by Rick Riordan
At first, her efforts had brought only scorn. The fissure in the earth had filled with gold and precious stones, bubbling in a thick soup of petroleum. It looked like a dragon’s treasure dumped in a tar pit. Then, slowly, a rock spire began to grow like a massive tulip bulb. It emerged so gradually, night after night, that Hazel had trouble judging its progress. Often she concentrated all night on raising it, until her mind and soul were exhausted, but she didn’t notice any difference. Yet the spire did grow.
Now Hazel could see how much she’d accomplished. The thing was two storeys high, a swirl of rocky tendrils jutting like a spear tip from the oily morass. Inside, something glowed with heat. Hazel couldn’t see it clearly, but she knew what was happening. A body was forming out of silver and gold, with oil for blood and raw diamonds for a heart. Hazel was resurrecting the son of Gaia. He was almost ready to wake.
Her mother fell to her knees and wept. ‘I’m sorry, Hazel. I’m so sorry.’ She looked helpless and alone, horribly sad. Hazel should have been furious. Sorry? She’d lived in fear of her mother for years. She’d been scolded and blamed for her mother’s unfortunate life. She’d been treated like a freak, dragged away from her home in New Orleans to this cold wilderness, and worked like a slave by a merciless evil goddess. Sorry didn’t cut it. She should have despised her mother.
But she couldn’t make herself feel angry.
Hazel knelt and put her arm round her mother. There was hardly anything left of her – just skin and bones and stained work clothes. Even in the warm cave, she was trembling.
‘What can we do?’ Hazel said. ‘Tell me how to stop it.’
Her mother shook her head. ‘She let me go. She knows it’s too late. There’s nothing we can do.’
‘She … the Voice?’ Hazel was afraid to get her hopes up, but if her mother was really freed then nothing else mattered. They could get out of here. They could run away, back to New Orleans. ‘Is she gone?’
Her mother glanced fearfully around the cave. ‘No, she’s here. There’s only one more thing she needs from me. For that, she needs my free will.’
Hazel didn’t like the sound of that.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ she urged. ‘That thing in the rock … it’s going to hatch.’
‘Soon,’ her mother agreed. She looked at Hazel so tenderly … Hazel couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen that kind of affection in her mother’s eyes. She felt a sob building in her chest.
‘Pluto warned me,’ her mother said. ‘He told me my wish was too dangerous.’
‘Your – your wish?’
‘All the wealth under the earth,’ she said. ‘He controlled it. I wanted it. I was so tired of being poor, Hazel. So tired. First I summoned him … just to see if I could. I never thought the old gris-gris spell would work on a god. But he courted me, told me I was brave and beautiful …’ She stared at her bent, calloused hands. ‘When you were born, he was so pleased and proud. He promised me anything. He swore on the River Styx. I asked for all the riches he had. He warned me the greediest wishes cause the greatest sorrows. But I insisted. I imagined living like a queen – the wife of a god! And you … you received the curse.’
Hazel felt as if she were expanding to the breaking point, just like that spire in the pit. Her misery would soon become too great to hold inside, and her skin would shatter. ‘That’s why I can find things under the earth?’
‘And why they bring only sorrow.’ Her mother gestured listlessly around the cavern. ‘That’s how she found me, how she was able to control me. I was angry with your father. I blamed him for my problems. I blamed you. I was so bitter that I listened to Gaia’s voice. I was a fool.’
‘There’s got to be something we can do,’ Hazel said. ‘Tell me how to stop her.’
The ground trembled. Gaia’s disembodied voice echoed through the cave.
My eldest rises, she said, the most precious thing in the earth – and you have brought him from the depths, Hazel Levesque. You have made him anew. His awakening cannot be stopped. Only one thing remains.
Hazel clenched her fists. She was terrified, but now that her mother was free, she felt like she could confront her enemy at last. This creature, this evil goddess, had ruined their lives. Hazel wasn’t going to let her win.
‘I won’t help you any more!’ she yelled.
