by Rick Riordan
A dozen dracaenae suddenly broke away from the main fight and slithered down the path that led toward camp, like they knew where they were going. If they got out, they could burn down the entire place, completely unopposed.
The only person anywhere near was Nico di Angelo. He stabbed a telekhine, and his black Stygian blade absorbed the monster’s essence, drinking its energy until there was nothing left but dust.
“Nico!” I yelled.
He looked where I was pointing, saw the serpent women, and immediately understood.
He took a deep breath and held out his black sword. “Serve me,” he called. The earth trembled. A fissure opened in front of the dracaenae, and a dozen undead warriors crawled from the earth—horrible corpses in military uniforms from all different time periods—U.S. Revolutionaries, Roman centurions, Napoleonic cavalry on skeletal horses. As one, they drew their swords and engaged the dracaenae. Nico crumpled to his knees, but I didn’t have time to make sure he was okay.
I closed on the hellhound, which was now pushing the satyrs back toward the woods. The beast snapped at one satyr, who danced out of its way, but then it pounced on another who was too slow. The satyr’s tree-bark shield cracked as he fell.
“Hey!” I yelled.
The hellhound turned. It snarled at me and leaped. It would’ve clawed me to pieces, but as I fell backward, my fingers closed around a clay jar—one of Beckendorf’s containers of Greek fire. I tossed it into the hellhound’s maw, and the creature went up in flames. I scrambled away, breathing heavily. The satyr who’d gotten trampled wasn’t moving. I rushed over to check on him, but then I heard Grover’s voice: “Percy!”
A forest fire had started. Flames roared within ten feet of Juniper’s tree, and Juniper and Grover were going nuts trying to save it. Grover played a rain song on his pipes. Juniper desperately tried to beat out the flames with her green shawl, but it was only making things worse.
I ran toward them, jumping past duels, weaving between the legs of giants. The nearest water was the creek, half a mile away…but I had to do something. I concentrated. There was a pull in my gut, a roar in my ears. Then a wall of water came rushing through the trees. It doused the fire, Juniper, Grover, and pretty much everything else.
Grover blew a spout of water. “Thanks, Percy!”
“No problem!” I ran back toward the fight, and Grover and Juniper followed. Grover had a cudgel in his hand and Juniper held a stick—like an old-fashioned whipping switch. She looked really angry, like she was going to tan somebody’s backside.
Just when it seemed like the battle had balanced out again—like we might stand a chance—an unearthly shriek echoed out of the Labyrinth, a sound I had heard before.
Kampê shot into the sky, her bat wings fully extended. She landed on the top of Zeus’s Fist and surveyed the carnage. Her face was filled with evil glee. The mutant animal heads growled at her waist. Snakes hissed and swirled around her legs. In her right hand she held a glittering ball of thread—Ariadne’s string—but she popped it into a lion’s mouth at her waist and drew her curved swords. The blades glowed green with poison. Kampê
screeched in triumph, and some of the campers screamed. Others tried to run and got trampled by hellhounds or giants.
“Di Immortales!” Chiron yelled. He quickly aimed an arrow, but Kampê
seemed to sense his presence. She took flight with amazing speed, and Chrion’s arrow whizzed harmlessly past her head.
Tyson untangled himself from the giant whom he’d pummeled into unconsciousness. He ran at our lines, shouting, “Stand! Do not run from her!
Flight!”
But then a hellhound leaped on him, and Tyson and the hound went rolling away.
Kampê landed on the Athena command tent, smashing it flat. I ran after her and found Annabeth at my side, keeping pace, her sword in her hand.
“This might be it,” she said.
“Could be.”
“Nice fighting with you, Seaweed Brain.”
“Ditto.”
Together we leaped into the monster’s path. Kampê hissed and sliced at us. I dodged, trying to distract her, while Annabeth went in for a strike, but the monster seemed able to fight with both hands independently. She blocked Annabeth’s sword, and Annabeth had to jump back to avoid the cloud of poison. Just being near the thing was like standing in an acid fog. My eyes burned. My lungs couldn’t get enough air. I knew we couldn’t stand our ground for more than a few seconds.
