by Rick Riordan
The comment made no sense to Frank, then or now. His ancestor had been a beekeeper?
Frank hadn’t thought about these stories in years, but now they came back to him as clearly as his mother’s face. It hurt to see her again. Frank wanted to go back to that time. He wanted to be a little kid and curl up on her lap.
In the rainbow image, little Frank asked where their family was from. So many heroes! Were they from Pylos, or Rome, or China, or Canada?
His mother smiled, tilting her head as if considering how to answer.
Li-Jien, she said at last. Our family is from many places, but our home is Li-Jien. Always remember, Frank: you have a special gift. You can be anything.
The rainbow dissolved, leaving just Iris and Frank.
‘I don’t understand.’ His voice was hoarse.
‘Your mother explained it,’ Iris said. ‘You can be anything.’
It sounded like one of those stupid things parents say to boost your self-esteem – a worn-out slogan that could be printed on Iris’s T-shirts, right along with The Goddess Is Alive! and My Other Car Is a Magic Carpet! But, the way Iris said it, it sounded like a challenge.
Frank pressed his hand against his pants pocket, where he kept his mother’s sacrifice medal. The silver medallion was cold as ice.
‘I can’t be anything,’ Frank insisted. ‘I’ve got zero skills.’
‘What have you tried?’ Iris asked. ‘You wanted to be an archer. You managed that pretty well. You’ve only scratched the surface. Your friends Hazel and Percy – they’re both stretched between worlds: Greek and Roman, the past and the present. But you are stretched more than either of them. Your family is ancient – the blood of Pylos on your mother’s side, and your father is Mars. No wonder Juno wants you to be one of her seven heroes. She wants you to fight the giants and Gaia. But think about this: what do you want?’
‘I don’t have any choice,’ Frank said. ‘I’m the son of the stupid war god. I have to go on this quest and –’
‘Have to,’ Iris said. ‘Not want to. I used to think like that. Then I got tired of being everyone’s servant. Fetch goblets of wine for Jupiter. Deliver letters for Juno. Send messages back and forth across the rainbow for anyone with a golden drachma.’
‘A golden what?’
‘Not important. But I learned to let go. I started R.O.F.L., and now I’m free of that baggage. You can let go, too. Maybe you can’t escape fate. Some day that piece of wood will burn. I foresee that you’ll be holding it when it happens, and your life will end –’
‘Thanks,’ Frank muttered.
‘– but that just makes your life more precious! You don’t have to be what your parents and your grandmother expect. You don’t have to follow the war god’s orders, or Juno’s. Do your own thing, Frank! Find a new path!’
Frank thought about that. The idea was thrilling: reject the gods, his destiny, his dad. He didn’t want to be a war god’s son. His mother had died in a war. Frank had lost everything thanks to a war. Mars clearly didn’t know the first thing about him. Frank didn’t want to be a hero.
‘Why are you telling me this?’ he asked. ‘You want me to abandon the quest, let Camp Jupiter be destroyed? My friends are counting on me.’
Iris spread her hands. ‘I can’t tell you what to do, Frank. But do what you want, not what they tell you to do. Where did conforming ever get me? I spent five millennia serving everyone else, and I never discovered my own identity. What’s my sacred animal? No one bothered to give me one. Where are my temples? They never made any. Well, fine! I’ve found peace here at the co-op. You could stay with us, if you want. Become a ROFLcopter.’
‘A what, now?’
‘The point is you have options. If you continue this quest … what happens when you free Thanatos? Will it be good for your family? Your friends?’
Frank remembered what his grandmother had said: she had an appointment with Death. Grandmother infuriated him sometimes, but, still, she was his only living family, the only person alive who loved him. If Thanatos stayed chained up, Frank might not lose her. And Hazel – somehow she had come back from the Underworld. If Death took her again, Frank wouldn’t be able to stand it. Not to mention Frank’s own problem: according to Iris, he should have died when he was a baby. All that stood between him and Death was a half-burnt stick. Would Thanatos take him away, too?
Frank tried to imagine staying here with Iris, putting on a R.O.F.L. shirt, selling crystals and dream catchers to demigod travellers and lobbing gluten-free cupcake simulations at passing monsters. Meanwhile, an undying army would overrun Camp Jupiter.
You can be anything, his mother had said.
No, he thought. I can’t be that selfish.
‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘It’s my job.’
Iris sighed. ‘I expected as much, but I had to try. The task ahead of you … Well, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, especially a nice boy like you. If you must go, at least I can offer some advice. You’ll need help finding Thanatos.’
