The Mark of Athena (The Heroes of Olympus, Book Three)

by Rick Riordan

  Annabeth’s sandwich fell out of her hands. “Oh, gods. How—how… ?”

  She seemed so stunned that Percy figured he ought to know these two.

  “You guys do look familiar,” he decided. He thought he might have seen their faces on television. It seemed like they were from an old show, but that couldn’t be right. They hadn’t aged at all. Nevertheless, he pointed at the guy and took a guess. “Are you that guy on Mad Men?”

  “Percy!” Annabeth looked horrified.

  “What?” he protested. “I don’t watch a lot of TV.”

  “That’s Gregory Peck!” Annabeth’s eyes were wide, and her mouth kept falling open. “And…oh gods! Audrey Hepburn! I know this movie. Roman Holiday. But that was from the 1950s. How—?”

  “Oh, my dear!” The woman twirled like an air spirit and sat down at their table. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else! My name is Rhea Silvia. I was the mother to Romulus and Remus, thousands of years ago. But you’re so kind to think I look as young as the 1950s. And this is my husband…”

  “Tiberinus,” said Gregory Peck, thrusting out his hand to Percy in a manly way. “God of the River Tiber.”

  Percy shook his hand. The guy smelled of aftershave. Of course, if Percy were the Tiber River, he’d probably want to mask the smell with cologne too.

  “Uh, hi,” Percy said. “Do you two always look like American movie stars?”

  “Do we?” Tiberinus frowned and studied his clothes. “I’m not sure, actually. The migration of Western civilization goes both ways, you know. Rome affected the world, but the world also affects Rome. There does seem to be a lot of American influence lately. I’ve rather lost track over the centuries.”

  “Okay,” Percy said. “But…you’re here to help?”

  “My naiads told me you two were here.” Tiberinus cast his dark eyes toward Annabeth. “You have the map, my dear? And your letter of introduction?”

  “Uh…” Annabeth handed him the letter and the disk of bronze. She was staring at the river god so intently Percy started to feel jealous.

  “S-so…” she stammered, “you’ve helped other children of Athena with this quest?”

  “Oh, my dear!” The pretty lady, Rhea Silvia, put her hand on Annabeth’s shoulder. “Tiberinus is ever so helpful. He saved my children Romulus and Remus, you know, and brought them to the wolf goddess Lupa. Later, when that old king Numen tried to kill me, Tiberinus took pity on me and made me his wife. I’ve been ruling the river kingdom at his side ever since. He’s just dreamy!”

  “Thank you, my dear,” Tiberinus said with a wry smile. “And, yes, Annabeth Chase, I’ve helped many of your siblings…to at least begin their journey safely. A shame all of them died painfully later on. Well, your documents seem in order. We should get going. The Mark of Athena awaits!”

  Percy gripped Annabeth’s hand—probably a little too tight. “Tiberinus, let me go with her. Just a little farther.”

  Rhea Silvia laughed sweetly. “But you can’t, silly boy. You must return to your ship and gather your other friends. Confront the giants! The way will appear in your friend Piper’s knife. Annabeth has a different path. She must walk alone.”

  “Indeed,” Tiberinus said. “Annabeth must face the guardian of the shrine by herself. It is the only way. And Percy Jackson, you have less time than you realized to rescue your friend in the jar. You must hurry.”

  Percy’s pizza felt like a cement lump in his stomach. “But—”

  “It’s all right, Percy.” Annabeth squeezed his hand. “I need to do this.”

  He started to protest. Her expression stopped him. She was terrified but doing her best to hide it—for his sake. If he tried to argue, he would only make things harder for her. Or worse, he might convince her to stay. Then she would have to live with the knowledge that she’d backed down from her biggest challenge…assuming that they survived at all, with Rome about to get leveled and Gaea about to rise and destroy the world. The Athena statue held the key to defeating the giants. Percy didn’t know why or how, but Annabeth was the only one who could find it.

  “You’re right,” he said, forcing out the words. “Be safe.”

  Rhea Silvia giggled like it was a ridiculous comment. “Safe? Not at all! But necessary. Come, Annabeth, my dear. We will show you where your path starts. After that, you’re on your own.”