“Come on!” I shouted. “We need help!”
But no help came. Everyone was either down, or fighting for their lives, or too scared to move forward. Three of Chiron’s arrows sprouted from Kampê’s chest, but she just roared louder.
“Now!” Annabeth said.
Together we charged, dodged the monster’s slashes, got inside her guard, and almost… almost managed to stab Kampê in the chest, but a huge bear’s head lashed out from the monster’s waist, and we had to stumble backward to avoid getting bitten.
Slam!
My eyesight went black. The next thing I knew, Annnabeth and I were on the ground. The monster had its forelegs on our chests, holding us down. Hundreds of snakes slithered right above me, hissing like laughter. Kampê
raised her green-tinged swords, and I knew Annabeth and I were out of options.
Then, behind me, something howled. A wall of darkness slammed into Kampê, sending the monster sideways. And Mrs. O’Leary was standing over us, snarling and snapping at Kampê.
“Good girl!” said a familiar voice. Daedalus was fighting his way out of the Labyrinth, slashing down enemies left and right as he made his way toward us. Next to him was someone else—a familiar giant, much taller than the Laistrygonians, with a hundred rippling arms, each holding a huge chunk of rock.
“Briares!” Tyson cried in wonder.
“Hail, little brother!” Briares bellowed. “Stand firm!”
And as Mrs. O’Leary leaped out of the way, the Hundred-Handed One launched a volley of boulders at Kampê. The rocks seemed to enlarge as they left Briares’s hands. There were so many, it looked like half the earth had learned to fly.
BOOOOOM!
Where Kampê had stood a moment before was a mountain of boulders, almost as tall as Zeus’s Fist. The only sign that the monster had ever existed were two green sword points sticking through the cracks.
A cheer went up from the campers, but our enemies weren’t done yet. One of the dracaenae yelled, “Ssssslay them! Kill them all or Kronossss will flay you alive!”
Apparently, that threat was more terrifying than we were. The giants surged forward in a last desperate attempt. One surprised Chiron with a glancing blow to the back legs, and he stumbled and fell. Six giants cried in glee and rushed forward.
“No!” I screamed, but I was too far away to help.
Then it happened. Grover opened his mouth, and the most horrible sound I’d ever heard came out. It was like a brass trumpet magnified a thousand times—the sound of pure fear.
As one, the forces of Kronos dropped their weapons and ran for their lives. The giants trampled the dracaenae trying to get into the Labyrinth first. Telekhines and hellhounds and enemy half-bloods scrambled after them. The tunnel rumbled shut, and the battle was over. The clearing was quiet except for the fires burning in the woods, and the cries of the wounded. I helped Annabeth to her feet. We ran to Chiron.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
He was lying on his side, trying in vain to get up. “How embarrassing,” he muttered. “I think I will be fine. Fortunately, we do not shoot centaurs with broken… Ow! …broken legs.
“You need help,” Annabeth said. “I’ll get a medic from Apollo’s cabin.”
“No,” Chiron insisted. “There are more serious injuries to attend to. Go! I am fine. But, Grover…later we must talk about how you did that.”
“That was amazing,” I agreed.
Grover blushed. “I don’t know where it came from.”
&nb
sp; Juniper hugged him fiercely. “I do!”
Before she could say more, Tyson called, “Percy, come quick! It is Nico!”
* * *
There was smoke curling off his black clothes. His fingers were clenched, and the grass all around his body had turned yellow and died. I rolled him over as gently as I could and put my against his chest. His heart was beating faintly. “Get some nectar!” I yelled.
One of the Ares campers hobbled over and handed me a canteen. I trickled some of the magic drink into Nico’s mouth. He coughed and spluttered, but his eyelids fluttered open.
“Nico, what happened?” I asked. “Can you talk?”
He nodded weakly. “Never tried to summon so many before. I—I’ll be fine.”
We helped him sit up and gave him some more nectar. He blinked at all of us, like he was trying to remember who we were, and then he focused on someone behind me.
“Daedalus,” he croaked.
