The thing about plummeting downhill at fifty miles an hour on a snack platter—if you realize it’s a bad idea when you’re halfway down, it’s too late.
Percy narrowly missed a tree, glanced off a boulder, and spun a three- sixty as he shot toward the highway. The stupid snack tray did not have power steering. He heard the gorgon sisters screaming and caught a glimpse of Euryale’s coral-snake hair at the top of the hill, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. The roof of the apartment building loomed below him like the prow of a battleship. Head-on collision in ten, nine, eight…
He managed to swivel sideways to avoid breaking his legs on impact. The snack platter skittered across the roof and sailed through the air. The platter went one way. Percy went the other.
As he fell toward the highway, a horrible scenario flashed through his mind: his body smashing against an SUV’s windshield, some annoyed commuter trying to push him off with the wipers. Stupid sixteen-year-old kid falling from the sky! I’m late!
Miraculously, a gust of wind blew him to one side—just enough to miss the highway and crash into a clump of bushes. It wasn’t a soft landing, but it was better than asphalt.
Percy groaned. He wanted to lie there and pass out, but he had to keep moving.
He struggled to his feet. His hands were scratched up, but no bones seemed to be broken. He still had his backpack. Somewhere on the sled ride
he’d lost his sword, but Percy knew it would eventually reappear in his pocket in pen form. That was part of its magic.
He glanced up the hill. The gorgons were hard to miss, with their colorful snake hair and their bright green Bargain Mart vests. They were picking their way down the slope, going slower than Percy but with a lot more control. Those chicken feet must’ve been good for climbing. Percy figured he had maybe five minutes before they reached him.
Next to him, a tall chain-link fence separated the highway from a neighborhood of winding streets, cozy houses, and tall eucalyptus trees. The fence was probably there to keep people from getting onto the highway and doing stupid things—like sledding into the fast lane on snack trays—but the chain-link was full of big holes. Percy could easily slip through into the neighborhood. Maybe he could find a car and drive west to the ocean. He didn’t like stealing cars, but over the past few weeks, in life-and-death situations, he’d “borrowed” several, including a police cruiser. He’d meant to return them, but they never seemed to last very long.
He glanced east. Just as he’d figured, a hundred yards uphill the highway cut through the base of the cliff. Two tunnel entrances, one for each direction of traffic, stared down at him like eye sockets of a giant skull. In the middle, where the nose would have been, a cement wall jutted from the hillside, with a metal door like the entrance to a bunker.
It might have been a maintenance tunnel. That’s probably what mortals thought, if they noticed the door at all. But they couldn’t see through the Mist. Percy knew the door was more than that.
Two kids in armor flanked the entrance. They wore a bizarre mix of plumed Roman helmets, breastplates, scabbards, blue jeans, purple T-shirts, and white athletic shoes. The guard on the right looked like a girl, though it was hard to tell for sure with all the armor. The one on the left was a stocky guy with a bow and quiver on his back. Both kids held long wooden staffs with iron spear tips, like old-fashioned harpoons.
Percy’s internal radar was pinging like crazy. After so many horrible
days, he’d finally reached his goal. His instincts told him that if he could make it inside that door, he might find safety for the first time since the wolves had sent him south.
So why did he feel such dread?
Farther up the hill, the gorgons were scrambling over the roof of the apartment complex. Three minutes away—maybe less.
Part of him wanted to run to the door in the hill. He’d have to cross to the median of the highway, but then it would be a short sprint. He could make it before the gorgons reached him.
Part of him wanted to head west to the ocean. That’s where he’d be safest. That’s where his power would be greatest. Those Roman guards at the door made him uneasy. Something inside him said: This isn’t my territory. This is dangerous.
“You’re right, of course,” said a voice next to him.
Percy jumped. At first he thought Beano had managed to sneak up on him again, but the old lady sitting in the bushes was even more repulsive than a gorgon. She looked like a hippie who’d been kicked to the side of the road maybe forty years ago, where she’d been collecting trash and rags ever since. She wore a dress made of tie-dyed cloth, ripped-up quilts, and plastic grocery bags. Her frizzy mop of hair was gray-brown, like root-beer foam, tied back with a peace-sign headband. Warts and moles covered her face.
When she smiled, she showed exactly three teeth.
