by Rick Riordan
Her Ladyship hissed. ‘Others could be used for that purpose.’
‘Y-yes,’ Ephialtes said. ‘But this girl is preferred. And the boy – the son of Poseidon. You can see why those two would be most suited for the task.’
Percy wasn’t sure what that meant, but he wanted to crack the floor and send these stupid gold-shirted twins down to oblivion. He’d never let Gaia spill his blood for any task – and there was no way he’d let anyone hurt Annabeth.
‘We will see,’ Her Ladyship grumbled. ‘Leave me now. Tend to your own preparations. You will have your spectacle. And I … I will work in darkness.’
The dream dissolved, and Percy woke with a start.
Jason was knocking at his open doorway.
‘We’ve set down in the water,’ he said, looking utterly exhausted. ‘Your turn.’
Percy didn’t want to, but he woke Annabeth. He figured even Coach Hedge wouldn’t mind their talking after curfew if it meant giving her information that might save her life.
They stood on deck, alone except for Leo, who was still manning the helm. The guy must have been shattered, but he refused to go to sleep.
‘I don’t want any more Shrimpzilla surprises,’ he insisted.
They’d all tried to convince Leo that the skolopendra attack hadn’t been entirely his fault, but he wouldn’t listen. Percy knew how he felt. Not forgiving himself for mistakes was one of Percy’s biggest talents.
It was about four in the morning. The weather was miserable. The fog was so thick Percy couldn’t see Festus at the end of the prow, and warm drizzle hung in the air like a bead curtain. As they sailed into twenty-foot swells, the sea heaving underneath them, Percy could hear poor Hazel down in her cabin … also heaving.
Despite all that, Percy was grateful to be back on the water. He preferred it to flying through storm clouds and being attacked by man-eating birds and enchilada-trampling pegasi.
He stood with Annabeth at the forward rail while he told her about his dream.
Percy wasn’t sure how she’d take the news. Her reaction was even more troubling than he anticipated: she didn’t seem surprised.
She peered into the fog. ‘Percy, you have to promise me something. Don’t tell the others about this dream.’
‘Don’t what? Annabeth –’
‘What you saw was about the Mark of Athena,’ she said. ‘It won’t help the others to know. It’ll only make them worry, and it’ll make it harder for me to go off on my own.’
‘Annabeth, you can’t be serious. That thing in the dark, the big chamber with the crumbling floor –’
‘I know.’ Her face looked unnaturally pale, and Percy suspected it wasn’t just the fog. ‘But I have to do this alone.’
Percy swallowed back his anger. He wasn’t sure if he was mad at Annabeth, or his dream, or the entire Greek/Roman world that had endured and shaped human history for five thousand years with one goal in mind: to make Percy Jackson’s life suck as much as possible.
‘You know what’s in that cavern,’ he guessed. ‘Does it have to do with spiders?’
‘Yes,’ she said in a small voice.
‘Then how can you even …?’ He made himself stop.
Once Annabeth had made up her mind, arguing with her wouldn’t do any good. He remembered the night three and a half years ago, when they’d saved Nico and Bianca di Angelo in Maine. Annabeth had been captured by the Titan Atlas. For a while, Percy wasn’t sure if she was alive or dead. He’d travelled across the country to save her from the Titan. It had been the hardest few days of his life – not just the monsters and the fighting but the worry.
How could he intentionally let her go now, knowing she was heading into something even more dangerous?
Then it dawned on him: the way he had felt back then, for a few days, was probably how Annabeth had felt for the six months he had been missing with amnesia.
That made him feel guilty, and a little bit selfish, to be standing here arguing with her. She had to go on this quest. The fate of the world might depend on it. But part of him wanted to say: Forget the world. He didn’t want to be without her.
Percy stared into the fog. He couldn’t see anything around them, but he had perfect bearings at sea. He knew their exact latitude and longitude. He knew the depth of the ocean and which way the currents were flowing. He knew the ship’s speed, and could sense no rocks, sandbars or other natural dangers in their path. Still, being blind was unsettling.
