by Rick Riordan
As she watched Jason work, she admired how easily he did each task, whether it was fixing a door or oiling saddles. It wasn’t just his strong arms and his skillful hands, though Piper liked those just fine, but the way he acted so upbeat and confident. He did what needed to be done without complaint. He kept his sense of humor, despite the fact that the guy had to be dead on his feet after not having slept the night before. Piper couldn’t blame Reyna for having a crush on him. When it came to work and duty, Jason was Roman to the core.
Piper thought about her mother’s tea party in Charleston. She wondered what the goddess had told Reyna a year ago, and why it had changed the way Reyna treated Jason. Had Aphrodite encouraged or discouraged her to like Jason?
Piper wasn’t sure, but she wished her mom hadn’t appeared in Charleston. Regular mothers were embarrassing enough. Godly glamour moms who invited your friends over for tea and guy talk—that was just mortifying.
Aphrodite had paid so much attention to Annabeth and Hazel, it had made Piper uneasy. When her mom got interested in somebody’s love life, usually that was a bad sign. It meant trouble was coming. Or as Aphrodite would say, twists and turns.
But also, Piper was secretly hurt not to have her mother to herself. Aphrodite had barely looked at her. She hadn’t said a word about Jason. She hadn’t bothered explaining her conversation with Reyna at all.
It was almost as if Aphrodite no longer found Piper interesting. Piper had gotten her guy. Now it was up to her to make things work, and Aphrodite had moved on to newer gossip as easily as she might toss out an old copy of a tabloid magazine.
All of you are such excellent stories, Aphrodite had said. I mean, girls.
Piper hadn’t appreciated that, but part of her had thought: Fine. I don’t want to be a story. I want a nice steady life with a nice steady boyfriend.
If only she knew more about making relationships work. She was supposed to be an expert, being the head counselor for Aphrodite cabin. Other campers at Camp Half-Blood came to her for advice all the time. Piper had tried to do her best, but with her own boyfriend, she was clueless. She was constantly second-guessing herself, reading too much into Jason’s expressions, his moods, his offhand comments. Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn’t there be a happily-ever-after ride-into-the-sunset feeling all the time?
“What are you thinking?” Jason asked.
Piper realized she’d been making a sour face. In the reflection of the glass bay doors, she looked like she’d swallowed a teaspoon of salt.
“Nothing,” she said. “I mean…a lot of things. Kind of all at once.”
Jason laughed. The scar on his lip almost disappeared when he smiled. Considering all the stuff he’d been through, it was amazing that he could be in such a good mood.
“It’s going to work out,” he promised. “You said so yourself.”
“Yeah,” Piper agreed. “Except I was just saying that to make Annabeth feel better.”
Jason shrugged. “Still, it’s true. We’re almost to the ancient lands. We’ve left the Romans behind.”
“And now they’re on their way to Camp Half-Blood to attack our friends.”
Jason hesitated, as if it was hard for him to put a positive spin on that. “Chiron will find a way to stall them. The Romans might take weeks to actually find the camp and plan their attack. Besides, Reyna will do what she can to slow things down. She’s still on our side. I know she is.”
“You trust her.” Piper’s voice sounded hollow, even to herself.
“Look, Pipes. I told you, you’ve got nothing to be jealous about.”
“She’s beautiful. She’s powerful. She’s so…Roman.”
Jason put down his hammer. He took her hand, which sent a tingle up her arm. Piper’s dad had once taken her to the Aquarium of the Pacific and shown her an electric eel. He told her that the eel sent out pulses that shocked and paralyzed its prey. Every time Jason looked at her or touched her hand, Piper felt like that.
“You’re beautiful and powerful,” he said. “And I don’t want you to be Roman. I want you to be Piper. Besides, we’re a team, you and me.”
She wanted to believe him. They’d been together, really, for months now. Still, she couldn’t get rid of her doubts, any more than Jason could get rid of the SPQR tattoo burned on his forearm.
Above them, the ship’s bell rang for dinner.
Jason smirked. “We’d better get up there. We don’t want Coach Hedge tying bells around our necks.”
