebody,
she said,
but you’ve forgotten the number. Or someone is jamming the signal. Sorry, dear. I just can’t connect you.

He was terrified that he’d lose Annabeth’s face completely when he got to Alaska. Maybe he’d wake up one day and not remember her name.

Still, he had to concentrate on the quest. The sight of that enemy army had shown him what they were up against. It was early in the morning of June 21, now. They had to get to Alaska, find Thanatos, locate the legion’s standard, and make it back to Camp Jupiter by the evening of June 24. Four days. Meanwhile, the enemy had only a few hundred miles to march.

Percy guided the boat through the strong currents off the northern California coast. The wind was cold, but it felt good, clearing some of the confusion from his head. He bent his will to push the boat as hard as he could. The hull rattled as the
Pax
plowed its way north.

Meanwhile, Hazel and Frank traded stories about the events at Rainbow Organic Foods. Frank explained about the blind seer Phineas in Portland, and how Iris had said that he might be able to tell them where to find Thanatos. Frank wouldn’t say how he had managed to kill the basilisks, but Percy got the feeling it had something to do with the broken point of his spear. Whatever had happened, Frank sounded more scared of the spear than the basilisks.

When he was done, Hazel told Frank about their time with Fleecy.

“So this Iris-message worked?” Frank asked.

Hazel gave Percy a sympathetic look. She didn’t mention his failure to contact Annabeth.

“I got in touch with Reyna,” she said. “You’re supposed to throw a coin into a rainbow and say this incantation, like
O Iris, goddess of the rainbow, accept my offering.
Except Fleecy kind of changed it. She gave us her—what did she call it—her direct number? So I had to say,
O Fleecy, do me a solid. Show Reyna at Camp Jupiter.
I felt kind of stupid, but it worked. Reyna’s image appeared in the rainbow, like in a two-way video call. She was in the baths. Scared her out of her mind.”

“That I would’ve paid to see,” Frank said. “I mean—her expression. Not, you know, the baths.”

“Frank!” Hazel fanned her face like she needed air. It was an old-fashioned gesture, but cute, somehow. “Anyway, we told Reyna about the army, but like Percy said, she pretty much already knew. It doesn’t change anything. She’s doing what she can to shore up the defenses. Unless we unleash Death, and get back with the eagle—”

“The camp can’t stand against that army,” Frank finished. “Not without help.”

After that, they sailed in silence.

Percy kept thinking about Cyclopes and centaurs. He thought about Annabeth, the satyr Grover, and his dream of a giant warship under construction.

You came from somewhere,
Reyna had said.

Percy wished he could remember. He could call for help. Camp Jupiter shouldn’t have to fight alone against the giants. There must be allies out there.

He fingered the beads on his necklace, the lead
probatio
tablet, and the silver ring Reyna had given him. Maybe in Seattle he’d be able to talk to her sister Hylla. She might send help—assuming she didn’t kill Percy on sight.

After a few more hours of navigating, Percy’s eyes started to droop. He was afraid he’d pass out from exhaustion. Then he caught a break. A killer whale surfaced next to the boat, and Percy struck up a mental conversation with him.

It wasn’t exactly like talking, but it went something like this:
Could you give us a ride north,
Percy asked,
like as close to Portland as possible?

Eat seals,
the whale responded.
Are you seals?

No,
Percy admitted.
I’ve got a man satchel full of macrobiotic beef jerky, though.

The whale shuddered.
Promise not to feed me this, and I will take you north.

Deal.

Soon Percy had made a makeshift rope harness and strapped it around the whale’s upper body. They sped north under whale-power, and at Hazel and Frank’s insistence, Percy settled in for a nap.

His dreams were as disjointed and scary as ever.

He imagined himself on Mount Tamalpais, north of San Francisco, fighting at the old Titan stronghold. That didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been with the Romans when they had attacked, but he saw it all clearly: a Titan in armor, Annabet hand two other girls fighting at Percy’s side. One of the girls died in the battle. Percy knelt over her, watching as she dissolved into stars.

Then he saw the giant warship in its dry dock. The bronze dragon figurehead glinted in the morning light. The riggings and armaments were complete, but something was wrong. A hatch in the deck was open, and smoke poured from some kind of engine. A boy with curly black hair was cursing as he pounded the engine with a wrench. Two other demigods squatted next to him, watching with concern. One was a teenage guy with short blond hair. The other was a girl with long dark hair.