“It isn’t a maintenance tunnel,” she confided. “It’s the entrance to camp.”
A jolt went up Percy’s spine. Camp. Yes, that’s where he was from. A camp. Maybe this was his home. Maybe Annabeth was close by.
But something felt wrong.
The gorgons were still on the roof of the apartment building. Then Stheno shrieked in delight and pointed in Percy’s direction.
The old hippie lady raised her eyebrows. “Not much time, child. You need to make your choice.”
“Who are you?” Percy asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The last thing he needed was another harmless mortal who turned out to be a monster.
“Oh, you can call me June.” The old lady’s eyes sparkled as if she’d made an excellent joke. “It is June, isn’t it? They named the month after me!”
“Okay…Look, I should go. Two gorgons are coming. I don’t want them to hurt you.”
June clasped her hands over her heart. “How sweet! But that’s part of your choice!”
“My choice…” Percy glanced nervously toward the hill. The gorgons had taken off their green vests. Wings sprouted from their backs—small bat wings, which glinted like brass.
Since when did they have wings? Maybe they were ornamental. Maybe they were too small to get a gorgon into the air. Then the two sisters leaped off the apartment building and soared toward him.
Great. Just great.
“Yes, a choice,” June said, as if she were in no hurry. “You could leave me here at the mercy of the gorgons and go to the ocean. You’d make it there safely, I guarantee. The gorgons will be quite happy to attack me and let you go. In the sea, no monster would bother you. You could begin a new life, live to a ripe old age, and escape a great deal of pain and misery that is in your future.”
Percy was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like the second option. “Or?” “Or you could do a good deed for an old lady,” she said. “Carry me to
the camp with you.”
“Carry you?” Percy hoped she was kidding. Then June hiked up her skirts and showed him her swollen purple feet.
“I can’t get there by myself,” she said. “Carry me to camp—across the highway, through the tunnel, across the river.”
Percy didn’t know what river she meant, but it didn’t sound easy. June looked pretty heavy.
The gorgons were only fifty yards away now—leisurely gliding toward him as if they knew the hunt was almost over.
Percy looked at the old lady. “And I’d carry you to this camp because
—?”
“Because it’s a kindness!” she said. “And if you don’t, the gods will die, the world we know will perish, and everyone from your old life will be destroyed. Of course, you wouldn’t remember them, so I suppose it won’t matter. You’d be safe at the bottom of the sea.…”
Percy swallowed. The gorgons shrieked with laughter as they soared in for the kill.
“If I go to the camp,” he said, “will I get my memory back?” “Eventually,” June said. “But be warned, you will sacrifice much! You’ll
lose the mark of Achilles. You’ll feel pain, misery, and loss beyond anything
you’ve ever known. But you might have a chance to save your old friends and family, to reclaim your old life.”
The gorgons were circling right overhead. They were probably studying the old woman, trying to figure out who the new player was before they struck.
“What about those guards at the door?” Percy asked.
June smiled. “Oh, they’ll let you in, dear. You can trust those two. So, what do you say? Will you help a defenseless old woman?”
Percy doubted June was defenseless. At worst, this was a trap. At best, it was some kind of test.
Percy hated tests. Since he’d lost his memory, his whole life was one big fill-in-the-blank. He was , from
. He felt like , and if the monsters caught him, he’d be .
Then he thought about Annabeth, the only part of his old life he was sure
about. He had to find her.
“I’ll carry you.” He scooped up the old woman.
She was lighter than he expected. Percy tried to ignore her sour breath and her calloused hands clinging to his neck. He made it across the first lane of traffic. A driver honked. Another yelled something that was lost in the wind. Most just swerved and looked irritated, as if they had to deal with a lot of ratty teenagers carrying old hippie women across the freeway here in Berkeley.
A shadow fell over him. Stheno called down gleefully, “Clever boy!
Found a goddess to carry, did you?” A goddess?
June cackled with delight, muttering, “Whoops!” as a car almost killed them.
Somewhere off to his left, Euryale screamed, “Get them! Two prizes are better than one!”
Percy bolted across the remaining lanes. Somehow he made it to the median alive. He saw the gorgons swooping down, cars swerving as the monsters passed overhead. He wondered what the mortals saw through the Mist—giant pelicans? Off-course hang gliders? The wolf Lupa had told him that mortal minds could believe just about anything—except the truth.