‘You know where the giants are hiding him?’ Frank asked.
Iris gazed thoughtfully at the wind chimes swaying on the ceiling. ‘No … Alaska is beyond the gods’ sphere of control. The location is shielded from my sight. But there is someone who would know. Seek out the seer Phineas. He’s blind, but he can see the past, present and future. He knows many things. He can tell you where Thanatos is being held.’
‘Phineas …’ Frank said. ‘Wasn’t there a story about him?’
Iris nodded reluctantly. ‘In the old days, he committed horrible crimes. He used his gift of sight for evil. Jupiter sent the harpies to plague him. The Argonauts – including your ancestor, by the way –’
‘The prince of Pylos?’
Iris hesitated. ‘Yes, Frank. Though his gift, his story … that you must discover on your own. Suffice it to say, the Argonauts drove away the harpies in exchange for Phineas’s help. That was aeons ago, but I understand Phineas has returned to the mortal world. You’ll find him in Portland, Oregon, which is on your way north. But you must promise me one thing. If he’s still plagued by harpies, do not kill them, no matter what Phineas promises you. Win his help some other way. The harpies are not evil. They’re my sisters.’
‘Your sisters?’
‘I know. I don’t look old enough to be the harpies’ sister, but it’s true. And, Frank … there’s another problem. If you’re determined to leave, you’ll have to clear those basilisks off the hill.’
‘You mean the snakes?’
‘Yes,’ Iris said. ‘Basilisk means “little crown”, which is a cute name for something that’s not very cute. I’d prefer not to have them killed. They’re living creatures, after all. But you won’t be able to leave until they’re gone. If your friends try to battle them … well, I foresee bad things happening. Only you have the ability to kill the monsters.’
‘But how?’
She glanced down at the floor. Frank realized that she was looking at his spear.
‘I wish there was another way,’ she said. ‘If you had some weasels, for instance. Weasels are deadly to basilisks.’
‘Fresh out of weasels,’ Frank admitted.
‘Then you will have to use your father’s gift. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to live here instead? We make excellent lactose-free rice milk.’
Frank rose. ‘How do I use the spear?’
‘You’ll have to handle that on your own. I can’t advocate violence. While you’re doing battle, I’ll check on your friends. I hope Fleecy found the right medicinal herbs. The last time, we had a mix-up … Well, I don’t think those heroes wanted to be daisies.’
The goddess stood. Her glasses flashed, and Frank saw his own reflection in the lenses. He looked serious and grim, nothing like the little boy he’d seen in those rainbow images.
‘One last bit of advice, Frank,’ she said. ‘You’re destined to die holding
that piece of firewood, watching it burn. But perhaps if you didn’t keep it yourself. Perhaps if you trusted someone enough to hold it for you …’
Frank’s fingers curled around the tinder. ‘Are you offering?’
Iris laughed gently. ‘Oh, dear, no. I’d lose it in this collection. It would get mixed up with my crystals, or I’d sell it as a driftwood paperweight by accident. No, I meant a demigod friend. Someone close to your heart.’
Hazel, Frank thought immediately. There was no one he trusted more. But how could he confess his secret? If he admitted how weak he was, that his whole life depended on a half-burnt stick … Hazel would never see him as a hero. He’d never be her knight in armour. And how could he expect her to take that kind of burden from him?
He wrapped up the tinder and slipped it back into his coat. ‘Thanks … thanks, Iris.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Don’t lose hope, Frank. Rainbows always stand for hope.’
She made her way towards the back of the store, leaving Frank alone.
‘Hope,’ Frank grumbled. ‘I’d rather have a few good weasels.’
He picked up his father’s spear and marched out to face the basilisks.
XXIII
Frank
Frank 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 levelled 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 smouldered 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 towards 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 burnt 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 round its neck. Little crown, Frank remembered. That’s what ‘basilisk’ meant. He had thought basilisks were huge dragonlike 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 dragontooth point dipped towards the ground all on its own – like a dowsing rod searching for water.
‘Stop that.’ Frank struggled to 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.
XXIV
Frank
Frank 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 grey skin. Then ghostly clothes enveloped it – a tight T-shirt, camo pants and army boots. Everything about the creature was grey: grey clothes on grey flesh on grey bones.
It turned towards Frank. Its skull grinned beneath an expressionless grey 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 grey 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 towards 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? Grey?’
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.
‘Grey,’ 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 earth where Grey had disappeared. ‘I sense death. Either my brother has been here or … the basilisks are dead?’