They hadn’t been attacked since they had touched the water, but the sea seemed different. Percy had been in the Atlantic, the Pacific, even the Gulf of Alaska, but this sea felt more ancient and powerful. Percy could sense its layers swirling below him. Every Greek or Roman hero had sailed these waters – from Hercules to Aeneas. Monsters still dwelt in the depths, so deeply wrapped in the Mist that they slept most of the time, but Percy could feel them stirring, responding to the Celestial bronze hull of a Greek trireme and the presence of demigod blood.
They are back, the monsters seemed to say. Finally, fresh blood.
‘We’re not far from the Italian coast,’ Percy said, mostly to break the silence. ‘Maybe a hundred nautical miles to the mouth of the Tiber.’
‘Good,’ Annabeth said. ‘By daybreak, we should –’
‘Stop.’ Percy’s skin felt washed with ice. ‘We have to stop.’
‘Why?’ Annabeth asked.
‘Leo, stop!’ he yelled.
Too late. The other boat appeared out of the fog and rammed them head-on. In that split second, Percy registered random details: another trireme; black sails painted with a gorgon’s head; hulking warriors, not quite human, crowded at the front of the boat in Greek armour, swords and spears ready; and a bronze ram at water level, slamming against the hull of the Argo II.
Annabeth and Percy were almost thrown overboard.
Festus blew fire, sending a dozen very surprised warriors screaming and diving into the sea, but more swarmed aboard the Argo II. Grappling lines wrapped around the rails and the mast, digging iron claws into the hull’s planks.
By the time Percy had recovered his wits, the enemy was everywhere. He couldn’t see well through the fog and the dark, but the invaders seemed to be humanlike dolphins, or dolphinlike humans. Some had grey snouts. Others held their swords in stunted flippers. Some waddled on legs partially fused together, while others had flippers for feet, which reminded Percy of clown shoes.
Leo sounded the alarm bell. He made a dash for the nearest ballista but went down under a pile of chattering dolphin warriors.
Annabeth and Percy stood back to back, as they’d done many times before, their weapons drawn. Percy tried to summon the waves, hoping he could push the ships apart or even capsize the enemy vessel, but nothing happened. It almost felt like something was pushing against his will, wresting the sea from his control.
He raised Riptide, ready to fight, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. Several dozen warriors lowered their spears and made a ring around them, wisely keeping out of striking distance of Percy’s sword. The dolphin-men opened their snouts and made whistling, popping noises. Percy had never considered just how vicious dolphin teeth looked.
He tried to think. Maybe he could break out of the circle and destroy a few invaders, but not without the others skewering him and Annabeth.
At least the warriors didn’t seem interested in killing them immediately. They kept Percy and Annabeth contained while more of their comrades flooded belowdecks and secured the hull. Percy could hear them breaking down the cabin doors, scuffling with his friends. Even if the other demigods hadn’t been fast asleep, they wouldn’t have stood a chance against so many.
Leo was dragged across the deck, half-conscious and groaning, and dumped on a pile of ropes. Below, the sounds of fighting tapered off. Either the others had been subdued or … or Percy refused to think about it.
On one side of the ring of spears, the dolphin warriors parted to let someone through. He appeared to be fully human,
but, from the way the dolphins fell back before him, he was clearly the leader. He was dressed in Greek combat armour – sandals, kilt and greaves, a breastplate decorated with elaborate sea-monster designs – and everything he wore was gold. Even his sword, a Greek blade like Riptide, was gold instead of bronze.
The golden boy, Percy thought, remembering his dream. They’ll have to get past the golden boy.
What really made Percy nervous was the guy’s helmet. His visor was a full face mask fashioned like a gorgon’s head – curved tusks, horrible features pinched into a snarl and golden snake hair curling around the face. Percy had met gorgons before. The likeness was good – a little too good for his taste.
Annabeth turned so she was shoulder to shoulder with Percy. He wanted to put his arm around her protectively, but he doubted she’d appreciate the gesture, and he didn’t want to give this golden guy any indication that Annabeth was his girlfriend. No sense giving the enemy more leverage than they already had.
‘Who are you?’ Percy demanded. ‘What do you want?’
The golden warrior chuckled. With a flick of his blade, faster than Percy could follow, he smacked Riptide out of Percy’s hand and sent it flying into the sea.
He might as well have thrown Percy’s lungs into the sea, because suddenly Percy couldn’t breathe. He’d never been disarmed so easily.
