by Rick Riordan
He rose and looked at me. His expression softened just a fraction of a degree. ‘You have done me a service, boy. Few heroes could have accomplished as much.’
‘I had help, sir,’ I said. ‘Grover Underwood and Annabeth Chase –’
‘To show you my thanks, I shall spare your life. I do not trust you, Perseus Jackson. I do not like what your arrival means for the future of Olympus. But for the sake of peace in the family, I shall let you live.’
‘Um… thank you, sir.’
‘Do not presume to fly again. Do not let me find you here when I return. Otherwise you shall taste this bolt. And it shall be your last sensation.’
Thunder shook the palace. With a blinding flash of lightning, Zeus was gone.
I was alone in the throne room with my father.
‘Your uncle,’ Poseidon sighed, ‘has always had a flair for dramatic exits. I think he would’ve done well as the god of theatre.’
An uncomfortable silence.
‘Sir,’ I said, ‘what was in that pit?’
Poseidon regarded me. ‘Have you not guessed?’
‘Kronos,’ I said. ‘The king of the Titans.’
Even in the throne room of Olympus, far away from Tartarus, the name Kronos darkened the room, made the hearth fire seem not quite so warm on my back.
Poseidon gripped his trident. ‘In the First War, Percy, Zeus cut our father, Kronos, into a thousand pieces, just as Kronos had done to his own father, Ouranos. Zeus cast Kronos’s remains into the darkest pit of Tartarus. The Titan army was scattered, their mountain fortress on Etna destroyed, their monstrous allies driven to the furthest corners of the earth. And yet Titans cannot die, any more than we gods can. Whatever is left of Kronos is still alive in some hideous way, still conscious in his eternal pain, still hungering for power.’
‘He’s healing,’ I said. ‘He’s coming back.’
Poseidon shook his head. ‘From time to time, over the aeons, Kronos has stirred. He enters men’s nightmares and breathes evil thoughts. He wakens restless monsters from the depths. But to suggest he could rise from the pit is another thing.’
‘That’s what he intends, Father. That’s what he said.’
Poseidon was silent for a long time.
‘Lord Zeus has closed discussion on this matter. He will not allow talk of Kronos. You have completed your quest, child. That is all you need to do.’
‘But –’ I stopped myself. Arguing would do no good. It would very possibly anger the only god who I had on my side. ‘As… as you wish, Father.’
A faint smile played on his lips. ‘Obedience does not come naturally to you, does it?’
‘No… sir.’
‘I must take some blame for that, I suppose. The sea does not like to be restrained.’ He rose to his full height and took up his trident. Then he shimmered and became the size of a regular man, standing directly in front of me. ‘You must go, child. But first, know that your mother has returned.’
I stared at him, completely stunned. ‘My mother?’
‘You will find her at home. Hades sent her when you recovered his helmet. Even the Lord of Death pays his debts.’
My heart was pounding. I couldn’t believe it. ‘Do you… would you…’
I wanted to ask if Poseidon would come with me to see her, but then I realized that was ridiculous. I imagined loading the God of the Sea into a taxi and taking him to the Upper East Side. If he’d wanted to see my mom all these years, he would have. And there was Smelly Gabe to think about.
Poseidon’s eyes took on a little sadness. ‘When you return home, Percy, you must make an important choice. You will find a package waiting in your room.’
‘A package?’
‘You will understand when you see it. No one can choose your path, Percy. You must decide.’
I nodded, though I didn’t know what he meant.
‘Your mother is a queen among women,’ Poseidon said wistfully. ‘I had not met such a mortal woman in a thousand years. Still… I am sorry you were born, child. I have brought you a hero’s fate, and a hero’s fate is never happy. It is never anything but tragic.’
I tried not to feel hurt. Here was my own dad, telling me he was sorry I’d been born. ‘I don’t mind, Father.’
‘Not yet, perhaps,’ he said. ‘Not yet. But it was an unforgivable mistake on my part.’
‘I’ll leave you then.’ I bowed awkwardly. ‘I – I won’t bother you again.’