Piper shuddered. Coach Hedge had threatened to do that after the Percy/Annabeth scandal, so he’d know if anyone sneaked out at night.
“Yeah,” she said regretfully, looking at the glass doors below their feet. “I guess we need dinner…and a good night’s sleep.”
T HE NEXT MORNING P IPER WOKE to a different ship’s horn—a blast so loud it literally shook her out of bed.
She wondered if Leo was pulling another joke. Then the horn boomed again. It sounded like it was coming from several hundred yards away—from another vessel.
She rushed to get dressed. By the time she got up on deck, the others had already gathered—all hastily dressed except for Coach Hedge, who had pulled the night watch.
Frank’s Vancouver Winter Olympics shirt was inside out. Percy wore pajama pants and a bronze breastplate, which was an interesting fashion statement. Hazel’s hair was all blown to one side, as though she’d walked through a cyclone; and Leo had accidentally set himself on fire. His T-shirt was in charred tatters. His arms were smoking.
About a hundred yards to port, a massive cruise ship glided past. Tourists waved at them from fifteen or sixteen rows of balconies. Some smiled and took pictures. None of them looked surprised to see an Ancient Greek trireme. Maybe the Mist made it look like a fishing boat, or perhaps the cruisers thought the Argo II was a tourist attraction.
The cruise ship blew its horn again, and the Argo II had a shaking fit.
Coach Hedge plugged his ears. “Do they have to be so loud?”
“They’re just saying hi,” Frank speculated.
“WHAT?” Hedge yelled back.
The ship edged past them, heading out to sea. The tourists kept waving. If they found it strange that the Argo II was populated by half-asleep kids in armor and pajamas and a man with goat legs, they didn’t let on.
“Bye!” Leo called, raising his smoking hand.
“Can I man the ballistae?” Hedge asked.
“No,” Leo said through a forced smile.
Hazel rubbed her eyes and looked across the glittering green water. “Where are—oh…Wow.”
Piper followed her gaze and gasped. Without the cruise ship blocking their view, she saw a mountain jutting from the sea less than half a mile to the north. Piper had seen impressive cliffs before. She’d driven Highway 1 along the California coast. She’d even fallen down the Grand Canyon with Jason and flown back up. But neither was as amazing as this massive fist of blinding white rock thrust into the sky. On one side, the limestone cliffs were almost completely sheer, dropping into the sea over a thousand feet below, as near as Piper could figure. On the other side, the mountain sloped in tiers, covered in green forest, so that the whole thing reminded Piper of a colossal sphinx, worn down over the millennia, with a massive white head and chest, and a green cloak over its back.
“The Rock of Gibraltar,” Annabeth said in awe. “At the tip of Spain. And over there—” She pointed south, to a more distant stretch of red and ochre hills. “That must be Africa. We’re at the mouth of the Mediterranean.”
The morning was warm, but Piper shivered. Despite the wide stretch of sea in front of them, she felt like she was standing at an impassable barrier. Once in the Mediterranean—the Mare Nostrum—they would be in the ancient lands. If the legends were true, their quest would become ten times more dangerous.
“What now?” she asked. “Do we just sail in?”
“Why not?” Leo said. “It’s a big shipping channel. Boats go in and out all the ti
me.”
Not triremes full of demigods, Piper thought.
Annabeth gazed at the Rock of Gibraltar. Piper recognized that brooding expression on her friend’s face. It almost always meant that she anticipated trouble.
“In the old days,” Annabeth said, “they called this area the pillars of Hercules. The Rock was supposed to be one pillar. The other was one of the African mountains. Nobody is sure which one.”
“Hercules, huh?” Percy frowned. “That guy was like the Starbucks of Ancient Greece. Everywhere you turn—there he is.”
A thunderous boom shook the Argo II, though Piper wasn’t sure where it came from this time. She didn’t see any other ships, and the skies were clear.
Her mouth suddenly felt dry. “So…these Pillars of Hercules. Are they dangerous?”
Annabeth stayed focused on the white cliffs, as if waiting for the Mark of Athena to blaze to life. “For Greeks, the pillars marked the end of the known world. The Romans said the pillars were inscribed with a Latin warning—”
“Non plus ultra,” Percy said.
