Four hours.
That’s how long it took the fastest horse on the planet to get from Alaska to San Francisco Bay, heading straight over the water down the Northwest Coast.
That’s also how long it took for Percy’s memory to return completely. The process had started in Portland when he had drunk the gorgon’s blood, but his past life had still been maddeningly fuzzy. Now, as they headed back into the Olympian gods’ territory, Percy remembered everything: the war with Kronos, his sixteenth birthday at Camp Half-Blood, his trainer Chiron the centaur, his best friend Grover, his brother Tyson, and most of all Annabeth—two great months of dating, and then BOOM. He’d been abducted by the alien known as Hera. Or Juno…whatever.
Eight months of his life stolen. Next time Percy saw the Queen of Olympus, he was definitely going to give her a goddess-sized slap upside the head.
His friends and family must be going out of their minds. If Camp Jupiter was in such bad trouble, he could only guess what Camp Half-Blood must be facing without him.
Even worse: Saving both camps would be only the beginning. According to Alcyoneus, the real war would happen far away, in the homeland of the gods. The giants intended to attack the original Mount Olympus and destroy the gods forever.
Percy knew that giants couldn’t die unless demigods and gods fought
them together. Nico had told him that. Annabeth had mentioned it too, back in August, when she’d speculated that the giants might be part of the new Great Prophecy—what the Romans called the Prophecy of Seven. (That was the downside of dating the smartest girl at camp: You learn stuff.)
He understood Juno’s plan: Unite the Roman and Greek demigods to create an elite team of heroes, then somehow convince the gods to fight alongside them. But first, they had to save Camp Jupiter.
The coastline began to look familiar. They raced past the Mendocino lighthouse. Shortly afterward, Mount Tam and the Marin headlands loomed out of the fog. Arion shot straight under the Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco Bay.
They tore through Berkeley and into the Oakland Hills. When they reached the hilltop above the Caldecott Tunnel, Arion shuddered like a broken car and came to a stop, his chest heaving.
Hazel patted his sides lovingly. “You did great, Arion.”
The horse was too tired even to cuss: Of course I did great. What did you expect?
Percy and Frank jumped off the chariot. Percy wished there’d been comfortable seats or an in-flight meal. His legs were wobbly. His joints were so stiff, he could barely walk. If he went into battle like this, the enemy would call him Old Man Jackson.
Frank didn’t look much better. He hobbled to the top of the hill and peered down at the camp. “Guys…you need to see this.”
When Percy and Hazel joined him, Percy’s heart sank. The battle had begun, and it wasn’t going well. The Twelfth Legion was arrayed on the Field of Mars, trying to protect the city. Scorpions fired into the ranks of the Earthborn. Hannibal the elephant plowed down monsters right and left, but the defenders were badly outnumbered.
On her pegasus Scipio, Reyna flew around the giant Polybotes, trying to keep him occupied. The Lares had formed shimmering purple lines against a
mob of black, vaporous shades in ancient armor. Veteran demigods from the city had joined the battle, and were pushing their shield wall against an onslaught of wild centaurs. Giant eagles circled the battlefield, doing aerial combat with two snake-haired ladies in green Bargain Mart vests—Stheno and Euryale.
The legion itself was taking the brunt of the attack, but their formation was breaking. Each cohort was an island in a sea of enemies. The Cyclopes’ siege tower shot glowing green cannonballs into the city, blasting craters in the forum, reducing houses to ruins. As Percy watched, a cannonball hit the Senate House and the dome partially collapsed.
“We’re too late,” Hazel said.
“No,” Percy said. “They’re still fighting. We can do this.”
“Where’s Lupa?” Frank asked, desperation creeping into his voice. “She and the wolves…they should be here.”
Percy thought about his time with the wolf goddess. He’d come to respect her teachings, but he’d also learned that wolves had limits. They weren’t front-line fighters. They only attacked when they had vastly superior numbers, and usually under the cover of darkness. Besides, Lupa’s first rule was self-sufficiency. She would help her children as much as she could, train them to fight—but in the end, they were either predator or prey. Romans had to fight for themselves. They had to prove their worth or die. That was Lupa’s way.
“She did what she could,” Percy said. “She slowed down the army on its way south. Now it’s up to us. We’ve got to get the gold eagle and these weapons to the legion.”
“But Arion is out of steam!” Hazel said. “We can’t haul this stuff ourselves.”
