The Lost Hero hoo-1

by Rick Riordan

  Annabeth hesitated. “Good question, Piper. Come on, I’ll give you a tour. We need to talk.”

  IV

  PIPER

  PIPER SOON REALIZED ANNABETH’S HEART wasn’t in the tour.

  She talked about all this amazing stuff the camp offered—magic archery, pegasus riding, the lava wall, fighting monsters —but she showed no excitement, as if her mind were elsewhere. She pointed out the open-air dining pavilion that overlooked Long Island Sound. (Yes, Long Island, New York; they’d traveled that far on the chariot.) Annabeth explained how Camp Half-Blood was mostly a summer camp, but some kids stayed here year-round, and they’d added so many campers it was always crowded now, even in winter.

  Piper wondered who ran the camp, and how they’d known Piper and her friends belonged here. She wondered if she’d have to stay full-time, or if she’d be any good at the activities. Could you flunk out of monster fighting? A million questions bubbled in her head, but given Annabeth’s mood, she decided to keep quiet.

  As they climbed a hill at the edge of camp, Piper turned and got an amazing view of the valley—a big stretch of woods to the northwest, a beautiful beach, the creek, the canoe lake, lush green fields, and the whole layout of the cabins—a bizarre assortment of buildings arranged like a Greek omega, Ω, with a loop of cabins around a central green, and two wings sticking out the bottom on either side. Piper counted twenty cabins in all. One glowed golden, another silver. One had grass on the roof. Another was bright red with barbed wire trenches. One cabin was black with fiery green torches out front.

  All of it seemed like a different world from the snowy hills and fields outside.

  “The valley is protected from mortal eyes,” Annabeth said. “As you can see, the weather is controlled, too. Each cabin represents a Greek god—a place for that god’s children to live.”

  She looked at Piper like she was trying to judge how Piper was handling the news.

  “You’re saying Mom was a goddess.”

  Annabeth nodded. “You’re taking this awfully calmly.”

  Piper couldn’t tell her why. She couldn’t admit that this just confirmed some weird feelings she’d had for years, arguments she’d had with her father about why there were no photos of Mom in the house, and why Dad would never tell her exactly how or why her mom had left them. But mostly, the dream had warned her this was coming. Soon they will find you, demigod, that voice had rumbled. When they do, follow our directions. Cooperate, and your father might live.

  Piper took a shaky breath. “I guess after this morning, it’s a little easier to believe. So who’s my mom?”

  “We should know soon,” Annabeth said. “You’re what—fifteen? Gods are supposed to claim you when you’re thirteen. That was the deal.”

  “The deal?”

  “They made a promise last summer … well, long story… but they promised not to ignore their demigod children anymore, to claim them by the time they turn thirteen. Sometimes it takes a little longer, but you saw how fast Leo was claimed once he got here. Should happen for you soon. Tonight at the campfire, I bet we’ll get a sign.”

  Piper wondered if she’d have a big flaming hammer over her head, or with her luck, something even more embarrassing. A flaming wombat, maybe. Whoever her mother was, Piper had no reason to think she’d be proud to claim a kleptomaniac daughter with massive problems. “Why thirteen?”

  “The older you get,” Annabeth said, “the more monsters notice you, try to kill you. ’Round thirteen is usually when it starts. That’s why we send protectors into the schools to find you guys, get you to camp before it’s too late.”

  “Like Coach Hedge?”

  Annabeth nodded. “He’s—he was a satyr: half man, half goat. Satyrs work for the camp, finding demigods, protecting them, bringing them in when the time is right.”

  Piper had no trouble believing Coach Hedge was half goat. She’d seen the guy eat. She’d never liked the coach much, but she couldn’t believe he’d sacrificed himself to save them.

  “What happened to him?” she asked. “When we went up into the clouds, did he … is he gone for good?”

  “Hard to say.” Annabeth’s expression was pained. “Storm spirits … difficult to battle. Even our best weapons, Celestial bronze, will pass right through them unless you can catch them by surprise.”

  “Jason’s sword just turned them to dust,” Piper remembered.