I was five steps away when he called, ‘Perseus.’
I turned.
There was a different light in his eyes, a fiery kind of pride. ‘You did well, Perseus. Do not misunderstand me. Whatever else you do, know that you are mine. You are a true son of the Sea God.’
As I walked back through the city of the gods, conversations stopped. The muses paused their concert. People and satyrs and naiads all turned towards me, their faces filled with respect and gratitude and, as I passed, they knelt, as if I were some kind of hero.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, still in a trance, I was back on the streets of Manhattan.
I caught a taxi to my mom’s apartment, rang the doorbell, and there she was – my beautiful mother, smelling of peppermint and licorice, the weariness and worry evaporating from her face as soon as she saw me.
‘Percy! Oh, thank goodness. Oh, my baby.’
She crushed the air right out of me. We stood in the hallway as she cried and ran her hands through my hair.
I’ll admit it – my eyes were a little misty, too. I was shaking, I was so relieved to see her.
She told me she’d just appeared at the apartment that morning, scaring Gabe half out of his wits. She didn’t remember anything since the Minotaur, and couldn’t believe it when Gabe told her I was a wanted criminal, travelling across the country, blowing up national monuments. She’d been going out of her mind with worry all day because she hadn’t heard the news. Gabe had forced her to go into work, saying she had a month’s salary to make up and she’d better get started.
I swallowed back my anger and told her my own story. I tried to make it sound less scary than it had been, but that wasn’t easy. I was just getting to the fight with Ares when Gabe’s voice interrupted from the living room. ‘Hey, Sally! That meat loaf done yet or what?’
She closed her eyes. ‘He isn’t going to be happy to see you, Percy. The store got half a million phone calls today from Los Angeles… something about free appliances.’
‘Oh, yeah. About that…’
She managed a weak smile. ‘Just don’t make him angrier, all right? Come on.’
In the month I’d been gone, the apartment had turned into Gabeland. Garbage was ankle-deep on the carpet. The sofa had been reupholstered in beer cans. Dirty socks and underwear hung off the lampshades.
Gabe and three of his big goony friends were playing poker at the table.
When Gabe saw me, his cigar dropped out of his mouth. His face got redder than lava. ‘You got nerve coming here, you little punk. I thought the police –’
‘He’s not a fugitive after all,’ my mom interjected. ‘Isn’t that wonderful, Gabe?’
Gabe looked back and forth between us. He didn’t seem to think my homecoming was so wonderful.
‘Bad enough I had to give back your life insurance money, Sally,’ he growled. ‘Get me the phone. I’ll call the cops.’
‘Gabe, no!’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Did you just say “no”? You think I’m gonna put up with this punk again? I can still press charges against him for ruining my Camaro.’
‘But –’
He raised his hand, and my mother flinched.
For the first time, I realized something. Gabe had hit my mother. I didn’t know when, or how much. But I was sure he’d done it. Maybe it had been going on for years, when I wasn’t around.
A balloon of anger started expanding in my chest. I came towards Gabe, instinctively taking my pen out of my pocket.
He just laugh
ed. ‘What, punk? You gonna write on me? You touch me, and you are going to jail forever, you understand?’
‘Hey, Gabe,’ his friend Eddie interrupted. ‘He’s just a kid.’
Gabe looked at him resentfully and mimicked in a falsetto voice: ‘Just a kid!’
His other friends laughed like idiots.
‘I’ll be nice to you, punk.’ Gabe showed me his tobacco-stained teeth. ‘I’ll give you five minutes to get your stuff and clear out. After that, I call the police.’
‘Gabe!’ my mother pleaded.
‘He ran away,’ Gabe told her. ‘Let him stay gone.’
I was itching to uncap Riptide but, even if I did, the blade wouldn’t hurt humans. And Gabe, by the loosest definition, was human.
My mother took my arm. ‘Please, Percy. Come on. We’ll go to your room.’
I let her pull me away, my hands still trembling with rage.