‘Hello, brother.’ The golden warrior’s voice was rich and velvety, with an exotic accent – Middle Eastern, maybe – that seemed vaguely familiar. ‘Always happy to rob a fellow son of Poseidon. I am Chrysaor, the Golden Sword. As for what I want …’ He turned his metal mask towards Annabeth. ‘Well, that’s easy. I want everything you have.’
XXX
Percy
Percy’s heart did jumping jacks while Chrysaor walked back and forth, inspecting them like prized cattle. A dozen of his dolphin-man warriors stayed in a ring around them, spears levelled at Percy’s chest, while dozens more ransacked the ship, banging and crashing around belowdecks. One carried a box of ambrosia up the stairs. Another carried an armful of ballista bolts and a crate of Greek fire.
‘Careful with that!’ Annabeth warned. ‘It’ll blow up both our ships.’
‘Ha!’ Chrysaor said. ‘We know all about Greek fire, girl. Don’t worry. We’ve been looting and pillaging ships on the Mare Nostrum for aeons.’
‘Your accent sounds familiar,’ Percy said. ‘Have we met?’
‘I haven’t had the pleasure.’ Chrysaor’s golden gorgon mask snarled at him, though it was impossible to tell what his real expression might be underneath. ‘But I’ve heard all about you, Percy Jackson. Oh, yes, the young man who saved Olympus. And his faithful sidekick, Annabeth Chase.’
‘I’m nobody’s sidekick,’ Annabeth growled. ‘And, Percy, his accent sounds familiar because he sounds like his mother. We killed her in New Jersey.’
Percy frowned. ‘I’m pretty sure that accent isn’t New Jersey. Who’s his –? Oh.’
It all fell into place. Aunty Em’s Garden Gnome Emporium – the lair of Medusa. She’d talked with that same accent, at least until Percy had cut off her head.
‘Medusa is your mom?’ he asked. ‘Dude, that sucks for you.’
Judging from the sound in Chrysaor’s throat, he was now snarling under the mask, too.
‘You are as arrogant as the first Perseus,’ Chrysaor said. ‘But, yes, Percy Jackson. Poseidon was my father. Medusa was my mother. After Medusa was changed into a monster by that so-called goddess of wisdom …’ The golden mask turned on Annabeth. ‘That would be your mother, I believe … Medusa’s two children were trapped inside her, unable to be born. When the original Perseus cut off Medusa’s head –’
‘Two children sprang out,’ Annabeth remembered. ‘Pegasus and you.’
Percy blinked. ‘So your brother is a winged horse. But you’re also my half brother, which means all the flying horses in the world are my … You know what? Let’s forget it.’
He’d learned years ago it was better not to dwell too much on who was related to whom on the godly side of things. After Tyson the Cyclops adopted him as a brother, Percy decided that that was about as far as he wanted to extend the family.
‘But if you’re Medusa’s kid,’ he said, ‘why haven’t I ever heard of you?’
Chrysaor sighed in exasperation. ‘When your brother is Pegasus, you get used to being forgotten. Oh, look, a winged horse! Does anyone care about me? No!’ He raised the tip of his blade to Percy’s eyes. ‘But don’t underestimate me. My name means the Golden Sword for a reason.’
‘Imperial gold?’ Percy guessed.
‘Bah! Enchanted gold, yes. Later on, the Romans called it Imperial gold, but I was the first to ever wield such a blade. I should have been the most famous hero of all time! Since the legend-tellers decided to ignore me, I became a villain instead. I resolved to put my heritage to use. As the son of Medusa, I would inspire terror. As the son of Poseidon, I would rule the seas!’
‘You became a pirate,’ Annabeth summed up.
Chrysaor spread his arms, which was fine with Percy since it got the sword point away from his eyes.
‘The best pirate,’ Chrysaor said. ‘I’ve sailed these waters for centuries, waylaying any demigods foolish enough to explore the Mare Nostrum. This is my territory now. And all you have is mine.’
One of the dolphin warriors dragged Coach Hedge up from below.
‘Let me go, you tuna fish!’ Hedge bellowed. He tried to kick the warrior, but his hoof clanged off his captor’s armour. Judging from the hoof-shaped prints in the dolphin’s breastplate and helmet, the coach had already made several attempts.