  “He was lucky, then. If you hit a monster just right, you can dissolve them, send their essence back to Tartarus.”

  “Tartarus?”

  “A huge abyss in the Underworld, where the worst monsters come from. Kind of like a bottomless pit of evil. Anyway, once monsters dissolve, it usually takes months, even years before they can re-form again. But since this storm spirit Dylan got away—well, I don’t know why he’d keep Hedge alive. Hedge was a protector, though. He knew the risks. Satyrs don’t have mortal souls. He’ll be reincarnated as a tree or a flower or something.”

  Piper tried to imagine Coach Hedge as a clump of very angry pansies. That made her feel even worse.

  She gazed at the cabins below, and an uneasy feeling settled over her. Hedge had died to get her here safely. Her mom’s cabin was down there somewhere, which meant she had brothers and sisters, more people she’d have to betray. Do what we tell you, the voice had said. Or the consequences will be painful. She tucked her hands under her arms, trying to stop them from shaking.

  “It’ll be okay,” Annabeth promised. “You have friends here. We’ve all been through a lot of weird stuff. We know what you’re going through.”

  I doubt that, Piper thought.

  “I’ve been kicked out of five different schools the past five years,” she said. “My dad’s running out of places to put me.”

  “Only five?” Annabeth didn’t sound like she was teasing. “Piper, we’ve all been labeled troublemakers. I ran away from home when I was seven.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Oh, yeah. Most of us are diagnosed with attention deficit disorder or dyslexia, or both—”

  “Leo’s ADHD,” Piper said.

  “Right. It’s because we’re hardwired for battle. Restless, impulsive—we don’t fit in with regular kids. You should hear how much trouble Percy—” Her face darkened. “Anyway, demigods get a bad rep. How’d you get in trouble?”

  Usually when someone asked that question, Piper started a fight, or changed the subject, or caused some kind of distraction. But for some reason she found herself telling the truth.

  “I steal stuff,” she said. “Well, not really steal …”

  “Is your family poor?”

  Piper laughed bitterly. “Not even. I did it … I don’t know why. For attention, I guess. My dad never had time for me unless I got in trouble.”

  Annabeth nodded. “I can relate. But you said you didn’t really steal? What do you mean?”

  “Well … nobody ever believes me. The police, teachers—even the people I took stuff from: they’re so embarrassed, they’ll deny what happened. But the truth is, I don’t steal anything. I just ask people for things. And they give me stuff. Even a BMW convertible. I just asked. And the dealer said, ‘Sure. Take it.’ Later, he realized what he’d done, I guess. Then the police came after me.”

  Piper waited. She was used to people calling her a liar, but when she looked up, Annabeth just nodded.

  “Interesting. If your dad were the god, I’d say you’re a child of Hermes, god of thieves. He can be pretty convincing. But your dad is mortal…”

  “Very,” Piper agreed.

  Annabeth shook her head, apparently mystified. “I don’t know, then. With luck, your mom will claim you tonight.”

  Piper almost hoped it wouldn’t happen. If her mom were a goddess, would she know about that dream? Would she know what Piper had been asked to do? Piper wondered if Olympian gods ever blasted their kids with lightning for being evil, or grounded them in the Underworld.

  Annabeth was studying her. Piper dec
ided she was going to have to be careful what she said from now on. Annabeth was obviously pretty smart. If anyone could figure out Piper’s secret …

  “Come on,” Annabeth said at last. “There’s something else I need to check.”

  They hiked a little farther until they reached a cave near the top of the hill. Bones and old swords littered the ground. Torches flanked the entrance, which was covered in a velvet curtain embroidered with snakes. It looked like the set for some kind of twisted puppet show.

  “What’s in there?” Piper asked.

  Annabeth poked her head inside, then sighed and closed the curtains. “Nothing, right now. A friend’s place. I’ve been expecting her for a few days, but so far, nothing.”

  “Your friend lives in a cave?”

  Annabeth almost managed a smile. “Actually, her family has a luxury condo in Queens, and she goes to a finishing school in Connecticut. But when she’s here at camp, yeah, she lives in the cave. She’s our oracle, tells the future. I was hoping she could help me—”

  “Find Percy,” Piper guessed.