“You realize it’s the solstice,” the girl said. “We’re supposed to leave today.”

“I know that!” The curly-haired mechanic whacked the engine a few more times. “Could be the fizzrockets. Could be the samophlange. Could be Gaea messing with us again. I’m not sure!”

“How long?” the blond guy asked.

“Two, three days?”

“They may not have that long,” the girl warned.

Something told Percy that she meant Camp Jupiter. Then the scene shifted again.

He saw a boy and his dog roaming over the yellow hills of California. But as the image became clearer, Percy realized it wasn’t a boy. It was a Cyclops in ragged jeans and a flannel shirt. The dog was a shambling mountain of black fur, easily as big as a rhino. The Cyclops carried a massive club over his shoulder, but Percy didn’t feel that he was an enemy. He kept yelling Percy’s name, calling him…brother?

“He smells farther away,” the Cyclops moaned to the dog. “Why does he smell farther?”

“ROOF!” the dog barked, and Percy’s dream changed again.

He saw a range of snowy mountains, so tall they broke the clouds. Gaea’s sleeping face appeared in the shadows of the rocks.

Such a valuable pawn,
she said soothingly.
Do not fear, Percy Jackson. Come north! Your friends will die, yes. But I will preserve you for now. I have great plans for you.

In a valley between the mountains lay a massive field of ice. The edge plunged into the sea, hundreds of feet below, with sheets of frost constantly crumbling into the water. On top of the ice field stood a legion camp—ramparts, moats, towers, barracks, just like Camp Jupiter except three times as large. At the crossroads outside the
principia,
a figure in dark robes stood shackled to the ice. Percy’s vision swept past him, into the headquarters. There, in the gloom, sat a giant even bigger than Polybotes. His skin glinted gold. Displayed behind him were the tattered, frozen banners of a Roman legion, including a large, golden eagle with its wings spread.

We await you,
the giant’s voice boomed.
While you fumble your way north, trying to find me, my armies will destroy your precious camps
—
first the Romans, then the others. You cannot win, little demigod.

Percy lurched awake in cold gray daylight, rain falling on his face.

“I thought
I
slept heavily,” Hazel said. “Welcome to Portland.”

Percy sat up and blinked. The scene around him was so different from his dream, he wasn’t sure which was real. The
Pax
floated on an iron-black river through the middle of a city. Heavy clouds hung low overhead. The cold rain was so light, it seemed suspended in the air. On Percy’s left were industrial warehouses and railroad tracks. To his right was a small downtown area—an almost cozy-looking cluster of towers between the banks of the river and a line of misty forested hills.

Percy rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “How did we get here?”

Frank gave him a look like,
You won’t believe this.
“The killer whale took us as far as the Columbia River. Then he passed the harness to a couple of twelve-foot sturgeons.”

Percy thought Frank had said
surgeons.
He had this weird image of giant doctors in scrubs and face masks, pulling their boat upstream. Then he realized Frank meant sturgeons, like the fish. He was glad he hadn’t said anything. Would have been embarrassing, his being son of the sea god and all.

“Anyway,” Frank continued, “the sturgeons pulled us for a long time. Hazel and I took turns sleeping. Then we hit this river—”

“The Willamette,” Hazel offered.

“Right,” Frank said. “After that, the boat kind of took over and navigated us here all by itself. Sleep okay?”

As the
Pax
glided south, Percy told them about his dreams. He tried to focus on the positive: a warship might be on the way to help Camp Jupiter. A friendly Cyclops and a giant dog were looking for him. He didn’t mention what Gaea had said:
Your friends will die.

When Percy described the Roman fort on the ice, Hazel looked troubled.

“So Alcyoneus is on a glacier,” she said. “That doesn’t narrow it down much. Alaska has hundreds of those.”

Percy nodded. “Maybe this seer dude Phineas can tell us which one.”

The boat docked itself at a wharf. The three demigods stared up at the buildings of drizzly downtown Portland.

Frank wiped the rain off his flat-top hair.

“So now we find a blind man in the rain,” Frank said.

“Yay.”