Percy ran for the door in the hillside. June got heavier with every step.
Percy’s heart pounded. His ribs ached.
One of the guards yelled. The guy with the bow nocked an arrow. Percy shouted, “Wait!”
But the boy wasn’t aiming at him. The arrow flew over Percy’s head. A gorgon wailed in pain. The second guard readied her spear, gesturing frantically at Percy to hurry.
Fifty feet from the door. Thirty feet.
“Gotcha!” shrieked Euryale. Percy turned as an arrow thudded into her forehead. Euryale tumbled into the fast lane. A truck slammed into her and
carried her backward a hundred yards, but she just climbed over the cab, pulled the arrow out of her head, and launched back into the air.
Percy reached the door. “Thanks,” he told the guards. “Good shot.” “That should’ve killed her!” the archer protested.
“Welcome to my world,” Percy muttered.
“Frank,” the girl said. “Get them inside, quick! Those are gorgons.” “Gorgons?” The archer’s voice squeaked. It was hard to tell much about
him under the helmet, but he looked stout like a wrestler, maybe fourteen or
fifteen. “Will the door hold them?”
In Percy’s arms, June cackled. “No, no it won’t. Onward, Percy Jackson!
Through the tunnel, over the river!”
“Percy Jackson?” The female guard was darker-skinned, with curly hair sticking out the sides of her helmet. She looked younger than Frank—maybe thirteen. Her sword scabbard came down almost to her ankle. Still, she sounded like she was the one in charge. “Okay, you’re obviously a demigod. But who’s the—?” She glanced at June. “Never mind. Just get inside. I’ll hold them off.”
“Hazel,” the boy said. “Don’t be crazy.” “Go!” she demanded.
Frank cursed in another language—was that Latin?—and opened the door. “Come on!”
Percy followed, staggering under the weight of the old lady, who was definitely getting heavier. He didn’t know how that girl Hazel would hold off the gorgons by herself, but he was too tired to argue.
The tunnel cut through solid rock, about the width and height of a school hallway. At first, it looked like a typical maintenance tunnel, with electric cables, warning signs, and fuse boxes on the walls, lightbulbs in wire cages along the ceiling. As they ran deeper into the hillside, the cement floor changed to tiled mosaic. The lights changed to reed torches, which burned but didn’t smoke. A few hundred yards ahead, Percy saw a square of
daylight.
The old lady was heavier now than a pile of sandbags. Percy’s arms shook from the strain. June mumbled a song in Latin, like a lullaby, which didn’t help Percy concentrate.
Behind them, the gorgons’ voices echoed in the tunnel. Hazel shouted. Percy was tempted to dump June and run back to help, but then the entire tunnel shook with the rumble of falling stone. There was a squawking sound, just like the gorgons had made when Percy had dropped a crate of bowling balls on them in Napa. He glanced back. The west end of the tunnel was now filled with dust.
“Shouldn’t we check on Hazel?” he asked.
“She’ll be okay—I hope,” Frank said. “She’s good underground. Just keep moving! We’re almost there.”
“Almost where?”
June chuckled. “All roads lead there, child. You should know that.” “Detention?” Percy asked.
“Rome, child,” the old woman said. “Rome.”
Percy wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. True, his memory was gone. His brain hadn’t felt right since he had woken up at the Wolf House. But he was pretty sure Rome wasn’t in California.
They kept running. The glow at the end of the tunnel grew brighter, and finally they burst into sunlight.
Percy froze. Spread out at his feet was a bowl-shaped valley several miles wide. The basin floor was rumpled with smaller hills, golden plains, and stretches of forest. A small clear river cut a winding course from a lake in the center and around the perimeter, like a capital G.
The geography could’ve been anywhere in northern California—live oaks and eucalyptus trees, gold hills and blue skies. That big inland mountain—what was it called, Mount Diablo?—rose in the distance, right where it should be.
But Percy felt like he’d stepped into a secret world. In the center of the valley, nestled by the lake, was a small city of white marble buildings with red-tiled roofs. Some had domes and columned porticoes, like national monuments. Others looked like palaces, with golden doors and large gardens. He could see an open plaza with freestanding columns, fountains, and statues. A five-story-tall Roman coliseum gleamed in the sun, next to a long oval arena like a racetrack.