My room had been completely filled with Gabe’s junk. There were stacks of used car batteries, a rotting bouquet of sympathy flowers with a card from somebody who’d seen his Barbara Walters interview.
‘Gabe is just upset, honey,’ my mother told me. ‘I’ll talk to him later. I’m sure it will work out.’
‘Mom, it’ll never work out. Not as long as Gabe’s here.’
She wrung her hands nervously. ‘I can… I’ll take you to work with me for the rest of the summer. In the autumn, maybe there’s another boarding school –’
‘Mom.’
She lowered her eyes. ‘I’m trying, Percy. I just… I need some time.’
A package appeared on my bed. At least, I could’ve sworn it hadn’t been there a moment before.
It was a battered cardboard box about the right size to fit a basketball. The address on the mailing slip was in my own handwriting:
The Gods
Mount Olympus
600th Floor,
Empire State Building
New York, NY
With best wishes,
PERCY JACKSON
Over the top in black marker, in a man’s clear bold print, was the address of our apartment, and the words: RETURN TO SENDER.
Suddenly I understood what Poseidon had told me on Olympus.
A package. A decision.
Whatever else you do, know that you are mine. You are a true son of the Sea God.
I looked at my mother. ‘Mom, do you want Gabe gone?’
‘Percy, it isn’t that simple. I –’
‘Mom, just tell me. That jerk has been hitting you. Do you want him gone or not?’
She hesitated, then nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘Yes, Percy. I do. And I’m trying to get up my courage to tell him. But you can’t do this for me. You can’t solve my problems.’
I looked at the box.
I could solve her problem. I wanted to slice that package open, plop it on the poker table, and take out what was inside. I could start my very own statue garden, right there in the living room.
That’s what a Greek hero would do in the stories, I thought. That’s what Gabe deserves.
But a hero’s story always ended in tragedy. Poseidon had told me that.
I remembered the Underworld. I thought about Gabe’s spirit drifting forever in the Fields of Asphodel, or condemned to some hideous torture behind the barbed wire of the Fields of Punishment – an eternal poker game, sitting up to his waist in boiling oil listening to opera music. Did I have the right to send someone there? Even Gabe?
A month ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated. Now…
‘I can do it,’ I told my mom. ‘One look inside this box, and he’ll never bother you again.’
She glanced at the package, and seemed to understand immediately. ‘No, Percy,’ she said, stepping away. ‘You can’t.’
‘Poseidon called you a queen,’ I told her. ‘He said he hadn’t met a woman like you in a thousand years.’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘Percy –’
‘You deserve better than this, Mom. You should go to college, get your degree. You can write your novel, meet a nice guy maybe, live in a nice house. You don’t need to protect me any more by staying with Gabe. Let me get rid of him.’
She wiped a tear off her cheek. ‘You sound so much like your father,’ she said. ‘He offered to stop the tide for me once. He offered to build me a palace at the bottom of the sea. He thought he could solve all my problems with a wave of his hand.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
Her multicoloured eyes seemed to search inside me. ‘I think you know, Percy. I think you’re enough like me to understand. If my life is going to mean anything, I have to live it myself. I can’t let a god take care of me… or my son. I have to… find the courage on my own. Your quest has reminded me of that.’
We listened to the sound of poker chips, swearing and ESPN from the living-room television.
‘I’ll leave the box,’ I said. ‘If he threatens you…’
She looked pale, but she nodded. ‘Where will you go, Percy?’
‘Half-Blood Hill.’
‘For the summer… or forever?’
‘I guess that depends.’
We locked eyes, and I sensed that we had an agreement. We would see how things stood at the end of the summer.
She kissed my forehead. ‘You’ll be a hero, Percy. You’ll be the greatest of all.’
I took one last look around my bedroom. I had a feeling I’d never see it again. Then I walked with my mother to the front door.
‘Leaving so soon, punk?’ Gabe called after me. ‘Good riddance.’
I had one last twinge of doubt. How could I turn down the perfect chance to take revenge on him? I was leaving here without saving my mother.