“Yes, my boy,” the inventor said. “I made a very bad mistake. I came to correct it.”
Daedalus had a few scratches that were bleeding golden oil, but he looked better than most of us. Apparently his automaton body healed itself quickly. Mrs. O’Leary loomed behind him, licking the wounds on her master’s head so Daedalus’s hair stood up funny. Briares stood next to him, surrounded by a group of awed campers and satyrs. He looked kind of bashful, but he was signing autographs on armor, shields, and T-shirts.
“I found the Hundred-Handed One as I came through the maze,” Daedalus explained. “It seems he had the same idea, to come help, but he was lost. And so we fell in together. We both came to make amends.”
“Yay!” Tyson jumped up and down. “Briares! I knew you would come!”
“I did not know,” the Hundred-Handed One said. “But you reminded me who I am, Cyclops. You are the hero.”
Tyson blushed, but I patted him on the back. “I knew that a long time ago,” I said. “But, Daedalus…the Titan army is still down there. Even without the string, they’ll be back. They’ll find a way sooner or later, with Kronos leading them.”
Daedalus sheathed his sword. “You are right. As long as the Labyrinth is here, your enemies can use it. Which is why the Labyrinth cannot continue.”
Annabeth stared at him. “But you said the Labyrinth is tied to your life force! As long as you’re alive—”
“Yes, my young architect,” Daedalus agreed. “When I die, the Labyrinth will die as well. And so I have a present for you.”
He slung a leather satchel off his back, unzipped it, and produced a sleek silver laptop computer—one of the ones I’d seen in the workshop. On the lid was the blue symbol ∆.
“My work is here,” he said. “It’s all I managed to save from the fire. Notes on projects I never started. Some of my favorite designs. I couldn’t develop these over the last few millennia. I did not dare reveal my work to the mortal world. But perhaps you will find it interesting.”
He handed the computer to Annabeth, who stared at it like it was solid gold. “You’re giving me this? But this is priceless! This is worth…I don’t even know how much!”
“Small compensation for the way I have acted,” Daedalus said. “You were right, Annabeth, about children of Athena. We should be wise, and I was not. Someday you will be a greater architect than I ever was. Take my ideas and improve them. It is the least I can do before I pass on.”
“Whoa,” I said. “Pass on? But you can’t just kill yourself. That’s wrong.”
He shook his head. “Not as wrong as hiding from my crimes for two thousand years. Genius does not excuse evil, Percy. My time has come. I must face my punishment.”
“You won’t get a fair trial,” Annabeth said. “The spirit of Minos sits in judgment—”
“I will take what comes,” he said. “And trust in the justice of the Underworld, such as it is. That is all we can do, isn’t it?”
He looked straight at Nico, and Nico’s face darkened.
“Yes,” he said.
“Will you take my soul for ransom, then?” Daedalus asked. “You could use it to reclaim your sister.”
“No,” Nico said. “I will help you release your spirit. But Bianca has passed. She must stay where she is.”
Daedalus nodded. “Well done, son of Hades. You are becoming wise.”
Then he turned toward me. “One last favor, Percy Jackson. I cannot leave Mrs. O’Leary alone. And she has no desire to return to the Underworld. Will you care for her?”
I looked at the massive black hound, who whimpered pitifully, still licking Daedalus’s hair. I was thinking that my mom’s apartment wouldn’t allow dogs, especially dogs bigger than the apartment, but I said, “Yeah. Of course I will.”
“Then I am ready to see my son…and Perdix,” he said. “I must tell them how sorry I am.”
Annabeth had tears in her eyes.
Daedalus turned toward Nico, who drew his sword. At first I was afraid Nico would kill the old inventor, but he simply said, “Your time is long since come. Be released and rest.”
A smile of relief spread across Daedalus’s face. He froze like a statue. His skin turned transparent, revealing the bronze gears and machinery whirring inside his body. Then the statue turned to gray ash and disintegrated. Mrs. O’Leary howled. I patted her head, trying to comfort her as best I could. The earth rumbled—an earthquake that could probably be felt in every major city across the country—as the ancient Labyrinth collapsed. Somewhere, I hoped, the remains of the Titan’s strike force had been buried. I looked around at the carnage in the clearing, and the weary faces of my friends.