Across the lake to the south, another hill was dotted with even more impressive buildings—temples, Percy guessed. Several stone bridges crossed the river as it wound through the valley, and in the north, a long line of brickwork arches stretched from the hills into the town. Percy thought it looked like an elevated train track. Then he realized it must be an aqueduct.
The strangest part of the valley was right below him. About two hundred yards away, just across the river, was some sort of military encampment. It was about a quarter mile square, with earthen ramparts on all four sides, the tops lined with sharpened spikes. Outside the walls ran a dry moat, also studded with spikes. Wooden watchtowers rose at each corner, manned by sentries with oversized, mounted crossbows. Purple banners hung from the towers. A wide gateway opened on the far side of camp, leading toward the city. A narrower gate stood closed on the riverbank side. Inside, the fortress bustled with activity: dozens of kids going to and from barracks, carrying weapons, polishing armor. Percy heard the clank of hammers at a forge and smelled meat cooking over a fire.
Something about this place felt very familiar, yet not quite right. “Camp Jupiter,” Frank said. “We’ll be safe once—”
Footsteps echoed in the tunnel behind them. Hazel burst into the light. She was covered with stone dust and breathing hard. She’d lost her helmet, so her curly brown hair fell around her shoulders. Her armor had long slash marks in front from the claws of a gorgon. One of the monsters had tagged her with a 50% off sticker.
“I slowed them down,” she said. “But they’ll be here any second.”
Frank cursed. “We have to get across the river.”
June squeezed Percy’s neck tighter. “Oh, yes, please. I can’t get my dress wet.”
Percy bit his tongue. If this lady was a goddess, she must’ve been the goddess of smelly, heavy, useless hippies. But he’d come this far. He’d better keep lugging her along.
It’s a kindness, she’d said. And if you don’t, the gods will die, the world we know will perish, and everyone from your old life will be destroyed.
If this was a test, he couldn’t afford to get an F.
He stumbled a few times as they ran for the river. Frank and Hazel kept him on his feet.
They reached the riverbank, and Percy stopped to catch his breath. The current was fast, but the river didn’t look deep. Only a stone’s throw across stood the gates of the fort.
“Go, Hazel.” Frank nocked two arrows at once. “Escort Percy so the sentries don’t shoot him. It’s my turn to hold off the baddies.”
Hazel nodded and waded into the stream.
Percy started to follow, but something made him hesitate. Usually he loved the water, but this river seemed…powerful, and not necessarily friendly.
“The Little Tiber,” said June sympathetically. “It flows with the power of the original Tiber, river of the empire. This is your last chance to back out, child. The mark of Achilles is a Greek blessing. You can’t retain it if you cross into Roman territory. The Tiber will wash it away.”
Percy was too exhausted to understand all that, but he got the main point. “If I cross, I won’t have iron skin anymore?”
June smiled. “So what will it be? Safety, or a future of pain and possibility?”
Behind him, the gorgons screeched as they flew from the tunnel. Frank let his arrows fly.
From the middle of the river, Hazel yelled, “Percy, come on!”
Up on the watchtowers, horns blew. The sentries shouted and swiveled their crossbows toward the gorgons.
Annabeth, Percy thought. He forged into the river. It was icy cold, much swifter than he’d imagined, but that didn’t bother him. New strength surged through his limbs. His senses tingled like he’d been injected with caffeine. He reached the other side and put the old woman down as the camp’s gates opened. Dozens of kids in armor poured out.
Hazel turned with a relieved smile. Then she looked over Percy’s shoulder, and her expression changed to horror. “Frank!”
Frank was halfway across the river when the gorgons caught him. They swooped out of the sky and grabbed him by either arm. He screamed in pain as their claws dug into his skin.
The sentries yelled, but Percy knew they couldn’t get a clear shot.
They’d end up killing Frank. The other kids drew swords and got ready to charge into the water, but they’d be too late.
There was only one way.