Annabeth looked stunned. “Yeah. Nothing Further Beyond. How did you know?”
Percy pointed. “Because I’m looking at it.”
Directly ahead of them, in the middle of the straits, an island had shimmered into existence. Piper was positive no island had been there before. It was a small hilly mass of land, covered in forests and ringed with white beaches. Not very impressive compared to Gibraltar, but in front of the island, jutting from waves about a hundred yards offshore, were two white Grecian columns as tall as the Argo’s masts. Between the columns, huge silver words glittered underwater—maybe an illusion, or maybe inlaid in the sand: NON PLUS ULTRA.
“Guys, do I turn around?” Leo asked nervously. “Or…”
No one answered—maybe because, like Piper, they had noticed the figure standing on the beach. As the ship approached the columns, she saw a dark-haired man in purple robes, his arms crossed, staring intently at their ship as if he were expecting them. Piper couldn’t tell much else about him from this distance, but judging from his posture, he wasn’t happy.
Frank inhaled sharply. “Could that be—?”
“Hercules,” Jason said. “The most powerful demigod of all time.”
The Argo II was only a few hundred yards from the columns now.
“Need an answer,” Leo said urgently. “I can turn, or we can take off. The stabilizers are working again. But I need to know quick—”
“We have to keep going,” Annabeth said. “I think he’s guarding these straits. If that’s really Hercules, sailing or flying away wouldn’t do any good. He’ll want to talk to us.”
Piper resisted the urge to use charmspeak. She wanted to yell at Leo: Fly! Get us out of here! Unfortunately, she had a feeling that Annabeth was right. If they wanted to pass into the Mediterranean, they couldn’t avoid this meeting.
“Won’t Hercules be on our side?” she asked hopefully. “I mean…he’s one of us, right?”
Jason grunted. “He was a son of Zeus, but when he died, he became a god. You can never be sure with gods.”
Piper remembered their meeting with Bacchus in Kansas—another god who used to be a demigod. He hadn’t been exactly helpful.
“Great,” Percy said. “Seven of us against Hercules.”
“And a satyr!” Hedge added. “We can take him.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Annabeth said. “We send ambassadors ashore. A small group—one or two at most. Try to talk with him.”
“I’ll go,” Jason said. “He’s a son of Zeus. I’m the son of Jupiter. Maybe he’ll be friendly to me.”
“Or maybe he’ll hate you,” Percy suggested. “Half brothers don’t always get along.”
Jason scowled. “Thank you, Mr. Optimism.”
“It’s worth a shot,” Annabeth said. “At least Jason and Hercules have something in common. And we need our best diplomat. Somebody who’s good with words.”
All eyes turned to Piper.
She tried to avoid screaming and jumping over the side. A bad premonition gnawed at her gut. But if Jason was going ashore, she wanted to be with him. Maybe this hugely powerful god would turn out to be helpful. They had to have good luck once in a while, didn’t they?
“Fine,” she said. “Just let me change my clothes.”
Once Leo had anchored the Argo II between the pillars, Jason summoned the wind to carry him and Piper ashore.
The man in purple was waiting for them.
Piper had heard tons of stories about Hercules. She’d seen several cheesy movies and cartoons. Before today, if she had thought about him at all, she’d just roll her eyes and imagine some stupid hairy dude in his thirties with a barrel chest and a gross hippie beard, with a lion skin over his head and a big club, like a caveman. She imagined he would smell bad, belch, and scratch himself a lot, and speak mostly in grunts.
She was not expecting this.
His feet were bare, covered in white sand. His robes made him look like a priest, though Piper couldn’t remember which rank of priest wore purple. Was that cardinals? Bishops? And did the purple color mean he was the Roman version of Hercules rather than the Greek? His beard was fashionably scruffy, like Piper’s dad and his actor friends wore theirs—the sort of I just happened not to shave for two days and I still look awesome look.
He was well built, but not too stocky. His ebony hair was close-cropped, Roman style. He had startling blue eyes like Jason’s, but his skin was coppery, as if he’d spent his entire life on a tanning bed. The most surprising thing: he looked about twenty. Definitely no older. He was handsome in a rugged but not-at-all-caveman way.