“Maybe we don’t have to.” Percy scanned the hilltops. If Tyson had gotten his dream message in Vancouver, help might be close.
He whistled as loud as he could—a good New York cab whistle that
would’ve been heard all the way from Times Square to Central Park.
Shadows rippled in the trees. A huge black shape bounded out of nowhere—a mastiff the size of an SUV, with a Cyclops and a harpy on her back.
“Hellhound!” Frank scrambled backward.
“It’s okay!” Percy grinned. “These are friends.”
“Brother!” Tyson climbed off and ran toward Percy. Percy tried to brace himself, but it was no good. Tyson slammed into him and smothered him in a hug. For a few seconds, Percy could only see black spots and lots of flannel. Then Tyson let go and laughed with delight, looking Percy over with that massive baby brown eye.
“You are not dead!” he said. “I like it when you are not dead!”
Ella fluttered to the ground and began preening her feathers. “Ella found a dog,” she announced. “A large dog. And a Cyclops.”
Was she blushing? Before Percy could decide, his black mastiff pounced on him, knocking Percy to the ground and barking so loudly that even Arion backed up.
“Hey, Mrs. O’Leary,” Percy said. “Yeah, I love you too, girl. Good dog.” Hazel made a squeaking sound. “You have a hellhound named Mrs.
O’Leary?”
“Long story.” Percy managed to get to his feet and wipe off the dog slobber. “You can ask your brother…”
His voice wavered when he saw Hazel’s expression. He’d almost forgotten that Nico di Angelo was missing.
Hazel had told him what Thanatos had said about searching for the Doors of Death in Rome, and Percy was anxious to find Nico for his own reasons—to wring the kid’s neck for having pretended he didn’t know Percy when he first came to camp. Still, he was Hazel’s brother, and finding him was a conversation for another time.
“Sorry,” he said. “But yeah, this is my dog, Mrs. O’Leary. Tyson—these
are my friends, Frank and Hazel.”
Percy turned to Ella, who was counting all the barbs in one of her feathers.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “We were worried about you.”
“Ella is not strong,” she said. “Cyclopes are strong. Tyson found Ella.
Tyson took care of Ella.”
Percy raised his eyebrows. Ella was blushing. “Tyson,” he said, “you big charmer, you.”
Tyson turned the same color as Ella’s plumage. “Um…No.” He leaned down and whispered nervously, loud enough for all the others to hear: “She is pretty.”
Frank tapped his head like he was afraid his brain had short-circuited. “Anyway, there’s this battle happening.”
“Right,” Percy agreed. “Tyson, where’s Annabeth? Is any other help coming?”
Tyson pouted. His big brown eye got misty. “The big ship is not ready.
Leo says tomorrow, maybe two days. Then they will come.”
“We don’t have two minutes,” Percy said. “Okay, here’s the plan.”
As quickly as possible, he pointed out which were the good guys and the bad guys on the battlefield. Tyson was alarmed to learn that bad Cyclopes and bad centaurs were in the giant’s army. “I have to hit pony-men?”
“Just scare them away,” Percy promised.
“Um, Percy?” Frank looked at Tyson with trepidation. “I just…don’t want our friend here getting hurt. Is Tyson a fighter?”
Percy smiled. “Is he a fighter? Frank, you’re looking at General Tyson of the Cyclops army. And by the way, Tyson, Frank is a descendant of Poseidon.”
“Brother!” Tyson crushed Frank in a hug.
Percy stifled a laugh. “Actually he’s more like a great-great-…Oh, never
mind. Yeah, he’s your brother.”
“Thanks,” Frank mumbled through a mouthful of flannel. “But if the legion mistakes Tyson for an enemy—”
“I’ve got it!” Hazel ran to the chariot and dug out the biggest Roman helmet she could find, plus an old Roman banner embroidered with SPQR.
She handed them to Tyson. “Put those on, big guy. Then our friends will know you’re on our team.”
“Yay!” Tyson said. “I’m on your team!”
The helmet was ridiculously small, and he put the cape on backward, like a SPQR baby bib.
“It’ll do,” Percy said. “Ella, just stay here. Stay safe.”
“Safe,” Ella repeated. “Ella likes being safe. Safety in numbers. Safety deposit boxes. Ella will go with Tyson.”
“What?” Percy said. “Oh…fine. Whatever. Just don’t get hurt. And Mrs.
O’Leary—”
“ROOOF!”
“How do you feel about pulling a chariot?”