Percy thrust out his hands. An intense tugging sensation filled his gut, and the Tiber obeyed his will. The river surged. Whirlpools formed on either side of Frank. Giant watery hands erupted from the stream, copying Percy’s movements. The giant hands grabbed the gorgons, who dropped Frank in surprise. Then the hands lifted the squawking monsters in a liquid vise grip.
Percy heard the other kids yelping and backing away, but he stayed focused on his task. He made a smashing gesture with his fists, and the giant hands plunged the gorgons into the Tiber. The monsters hit bottom and broke into dust. Glittering clouds of gorgon essence struggled to re-form, but the river pulled them apart like a blender. Soon every trace of the gorgons was swept downstream. The whirlpools vanished, and the current returned to normal.
Percy stood on the riverbank. His clothes and his skin steamed as if the
Tiber’s waters had given him an acid bath. He felt exposed, raw… vulnerable.
In the middle of the Tiber, Frank stumbled around, looking stunned but perfectly fine. Hazel waded out and helped him ashore. Only then did Percy realize how quiet the other kids had become.
Everyone was staring at him. Only the old lady June looked unfazed. “Well, that was a lovely trip,” she said. “Thank you, Percy Jackson, for
bringing me to Camp Jupiter.”
One of the girls made a choking sound. “Percy…Jackson?”
She sounded as if she recognized his name. Percy focused on her, hoping to see a familiar face.
She was obviously a leader. She wore a regal purple cloak over her armor. Her chest was decorated with medals. She must have been about Percy’s age, with dark, piercing eyes and long black hair. Percy didn’t recognize her, but the girl stared at him as if she’d seen him in her nightmares.
June laughed with delight. “Oh, yes. You’ll have such fun together!”
Then, just because the day hadn’t been weird enough already, the old lady began to glow and change form. She grew until she was a shining, seven-foot-tall goddess in a blue dress, with a cloak that looked like goat’s skin over her shoulders. Her face was stern and stately. In her hand was a staff topped with a lotus flower.
If it was possible for the campers to look more stunned, they did. The girl with the purple cloak knelt. The others followed her lead. One kid got down so hastily he almost impaled himself on his sword.
Hazel was the first to speak. “Juno.”
She and Frank also fell to their knees, leaving Percy the only one standing. He knew he should probably kneel too, but after carrying the old lady so far, he didn’t feel like showing her that much respect.
“Juno, huh?” he said. “If I passed your test, can I have my memory and
my life back?”
The goddess smiled. “In time, Percy Jackson, if you succeed here at camp. You’ve done well today, which is a good start. Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”
She turned to the other kids. “Romans, I present to you the son of Neptune. For months he has been slumbering, but now he is awake. His fate is in your hands. The Feast of Fortune comes quickly, and Death must be unleashed if you are to stand any hope in the battle. Do not fail me!”
Juno shimmered and disappeared. Percy looked at Hazel and Frank for some kind of explanation, but they seemed just as confused as he was. Frank was holding something Percy hadn’t noticed before—two small clay flasks with cork stoppers, like potions, one in each hand. Percy had no idea where they’d come from, but he saw Frank slip them into his pockets. Frank gave him a look like: We’ll talk about it later.
The girl in the purple cloak stepped forward. She examined Percy warily, and Percy couldn’t shake the feeling that she wanted to run him through with her dagger.
“So,” she said coldly, “a son of Neptune, who comes to us with the blessing of Juno.”
“Look,” he said, “my memory’s a little fuzzy. Um, it’s gone, actually. Do I know you?”
The girl hesitated. “I am Reyna, praetor of the Twelfth Legion. And…no, I don’t know you.”
That last part was a lie. Percy could tell from her eyes. But he also understood that if he argued with her about it here, in front of her soldiers, she wouldn’t appreciate it.
“Hazel,” said Reyna, “bring him inside. I want to question him at the principia. Then we’ll send him to Octavian. We must consult the auguries before we decide what to do with him.”
“What do you mean,” Percy asked, “‘decide what to do with’ me?”
Reyna’s hand tightened on her dagger. Obviously she was not used to having her orders questioned. “Before we accept anyone into camp, we must interrogate them and read the auguries. Juno said your fate is in our hands.
We have to know whether the goddess has brought us as a new recruit.…” Reyna studied Percy as if she found that doubtful.
“Or,” she said more hopefully, “if she’s brought us an enemy to kill.”