‘Ah, a satyr,’ Chrysaor mused. ‘A little old and stringy, but Cyclopes will pay well for a morsel like him. Chain him up.’
‘I’m nobody’s goat meat!’ Hedge protested.
‘Gag him as well,’ Chrysaor decided.
‘Why you gilded little –’ Hedge’s insult was cut short when the dolphin put a greasy wad of canvas in his mouth. Soon the coach was trussed like a rodeo calf and dumped with the other loot – crates of food, extra weapons, even the magical ice chest from the mess hall.
‘You can’t do this!’ Annabeth shouted.
Chrysaor’s laughter reverberated inside his gold face mask. Percy wondered if he was horribly disfigured under there, or if his gaze could petrify people the way his mother’s could.
‘I can do anything I want,’ Chrysaor said. ‘My warriors have been trained to perfection. They are vicious, cut-throat –’
‘Dolphins,’ Percy noted.
Chrysaor shrugged. ‘Yes. So? They had some bad luck a few millennia ago, kidnapped the wrong person. Some of their crew got turned completely into dolphins. Others went mad. But these … these survived as hybrid creatures. When I found them under the sea and offered them a new life, they became my loyal crew. They fear nothing!’
One of the warriors chattered at him nervously.
‘Yes, yes,’ Chrysaor growled. ‘They fear one thing, but it hardly matters. He’s not here.’
An idea began tickling at the base of Percy’s skull. Before he could pursue it, more dolphin warriors climbed the stairs, hauling up the rest of his friends. Jason was unconscious. Judging from the new bruises on his face, he’d tried to fight. Hazel and Piper were bound hand and foot. Piper had a gag in her mouth, so apparently the dolphins had discovered she could charmspeak. Frank was the only one missing, though two of the dolphins had bee stings covering their faces.
Could Frank actually turn into a swarm of bees? Percy hoped so. If he was free aboard the ship somewhere, that could be an advantage, assuming Percy could figure out how to communicate with him.
‘Excellent!’ Chrysaor gloated. He directed his warriors to dump Jason by the crossbows. Then he examined the girls like they were Christmas presents, which made Percy grit his teeth.
‘The boy is no use to me,’ Chrysaor said. ‘But we have an understanding with the witch Circe. She will buy the women –
either as slaves or trainees, depending on their skill. But not you, lovely Annabeth.’
Annabeth recoiled. ‘You are not taking me anywhere.’
Percy’s hand crept to his pocket. His pen had appeared back in his jeans. He only needed a moment’s distraction to draw his sword. Maybe, if he could take down Chrysaor quickly, his crew would panic.
He wished he knew something about Chrysaor’s weaknesses. Usually Annabeth provided him with information like that, but apparently Chrysaor didn’t have any legends, so they were both in the dark.
The golden warrior tutted. ‘Oh, sadly, Annabeth, you will not be staying with me. I would love that. But you and your friend Percy are spoken for. A certain goddess is paying a high bounty for your capture – alive, if possible, though she didn’t say you had to be unharmed.’
At that moment, Piper caused the disturbance they needed. She wailed so loudly it could be heard through her gag. Then she fainted against the nearest guard, knocking him over. Hazel got the idea and crumpled to the deck, kicking her legs and thrashing like she was having a fit.
Percy drew Riptide and lashed out. The blade should have gone straight through Chrysaor’s neck, but the golden warrior was unbelievably fast. He dodged and parried as the dolphin warriors backed up, guarding the other captives while giving their captain room to battle. They chattered and squeaked, egging him on, and Percy got the sinking suspicion the crew was used to this sort of entertainment. They didn’t feel their leader was in any sort of danger.
Percy hadn’t crossed swords with an opponent like this since … well, since he’d battled the war god Ares. Chrysaor was that good. Many of Percy’s powers had got stronger over the years, but now, too late, Percy realized that swordplay wasn’t one of them.
He was rusty – at least against an adversary like Chrysaor.
They battled back and forth, thrusting and parrying. Without meaning to, Percy heard the voice of Luke Castellan, his first sword-fighting mentor at Camp Half-Blood, throwing out suggestions. But it didn’t help.