  All the energy drained out of Annabeth, like she’d been holding it together for as long as she could. She sat down on a rock, and her expression was so full of pain, Piper felt like a voyeur.

  She forced herself to look away. Her eyes drifted to the crest of the hill, where a single pine tree dominated the skyline. Something glittered in its lowest branch—like a fuzzy gold bath mat.

  No … not a bath mat. It was a sheep’s fleece.

  Okay, Piper thought. Greek camp. They’ve got a replica of the Golden Fleece.

  Then she noticed the base of the tree. At first she thought it was wrapped in a pile of massive purple cables. But the cables had reptilian scales, clawed feet, and a snakelike head with yellow eyes and smoking nostrils.

  “That’s—a dragon,” she stammered. “That’s the actual Golden Fleece?”

  Annabeth nodded, but it was clear she wasn’t really listening. Her shoulders drooped. She rubbed her face and took a shaky breath. “Sorry. A little tired.”

  “You look ready to drop,” Piper said. “How long have been searching for your boyfriend?”

  “Three days, six hours, and about twelve minutes.”

  “And you’ve got no idea what happened to him?”

  Annabeth shook her head miserably. “We were so excited because we both started winter break early. We met up at camp on Tuesday, figured we had three weeks together. It was going to be great. Then after the campfire, he—he kissed me good night, went back to his cabin, and in the morning, he was gone. We searched the whole camp. We contacted his mom. We’ve tried to reach him every way we know how. Nothing. He just disappeared.”

  Piper was thinking: Three days ago. The same night she’d had her dream. “How long were you guys together?”

  “Since August,” Annabeth said. “August eighteenth.”

  “Almost exactly when I met Jason,” Piper said. “But we’ve only been together a few weeks.”

  Annabeth winced. “Piper … about that. Maybe you should sit down.”

  Piper knew where this was going. Panic started building inside her, like her lungs were filling with water. “Look, I know Jason thought—he thought he just appeared at our school today. But that’s not true. I’ve known him for four months.”

  “Piper,” Annabeth said sadly. “It’s the Mist.”

  “Missed … what?”

  “M-i-s-t. It’s a kind of veil separating the mortal world from the magic world. Mortal minds—they can’t process strange stuff like gods and monsters, so the Mist bends reality. It makes mortals see things in a way they can understand —like their eyes might just skip over this valley completely, or they might look at that dragon and see a pile of cables.”

  Piper swallowed. “No. You said yourself I’m not a regular mortal. I’m a demigod.”

  “Even demigods can be affected. I’ve seen it lots of times. Monsters infiltrate some place like a school, pass themselves off as human, and everyone thinks they remember that person. They believe he’s always been around. The Mist can change memories, even create memories of things that never happened—”

  “But Jason’s not a monster!” Piper insisted. “He’s a human guy, or demigod, or whatever you want to call him. My memories aren’t fake. They’re so real. The time we set Coach Hedge’s pants on fire. The time Jason and I watched a meteor shower on the dorm roof and I finally got the stupid guy to kiss me....”

  She found herself rambling, telling Annabeth about her whole semester at Wilderness School. She’d liked Jason from the first week they’d met. He was so nice to her, and so patient, he could even put up with hyperactive Leo and his stupid jokes. He’d accepted her for herself and didn’t judge her because of the stupid things she’d done. They’d spent hours talking, looking at the stars, and eventually—finally—holding hands. All that couldn’t be fake.

  Annabeth pursed her lips. “Piper, your memories are a lot sharper than most. I’ll admit that, and I don’t know why that is. But if you know him so well—”

  “I do!”

  “Then where is he from?”

  Piper felt like she’d been hit between the eyes. “He must have told me, but—”

  “Did you ever notice his tattoo before today? Did he ever tell you anything about his parents, or his friends, or his last school?”

  “I—I don’t know, but—”

  “Piper, what’s his last name?”

  Her mind went blank. She didn’t know Jason’s last name. How could that be?