  Annabeth kissed Percy. She hesitated, like she was wondering what else to say. Then she shouldered her backpack and climbed on the back of the scooter.

  Percy hated it. He would’ve preferred to fight any monster in the world. He would’ve preferred a rematch with Chrysaor. But he forced himself to stay in his chair and watch as Annabeth motored off through the streets of Rome with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn.

  ANNABETH FIGURED IT COULD’VE BEEN WORSE. If she had to go on a horrifying solo quest, at least she’d gotten to have lunch with Percy on the banks of the Tiber first. Now she got to take a scooter ride with Gregory Peck.

  She only knew about that old movie because of her dad. Over the past few years, since the two of them had made up, they’d spent more time together, and she had learned that her dad had a sappy side. Sure, he liked military history, weapons, and biplanes, but he also loved old films, especially romantic comedies from the 1940s and ’50s. Roman Holiday was one of his favorites. He’d made Annabeth watch it.

  She thought the plot was silly—a princess escapes her minders and falls in love with an American journalist in Rome—but she suspected her dad liked it because it reminded him of his own romance with the goddess Athena: another impossible pairing that couldn’t end happily. Her dad was nothing like Gregory Peck. Athena certainly wasn’t anything like Audrey Hepburn. But Annabeth knew that people saw what they wanted to see. They didn’t need the Mist to warp their perceptions.

  As the baby-blue scooter zipped through the streets of Rome, the goddess Rhea Silvia gave Annabeth a running commentary on how the city had changed over the centuries.

  “The Sublician Bridge was over there,” she said, pointing to a bend in the Tiber. “You know, where Horatius and his two friends defended the city from an invading army? Now, there was a brave Roman!”

  “And look, dear,” Tiberinus added, “that’s the place where Romulus and Remus washed ashore.”

  He seemed to be talking about a spot on the riverside where some ducks were making a nest out of torn-up plastic bags and candy wrappers.

  “Ah, yes,” Rhea Silvia sighed happily. “You were so kind to flood yourself and wash my babies ashore for the wolves to find.”

  “It was nothing,” Tiberinus said.

  Annabeth felt light-headed. The river god was talking about something that had happened thousands of years ago, when this area was nothing but marshes and maybe some shacks. Tiberinus saved two babies, one of whom went on to found the world’s greatest empire. It was nothing.

  Rhea Silvia pointed out a large modern apartment building. “That used to be a temple to Venus. Then it was a church. Then a palace. Then an apartment building. It burned down three times. Now it’s an apartment building again. And that spot right there—”

  “Please,” Annabeth said. “You’re making me dizzy.”

  Rhea Silvia laughed. “I’m sorry, dear. Layers upon layers of history here, but it’s nothing compared to Greece. Athens was old when Rome was a collection of mud huts. You’ll see, if you survive.”

  “Not helping,” Annabeth muttered.

  “Here we are,” Tiberinus announced. He pulled over in front of a large marble building, the facade covered in city grime but still beautiful. Ornate carvings of Roman gods decorated the roofline. The massive entrance was barred with iron gates, heavily padlocked.

  “I’m going in there?” Annabeth wished she’d brought Leo, or at least borrowed some wire cutters from his tool belt.

  Rhea Silvia covered her mouth and giggled. “No, my dear. Not in it. Under it.”

  Tiberinus pointed to a set of stone steps on the side of
the building—the sort that would have led to a basement apartment if this place were in Manhattan.

  “Rome is chaotic aboveground,” Tiberinus said, “but that’s nothing compared to below ground. You must descend into the buried city, Annabeth Chase. Find the altar of the foreign god. The failures of your predecessors will guide you. After that…I do not know.”

  Annabeth’s backpack felt heavy on her shoulders. She’d been studying the bronze map for days now, scouring Daedalus’s laptop for information. Unfortunately, the few things she had learned made this quest seem even more impossible. “My siblings…none of them made it all the way to the shrine, did they.”

  Tiberinus shook his head. “But you know what prize awaits, if you can liberate it.”