“Come on,” I told them. “We have work to do.”
NINETEEN
THE COUNCIL GETS CLOVEN
There were too many good-byes.
That night was the first time I actually saw camp burial shrouds used on bodies, and it was not something I wanted to see again.
Among the dead, Lee Fletcher from the Apollo cabin had been downed by a giant’s club. He was wrapped in a golden shroud without any decoration. The son of Dionysus who’d gone down fighting an enemy half-blood was wrapped in a deep purple shroud embroidered with grapevines. His name was Castor. I was ashamed that I’d seen him around camp for three years and never even bothered to learn his name. He’d been seventeen years old. His twin brother, Pollux, tried to say a few words, but he choked up and just took the torch. He lit the funeral pyre in the middle of the amphitheater, and within seconds the row of shrouds was engulfed in fire, sending smoke and sparks up to the stars.
We spent the next day treating the wounded, which was almost everybody. The satyrs and dryads worked to repair the damage to the woods. At noon, the Council of Cloven Elders held an emergency meeting in their sacred grove. The three senior satyrs were there, along with Chiron, who was in wheelchair form. His broken horse leg was still mending, so he would be confined to the chair for a few months, until the leg was strong enough to take his weight. The grove was filled with satyrs and dryads and naiads up from the water—hundreds of them, anxious to hear what would happen. Juniper, Annabeth, and I stood by Grover’s side.
Silenus wanted to exile Grover immediately, but Chiron persuaded him to at least hear evidence first, so we told everyone what had happened in the crystal cavern, and what Pan had said. Then several eyewitnesses from the battle described the weird sound Grover had made, which drove the Titan’s army back underground.
“It was panic,” insisted Juniper. “Grover summoned the power of the wild god.”
“Panic?” I asked.
“Percy,” Chiron explained, “during the first war of the gods and the Titans, Lord Pan let forth a horrible cry that scared away the enemy armies. It is—it was his greatest power—a massive wave of fear that helped the gods win the day. The word panic is named after Pan, you see. And Grover used that power, calling it forth from within himself.”
“Preposterous!” Silenus bellowed. “Sacrilege! Perhaps the wild god favored us with a blessing. Or perha
ps Grover’s music was so awful it scared the enemy away!”
“That wasn’t it, sir,” Grover said. He sounded a lot calmer than I would have if I’d been insulted like that. “He let his spirit pass into all of us. We must act. Each of us must work to renew the wild, to protect what’s left of it. We must spread the word. Pan is dead. There is no one but us.”
“After two thousand years of searching, this is what you would have us believe?” Silenus cried. “Never! We must continue the search! Exile the traitor!”
Some of the older satyrs muttered assent.
“A vote!” Silenus demanded. “Who would believe this ridiculous young satyr, anyway?”
“I would,” said a familiar voice.
Everyone turned. Striding into the grove was Dionysus. He wore a formal black suit, so I almost didn’t recognize him, a deep purple tie and violet dress shirt, his curly dark hair carefully combed. His eyes were bloodshot as usual, and his pudgy face was flushed, but he looked like he was suffering from grief more than wine-withdrawal.
The satyrs all stood respectfully and bowed as he approached. Dionysus waved his hand, and a new chair grew out of the ground next to Silenus’s—a throne made of grapevines.
Dionysus sat down and crossed his legs. He snapped his fingers and satyr hurried forward with a plate of cheese and crackers and a Diet Coke. The god of wine looked around at the assembled crowd. “Miss me?”
The satyrs fell over themselves nodding and bowing. “Oh, yes, very much, sire!”
“Well, I did not miss this place!” Dionysus snapped. “I bear bad news, my friends. Evil news. The minor gods are changing sides. Morpheus has gone over to the enemy. Hecate, Janus, and Nemesis, as well. Zeus knows how many more.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Strike that,” Dionysus said. “Even Zeus doesn’t know. Now, I want to hear Grover’s story. Again, from the top.”