  She started to cry. She felt like a total fool, but she sat down on the rock next to Annabeth and just fell to pieces. It was too much. Did everything that was good in her stupid, miserable life have to be taken away?

  Yes, the dream had told her. Yes, unless you do exactly what we say.

  “Hey,” Annabeth said. “We’ll figure it out. Jason’s here now. Who knows? Maybe it’ll work out with you guys for real.”

  Not likely, Piper thought. Not if the dream had told her the truth. But she couldn’t say that.

  She brushed a tear from her cheek. “You brought me up here so no one would see me blubbering, huh?”

  Annabeth shrugged. “I figured it would be hard for you. I know what it’s like to lose your boyfriend.”

  “But I still can’t believe … I know we had something. And now it’s just gone, like he doesn’t even recognize me. If he really did just show up today, then why? How’d he get there? Why can’t he remember anything?”

  “Good questions,” Annabeth said. “Hopefully Chiron can figure that out. But for now, we need to get you settled. You ready to go back down?”

  Piper gazed at the crazy assortment of cabins in the valley. Her new home, a family who supposedly understood her—but soon they’d be just another bunch of people she’d disappointed, just another place she’d been kicked out of. You’ll betray them for us, the voice had warned. Or you’ll lose everything.

  She didn’t have a choice.

  “Yeah,” she lied. “I’m ready.”

  On the central green, a group of campers was playing basketball. They were incredible shots. Nothing bounced off the rim. Three-pointers went in automatically.

  “Apollo’s cabin,” Annabeth explained. “Bunch of showoffs with missile weapons—arrows, basketballs.”

  They walked past a central fire pit, where two guys were hacking at each other with swords.

  “Real blades?” Piper noted. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “That’s sort of the point,” Annabeth said. “Uh, sorry. Bad pun. That’s my cabin over there. Number Six.” She nodded to a gray building with a carved owl over the door. Through the open doorway, Piper could see bookshelves, weapon displays, and one of those computerized SMART Boards they have in classrooms. Two girls were drawing a map that looked like a battle diagram.

  “Speaking of blades,” Annabeth said, “come here.”

  She led Piper around the side of the cabin, to a big met
al shed that looked like it was meant for gardening tools. Annabeth unlocked it, and inside were not gardening tools, unless you wanted to make war on your tomato plants. The shed was lined with all sorts of weapons—from swords to spears to clubs like Coach Hedge’s.

  “Every demigod needs a weapon,” Annabeth said. “Hephaestus makes the best, but we have a pretty good selection, too. Athena’s all about strategy—matching the right weapon to the right person. Let’s see …”

  Piper didn’t feel much like shopping for deadly objects, but she knew Annabeth was trying to do something nice for her.

  Annabeth handed her a massive sword, which Piper could hardly lift.

  “No,” they both said at once.

  Annabeth rummaged a little farther in the shed and brought out something else.

  “A shotgun?” Piper asked.

  “Mossberg 500.” Annabeth checked the pump action like it was no big deal. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt humans. It’s modified to shoot Celestial bronze, so it only kills monsters.”

  “Um, I don’t think that’s my style,” Piper said.

  “Mmm, yeah,” Annabeth agreed. “Too flashy.”

  She put the shotgun back and started poking through a rack of crossbows when something in the corner of the shed caught Piper’s eye.

  “What is that?” she said. “A knife?”

  Annabeth dug it out and blew the dust off the scabbard. It looked like it hadn’t seen the light of day in centuries.

  “I don’t know, Piper.” Annabeth sounded uneasy. “I don’t think you want this one. Swords are usually better.”

  “You use a knife.” Piper pointed to the one strapped to Annabeth’s belt.

  “Yeah, but …” Annabeth shrugged. “Well, take a look if you want.”

  The sheath was worn black leather, bound in bronze. Nothing fancy, nothing flashy. The polished wood handle fit beautifully in Piper’s hand. When she unsheathed it, she found a triangular blade eighteen inches long—bronze gleaming like it had been polished yesterday. The edges were deadly sharp. Her reflection in the blade caught her by surprise. She looked older, more serious, not as scared as she felt.