But I am done with your help, girl. I brought you here for one reason only. Your mother required … incentive.
Hazel’s throat constricted. ‘Mother?’
‘I’m sorry, Hazel. If you can forgive me, please – know that it was only because I loved you. She promised to let you live if –’
‘If you sacrifice yourself,’ Hazel said, realizing the truth. ‘She needs you to give your life willingly to raise that – that thing.’
Alcyoneus, Gaia said. Eldest of the giants. He must rise first, and this will be his new homeland – far from the gods. He will walk these icy mountains and forests. He will raise an army of monsters. While the gods are divided, fighting each other in this mortal World War, he will send forth his armies to destroy Olympus.
The earth goddess’s dreams were so powerful they cast shadows across the cave walls – ghastly shifting images of Nazi armies raging across Europe, Japanese planes destroying American cities. Hazel finally understood. The gods of Olympus would take sides in the battle as they always did in human wars. While the gods fought each other to a bloody standstill, an army of monsters would rise in the north. Alcyoneus would revive his brother giants and send them forth to conquer the world. The weakened gods would fall. The mortal conflict would rage for decades until all civilization was swept away, and the earth goddess awakened fully. Gaia would rule forever.
All this, the goddess purred, because your mother was greedy and cursed you with the gift of finding riches. In my sleeping state, I would have needed decades more, perhaps even centuries, before I found the power to resurrect Alcyoneus myself. But now he will wake and, soon, so shall I!
With terrible certainty, Hazel knew what would happen next. The only thing Gaia needed was a willing sacrifice – a soul to be consumed for Alcyoneus to awaken. Her mother would step into the fissure and touch that horrible spire – and she would be absorbed.
‘Hazel, go.’ Her mother rose unsteadily. ‘She’ll let you live, but you must hurry.’
Hazel believed it. That was the most horrible thing. Gaia would honour the bargain and let Hazel live. Hazel would survive to see the end of the world, knowing that she’d caused it.
‘No.’ Hazel made her decision. ‘I won’t live. Not for that.’
She reached deep into her soul. She called on her father, the Lord of the Underworld, and summoned all the riches that lay in his vast realm. The cavern shook.
Around the spire of Alcyoneus, oil bubbled, then churned and erupted like a boiling cauldron.
Don’t be foolish, Gaia said, but Hazel detected concern in her tone, maybe even fear. You will destroy yourself for nothing! Your mother will still die!
Hazel almost wavered. She remembered her father’s promise: some day her curse would be washed away; a descendant of Neptune would bring her peace. He’d even said she might find a horse of her own. Maybe that strange stallion in the hills was meant for her. But none of that would happen if she died now. She’d never see Sammy again, or return to New Orleans. Her life would be thirteen short, bitter years with an unhappy ending.
She met her mother’s eyes. For once, her mother didn’t look sad or angry. Her eyes shone with pride.
‘You were my gift, Hazel,’ she said. ‘My most precious gift. I was foolish to think I needed anything else.’
She kissed Hazel’s forehead and held her close. Her warmth gave Hazel the courage to continue. They would die, but not as sacrifices to Gaia. Instinctively Hazel knew that their final act would reject Gaia’s power. Their souls would go to the Underworld, and Alcyoneus would not rise – at leas
t not yet.
Hazel summoned the last of her willpower. The air turned searing hot. The spire began to sink. Jewels and chunks of gold shot from the fissure with such force that they cracked the cavern walls and sent shrapnel flying, stinging Hazel’s skin through her jacket.
Stop this! Gaia demanded. You cannot prevent his rise. At best, you will delay him – a few decades. Half a century. Would you trade your lives for that?
Hazel gave her an answer.
The last night, the raven had said.
The fissure exploded. The roof crumbled. Hazel sank into her mother’s arms, into the darkness, as oil filled her lungs and the island collapsed into the bay.
XVIII
Hazel
‘Hazel!’ Frank shook her arms, sounding panicked. ‘Come on, please! Wake up!’