  “Yes,” Annabeth said.

  “It could bring peace to the children of Greece and Rome,” Rhea Silvia said. “It could change the course of the coming war.”

  “If I live,” Annabeth said.

  Tiberinus nodded sadly. “Because you also understand the guardian you must face?”

  Annabeth remembered the spiders at Fort Sumter, and the dream Percy had described—the hissing voice in the dark. “Yes.”

  Rhea Silvia looked at her husband. “She is brave. Perhaps she is stronger than the others.”

  “I hope so,” said the river god. “Good-bye, Annabeth Chase. And good luck.”

  Rhea Silvia beamed. “We have such a lovely afternoon planned! Off to shop!”

  Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn sped off on their baby-blue motorbike. Then Annabeth turned and descended the steps alone.

  She’d been underground plenty of times.

  But halfway down the steps, she realized just how long it had been since she’d adventured by herself. She froze.

  Gods…she hadn’t done something like this since she was a kid. After running away from home, she’d spent a few weeks surviving on her own, living in alleyways and hiding from monsters until Thalia and Luke took her under their wings. Then, once she’d arrived at Camp Half-Blood, she’d lived there until she was twelve. After that, all her quests had been with Percy or her other friends.

  The last time she had felt this scared and alone, she’d been seven years old. She remembered the day Thalia, Luke, and she had wandered into a Cyclopes’ lair in Brooklyn. Thalia and Luke had gotten captured, and Annabeth had had to cut them free. She still remembered shivering in a dark corner of that dilapidated mansion, listening to the Cyclopes mimicking her friends’ voices, trying to trick her into coming out into the open.

  What if this is a trick, too? she wondered. What if those other children of Athena died because Tiberinus and Rhea Silvia led them into a trap? Would Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn do something like that?

  She forced herself to keep going. She had no choice. If the Athena Parthenos was really down here, it could decide the fate of the war. More importantly, it could help her mom. Athena needed her.

  At the bottom of the steps she reached an old wooden door with an iron pull ring. Above the ring was a metal plate with a keyhole. Annabeth started considering ways to pick the lock, but as soon as she touched the pull ring, a fiery shape burned in the middle of the door: the silhouette of Athena’s owl. Smoke plumed from the keyhole. The door swung inward.

  Annabeth looked up one last time. At the top of the stairwell, the sky was a square of brilliant blue. Mortals would be enjoying the warm afternoon. Couples would be holding hands at the cafés. Tourists would be bustling through the shops and museums. Regular Romans would be going about their daily business, probably not considering the thousands of years of history under their feet, and definitely unaware of the spirits, gods, and monsters that still dwelt here, or the fact that their city might be destroyed today unless a certain group of demigods succeeded in stopping the giants.

  Annabeth stepped through the doorway.

  She found herself in a basement that was an architectural cyborg. Ancient brick walls were crisscrossed with modern electrical cables and plumbing. The ceiling was held up with a combination of steel scaffolding and old granite Roman columns.

  The front half of the basement was stacked with crates. Out of curiosity, Annabeth opened a few. Some were packed with multicolored spools of string—like for kites or arts and crafts projects. Other crates were full of cheap plastic gladiator swords. Maybe at one point this had been a storage area for a tourist shop.

  In the back of the basement, the floor had been excavated, revealing another set of steps—these of white stone—leading still deeper underground.

  Annabeth crept to the edge. Even with the glow cast by her dagger, it was too dark to see below. She rested her hand on the wall and found a light switch.

  She flipped it. Glaring white fluorescent bulbs illuminated the stairs. Below, she saw a mosaic floor decorated with deer and fauns—maybe a room from an Ancient Roman villa, just stashed away under this modern basement along with the crates of string and plastic swords.

  She climbed down. The room was about twenty feet square. The walls had once been brightly painted, but most of the frescoes had peeled or faded. The only exit was a hole dug in one corner of the floor where the mosaic had been pulled up. Annabeth crouched next to the opening. It dropped straight down into a larger cavern, but Annabeth couldn’t see the bottom.