‘Hey, Sally,’ he yelled. ‘What about that meat loaf, huh?’
A steely look of anger flared in my mother’s eyes, and I thought, just maybe, I was leaving her in good hands after all. Her own.
‘The meat loaf is coming right up, dear,’ she told Gabe. ‘Meat loaf surprise.’
She looked at me, and winked.
The last thing I saw as the door swung closed was my mother staring at Gabe, as if she were contemplating how he would look as a garden statue.
22 The Prophecy Comes True
We were the first heroes to return alive to Half-Blood Hill since Luke, so of course everybody treated us as if we’d won some reality TV contest. According to camp tradition, we wore laurel wreaths to a big feast prepared in our honour, then led a procession down to the bonfire, where we got to burn the burial shrouds our cabins had made for us in our absence.
Annabeth’s shroud was so beautiful – grey silk with embroidered owls – I told her it seemed a shame not to bury her in it. She punched me and told me to shut up.
Being the son of Poseidon, I didn’t have any cabin mates, so the Ares cabin had volunteered to make my shroud. They’d taken an old bedsheet and painted smiley faces with X’ed-out eyes around the border, and the word LOSER painted really big in the middle.
It was fun to burn.
As Apollo’s cabin led the sing-along and passed out toasted marshmallows, I was surrounded by my old Hermes cabinmates, Annabeth’s friends from Athena and Grover’s satyr buddies, who were admiring the brand new searcher’s licence he’d received from the Council of Cloven Elders. The council had called Grover’s performance on the quest ‘Brave to the point of indigestion. Horns-and-whiskers above anything we have seen in the past.’
The only ones not in a party mood were Clarisse and her cabinmates, whose poisonous looks told me they’d never forgive me for disgracing their dad.
That was okay with me.
Even Dionysus’s welcome-home speech wasn’t enough to dampen my spirits. ‘Yes, yes, so the little brat didn’t get himself killed and now hell have an even bigger head. Well, huzzah for that. In other announcements, there will be no canoe races this Saturday…’
I moved back into cabin three, but it didn’t feel so lonely any more. I had my friends to train with during
the day. At night, I lay awake and listened to the sea, knowing my father was out there. Maybe he wasn’t quite sure about me yet, maybe he hadn’t even wanted me born, but he was watching. And so far, he was proud of what I’d done.
As for my mother, she had a chance at a new life. Her letter arrived a week after I got back to camp. She told me Gabe had left mysteriously – disappeared off the face of the planet, in fact. She’d reported him missing to the police, but she had a funny feeling they would never find him.
On a completely unrelated subject, she’d sold her first life-size concrete sculpture, entitled The Poker Player, to a collector, through an art gallery in Soho. She’d got so much money for it, she’d put a deposit down on a new apartment and made a payment on her first term’s tuition at NYU. The Soho gallery was clamouring for more of her work, which they called ‘a huge step forward in super-ugly neorealism’.
But don’t worry, my mom wrote. I’m done with sculpture. I’ve disposed of that box of tools you left me. It’s time for me to turn to writing.
At the bottom, she wrote a P.S.: Percy, I’ve found a good private school here in the city. I’ve put a deposit down to hold you a spot, in case you want to enrol for seventh grade. You could live at home. But if you want to go year-round at Half-Blood Hill, I’ll understand.
I folded the note carefully and set it on my bedside table. Every night before I went to sleep, I read it again, and I tried to decide how to answer her.
On the Fourth of July, the whole camp gathered at the beach for a fireworks display by cabin nine. Being Hephaestus’s kids, they weren’t going to settle for a few lame red-white-and-blue explosions. They’d anchored a barge offshore and loaded it with rockets the size of Patriot missiles. According to Annabeth, who’d seen the show before, the blasts would be sequenced so tightly they’d look like frames of animation across the sky. The finale was supposed to be a couple of thirty-metre-tall Spartan warriors who would crackle to life above the ocean, fight a battle, then explode into a million colours.