She opened her eyes. The night sky blazed with stars. The rocking of the boat was gone. She was lying on solid ground, her bundled sword and pack beside her.
She sat up groggily, her head spinning. They were on a cliff overlooking a beach. About a hundred feet away, the ocean glinted in the moonlight. The surf washed gently against the stern of their beached boat. To her right, hugging the edge of the cliff, was a building like a small church with a searchlight in the steeple. A lighthouse, Hazel guessed. Behind them, fields of tall grass rustled in the wind.
‘Where are we?’ she asked.
Frank exhaled. ‘Thank the gods you’re awake! We’re in Mendocino, about a hundred and fifty miles north of the Golden Gate.’
‘A hundred and fifty miles?’ Hazel groaned. ‘I’ve been out that long?’
Percy knelt beside her, the sea wind sweeping his hair. He put his hand on her forehead as if checking for a fever. ‘We couldn’t wake you. Finally we decided to bring you ashore. We thought maybe the seasickness –’
‘It wasn’t seasickness.’ She took a deep breath. She couldn’t hide the truth from them any more. She remembered what Nico had said: If a flashback like that happens when you’re in combat …
‘I – I haven’t been honest with you,’ she said. ‘What happened was a blackout. I have them once in a while.’
‘A blackout?’ Frank took Hazel’s hand, which startled her … though pleasantly so. ‘Is it medical? Why haven’t I noticed before?’
‘I try to hide it,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve been lucky so far, but it’s getting worse. It’s not medical … not really. Nico says it’s a side effect from my past, from where he found me.’
Percy’s intense green eyes were hard to read. She couldn’t tell whether he was concerned or wary.
‘Where exactly did Nico find you?’ he asked.
Hazel’s tongue felt like cotton. She was afraid if she started talking she’d slip back into the past, but they deserved to know. If she failed them on this quest, zonked out when they needed her most … she couldn’t bear that idea.
‘I’ll explain,’ she promised. She clawed through her pack. Stupidly, she’d forgotten to bring a water bottle. ‘Is … is there anything to drink?’
‘Yeah.’ Percy muttered a curse in Greek. ‘That was dumb. I left my supplies down at the boat.’
Hazel felt bad asking them to take care of her, but she’d woken up parched and exhausted, as if she’d lived the last few hours in both the past and the present. She shouldered her pack and sword. ‘Never mind. I can walk …’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Frank said. ‘Not until you’ve had some food and water. I’ll get the supplies.’
‘No, I’ll go.’ Percy glanced at Frank’s hand on Hazel’s. Then he scanned the horizon as if he sensed trouble, but there was nothing to see – just the lighthouse and the field of grass stretching inland. ‘You two stay here. I’ll be right back.’
‘You sure?’ Hazel said feebly. ‘I don’t want you to –’
‘It’s fine,’ said Percy. ‘Frank, just keep your eyes open. Something about this place … I don’t know.’
‘I’ll keep her safe,’ Frank promised.
Percy dashed off.
Once they were alone, Frank seemed to realize he was still holding Hazel’s hand. He cleared his throat and let go.
‘I, um … I think I understand your blackouts,’ he said. ‘And where you come from.’
Her heartbeat stumbled. ‘You do?’
‘You seem so different from other girls I’ve met.’ He blinked, then rushed on. ‘Not like … bad different. Just the way you talk. The things that surprise you – like songs, or TV shows, or slang people use. You talk about your life like it happened a long time ago. You were born in a different time, weren’t you? You came from the Underworld.’
Hazel wanted to cry – not because she was sad, but because it was such a relief to hear someone say the truth. Frank didn’t act revolted or scared. He didn’t look at her as if she were a ghost or some awful undead zombie.
‘Frank, I –’
‘We’ll figure it out,’ he promised. ‘You’re alive now. We’re going to keep you that way.’
The grass rustled behind them. Hazel’s eyes stung in the cold wind.
‘I don’t deserve a friend like you,’ she said. ‘You don’t know what I am … what I’ve done.’