  She heard running water maybe thirty or forty feet below. The air didn’t smell like a sewer—just old and musty, and slightly sweet, like moldering flowers. Perhaps it was an old water line from the aqueducts. There was no way down.

  “I’m not jumping,” she muttered to herself.

  As if in reply, something glowed in the darkness. The Mark of Athena blazed to life at the bottom of the cavern, revealing glistening brickwork along a subterranean canal forty feet below. The fiery owl seemed to be taunting her: Well, this is the way, kid. So you’d better figure something out.

  Annabeth considered her options. Too dangerous to jump. No ladders or ropes. She thought about borrowing some metal scaffolding from above to use as a fire pole, but it was all bolted in place. Besides, she didn’t want to cause the building to collapse on top of her.

  Frustration crawled through her like an army of termites. She had spent her life watching other demigods gain amazing powers. Percy could control water. If he were here, he could raise the water level and simply float down. Hazel, from what she had said, could find her way underground with flawless accuracy and even create or change the course of tunnels. She could easily make a new path. Leo would pull just the right tools from his belt and build something to do the job. Frank could turn into a bird. Jason could simply control the wind and float down. Even Piper with her charmspeak…she could have convinced Tiberinus and Rhea Silvia to be a little more helpful.

  What did Annabeth have? A bronze dagger that did nothing special, and a cursed silver coin. She had her backpack with Daedalus’s laptop, a water bottle, a few pieces of ambrosia for emergencies, and a box of matches—probably useless, but her dad had drilled into her head that she should always have a way to make fire.

  She had no amazing powers. Even her one true magic item, her New York Yankees cap of invisibility, had stopped working, and was still back in her cabin on the Argo II.

  You’ve got your intelligence, a voice said. Annabeth wondered if Athena was speaking to her, but that was probably just wishful thinking.

  Intelligence…like Athena’s favorite hero, Odysseus. He’d won the Trojan War with cleverness, not strength. He had overcome all sorts of monsters and hardships with his quick wits. That’s what Athena valued.

  Wisdom’s daughter walks alone.

  That didn’t mean just without other people, Annabeth realized. It meant without any special powers.

  Okay…so how to get down there safely and make sure she had a way to get out again if necessary?

  She climbed back to the basement and stared at the open crates. Kite string and plastic swords. The idea that came to her was so ridiculous, she almost had to laugh; but it was better
than nothing.

  She set to work. Her hands seemed to know exactly what to do. Sometimes that happened, like when she was helping Leo with the ship’s machinery or drawing architectural plans on the computer. She’d never made anything out of kite string and plastic swords, but it seemed easy, natural. Within minutes she’d used a dozen balls of string and a crateful of swords to create a makeshift rope ladder—a braided line, woven for strength yet not too thick, with swords tied at two-foot intervals to serve as hand- and footholds.

  As a test, she tied one end around a support column and leaned on the rope with all her weight. The plastic swords bent under her, but they provided some extra bulk to the knots in the cord, so at least she could keep a better grip.

  The ladder wouldn’t win any design awards, but it might get her to the bottom of the cavern safely. First, she stuffed her backpack with the leftover spools of string. She wasn’t sure why, but they were one more resource, and not too heavy.

  She headed back to the hole in the mosaic floor. She secured one end of her ladder to the nearest piece of scaffolding, lowered the rope into the cavern, and shinnied down.

  AS ANNABETH HUNG IN THE AIR, descending hand over hand with the ladder swinging wildly, she thanked Chiron for all those years of training on the climbing course at Camp Half-Blood. She’d complained loudly and often that rope climbing would never help her defeat a monster. Chiron had just smiled, like he knew this day would come.

  Finally Annabeth made it to the bottom. She missed the brickwork edge and landed in the canal, but it turned out to be only a few inches deep. Freezing water soaked into her running shoes.

  She held up her glowing dagger. The shallow channel ran down the middle of a brickwork tunnel. Every few yards, ceramic pipes jutted from the walls. She guessed that the pipes were drains, part of the ancient Roman plumbing system, though it was amazing to her that a tunnel like this had survived, crowded underground with all the other centuries’ worth of pipes, basements, and sewers.