He did in fact have a club, which lay in the sand next to him, but it was more like an oversized baseball bat—a five-foot-long polished cylinder of mahogany with a leather handgrip studded in bronze. Coach Hedge would have been jealous.
Jason and Piper landed at the edge of the surf. They approached slowly, careful not to make any threatening moves. Hercules watched them with no particular emotion, as if they were some form of seabird he had never noticed before.
“Hello,” Piper said. Always a good start.
“What’s up?” Hercules said. His voice was deep but casual, very modern. He could’ve been greeting them in the high school locker room.
“Uh, not much.” Piper winced. “Well, actually, a lot. I’m Piper. This is Jason. We—”
“Where’s your lion skin?” Jason interrupted.
Piper wanted to elbow him, but Hercules looked more amused than annoyed.
“It’s ninety degrees out here,” he said. “Why would I wear my lion skin? Do you wear a fur coat to the beach?”
“I guess that makes sense.” Jason sounded disappointed. “It’s just that the pictures always show you with a lion skin.”
Hercules glared at the sky accusingly, like he wanted to have words with his father, Zeus. “Don’t believe everything you hear about me. Being famous isn’t as fun as you might think.”
“Tell me about it,” Piper sighed.
Hercules fixed those brilliant blue eyes on her. “Are you famous?”
“My dad…he’s in the movies.”
Hercules snarled. “Don’t get me started with the movies. Gods of Olympus, they never get anything right. Have you seen one movie about me where I look like me?”
Piper had to admit he had a point. “I’m surprised you’re so young.”
“Ha! Being immortal helps. But, yes, I wasn’t so old when I died. Not by modern standards. I did a lot during my years as a hero…too much, really.” His eyes drifted to Jason. “Son of Zeus, eh?”
“Jupiter,” Jason said.
“Not much difference,” Hercules grumbled. “Dad’s annoying in either form. Me? I was called Heracles. Then the Romans came along and named me Hercules. I didn’t really change that much, though lately just thinking about it gives me splitting headaches…”
The left side of his face twitched. His rob
es shimmered, momentarily turning white, then back to purple.
“At any rate,” Hercules said, “if you’re Jupiter’s son, you might understand. It’s a lot of pressure. Enough is never enough. Eventually it can make a guy snap.”
He turned to Piper. She felt like a thousand ants were crawling up her back. There was a mixture of sadness and darkness in his eyes that seemed not quite sane, and definitely not safe.
“As for you, my dear,” Hercules said, “be careful. Sons of Zeus can be…well, never mind.”
Piper wasn’t sure what that meant. Suddenly she wanted to get as far from this god as possible, but she tried to maintain a calm, polite expression.
“So, Lord Hercules,” she said, “we’re on a quest. We’d like permission to pass into the Mediterranean.”
Hercules shrugged. “That’s why I’m here. After I died, Dad made me the doorkeeper of Olympus. I said, Great! Palace duty! Party all the time! What he didn’t mention is that I’d be guarding the doors to the ancient lands, stuck on this island for the rest of eternity. Lots of fun.”
He pointed at the pillars rising from the surf. “Stupid columns. Some people claim I created the whole Strait of Gibraltar by shoving mountains apart. Some people say the mountains are the pillars. What a bunch of Augean manure. The pillars are pillars.”
“Right,” Piper said. “Naturally. So…can we pass?”
The god scratched his fashionable beard. “Well, I have to give you the standard warning about how dangerous the ancient lands are. Not just any demigod can survive the Mare Nostrum. Because of that, I have to give you a quest to complete. Prove your worth, blah, blah, blah. Honestly, I don’t make a big deal of it. Usually I give demigods something simple like a shopping trip, singing a funny song, that sort of thing. After all those labors I had to complete for my evil cousin Eurystheus, well…I don’t want to be that guy, you know?”
“Appreciate it,” Jason said.
“Hey, no problem.” Hercules sounded relaxed and easygoing, but he still made Piper nervous. That dark glint in his eyes reminded her of charcoal soaked in kerosene, ready to go up at a moment’s notice.