‘Stop that.’ Frank scowled. ‘You’re great! Besides, you’re not the only one with secrets.’
Hazel stared at him. ‘I’m not?’
Frank started to say something. Then he tensed.
‘What?’ Hazel asked.
‘The wind’s stopped.’
She looked around and noticed he was right. The air had become perfectly still.
‘So?’ she asked.
Frank swallowed. ‘So why is the grass still moving?’
Out of the corner of her eye, Hazel saw dark shapes ripple through the field.
‘Hazel!’ Frank tried to grab her arms, but it was too late.
Something knocked him backwards. Then a force like a grassy hurricane wrapped around Hazel and dragged her into the fields.
XIX
Hazel
Hazel was an expert on weird. She’d seen her mother possessed by an earth goddess. She’d created a giant out of gold. She’d destroyed an island, died and come back from the Underworld.
But getting kidnapped by a field of grass? That was new.
She felt as if she were trapped in a funnel cloud of plants. She’d heard of modern-day singers jumping into crowds of fans and getting passed overhead by thousands of hands. She imagined this was similar – only she was moving a thousand times faster, and the grass blades weren’t adoring fans.
She couldn’t sit up. She couldn’t touch the ground. Her sword was still in her bedroll, strapped to her back, but she couldn’t reach it. The plants kept her off balance, tossing her around, slicing her face and arms. She could barely make out the stars through the tumble of green, yellow and black.
Frank’s shouting faded into the distance.
It was hard to think clearly, but Hazel knew one thing: She was moving fast. Wherever she was being taken, she’d soon be too far away for her friends to find her.
She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the tumbling and tossing. She sent her thoughts into the earth below her. Gold, silver – she’d settle for anything that might disrupt her kidnappers.
She felt nothing. Riches under the earth – zero.
She was about to despair when she felt a huge cold spot pass beneath her. She locked onto it with all her concentration, dropping a mental anchor. Suddenly the ground rumbled. The swirl of plants released her and she was thrown upward like a catapult projectile.
Momentarily weightless, she opened her eyes. She twisted her body in midair. The ground was about twenty feet below her. Then she was falling. Her combat training kicked in. She’d practised dropping from giant eagles before. She tucked into a roll, turned the impact into a somersault, and came up standing.
She unslung her bedroll
and drew her sword. A few yards to her left, an outcropping of rock the size of a garage jutted from the sea of grass. Hazel realized it was her anchor. She’d caused the rock to appear.
The grass rippled around it. Angry voices hissed in dismay at the massive clump of stone that had broken their progress. Before they could regroup, Hazel ran to the rock and clambered to the top.
The grass swayed and rustled around her like the tentacles of a gigantic undersea anemone. Hazel could sense her kidnappers’ frustration.
‘Can’t grow on this, can you?’ she yelled. ‘Go away, you bunch of weeds! Leave me alone!’
‘Schist,’ said an angry voice from the grass.
Hazel raised her eyebrows. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Schist! Big pile of schist!’
A nun at St Agnes Academy had once washed Hazel’s mouth with lye soap for saying something very similar, so she wasn’t sure how to respond. Then, all around her rock island, the kidnappers materialized from the grass. At first glance they looked like Valentine angels – a dozen chubby little Cupid babies. As they stepped closer, Hazel realized they were neither cute nor angelic.
They were the size of toddlers, with rolls of baby fat, but their skin had a strange greenish hue, as if chlorophyll ran through their veins. They had dry, brittle wings like cornhusks, and tufts of white hair like corn silk. Their faces were haggard, pitted with kernels of grain. Their eyes were solid green, and their teeth were canine fangs.
The largest creature stepped forward. He wore a yellow loincloth, and his hair was spiky, like the bristles on a stalk of wheat. He hissed at Hazel and waddled back and forth so quickly, she was afraid his loincloth might fall off.
‘Hate this schist!’ the creature complained. ‘Wheat cannot grow!’
‘Sorghum cannot grow!’ another piped up.
