HAZEL HATED BOATS.
She got seasick so easily it was more like sea plague.
She hadn’t mentioned this to Percy. She didn’t want to
mess up the quest, but she remembered how horrible her
life had been when she and her mother had moved to
Alaska – no roads. Everywhere they went, they’d had to
take the train or a boat.
She’d hoped her condition might have improved since
she’d come back from the dead. Obviously not. And this
little boat, the Pax, looked so much like that other boat
they’d had in Alaska. It brought back bad memories …
As soon as they left the dock, Hazel’s stomach started
to churn. By the time they passed the piers along the San
Francisco Embarcadero, she felt so woozy she thought
she was hallucinating. They sped by a pack of sea lions
lounging on the docks, and she swore she saw an old
homeless guy sitting among them. From across the water,
the old man pointed a bony finger at Percy and mouthed
something like Don’t even think about it.
‘Did you see that?’ Hazel asked.
Percy’s face was red in the sunset. ‘Yeah. I’ve been here
before. I … I don’t know. I think I was looking for my
girlfriend.’
‘Annabeth,’ Frank said. ‘You mean, on your way to
Camp Jupiter?’
Percy frowned. ‘No. Before that.’ He scanned the city
like he was still looking for Annabeth until they passed
under the Golden Gate Bridge and turned north.
Hazel tried to settle her stomach by thinking of pleasant
things – the euphoria she’d felt last night when they’d won
the war games, riding Hannibal into the enemy keep,
Frank’s sudden transformation into a leader. He’d looked
like a different person when he’d scaled the walls, calling
on the Fifth Cohort to attack. The way he’d swept the
defenders off the battlements … Hazel had never seen
him like that before. She’d been so proud to pin the
centurion’s badge to his shirt.
Then her thoughts turned to Nico. Before they had left,
her brother had pulled her aside to wish her luck. Hazel
hoped he’d stay at Camp Jupiter to help defend it, but he
said he’d be leaving today – heading back to the
Underworld.
‘Dad needs all the help he can get,’ he said. ‘The Fields
of Punishment look like a prison riot. The Furies can
barely keep order. Besides … I’m going to try to track
some of the escaping souls. Maybe I can find the Doors
of Death from the other side.’
‘Be careful,’ Hazel said. ‘If Gaia is guarding those doors
–’
‘Don’t worry.’ Nico smiled. ‘I know how to stay hidden.
Just take care of yourself. The closer you get to
Alaska … I’m not sure if it’ll make the blackouts better or
worse.’
Take care of myself, Hazel thought bitterly. As if there
was any way the quest would end well for her.
‘If we free Thanatos,’ Hazel told Nico, ‘I may never see
you again. Thanatos will send me back to the
Underworld …’
Nico took her hand. His fingers were so pale, it was hard
to believe Hazel and he shared the same godly father.
‘I wanted to give you a chance at Elysium,’ he said.
‘That was the best I could do for you. But now I wish there
was another way. I don’t want to lose my sister.’
He didn’t say the word again, but Hazel knew that’s what
he was thinking. For once, she didn’t feel jealous of
Bianca di Angelo. She just wished that she had more time
with Nico and her friends at camp. She didn’t want to die a
second time.
‘Good luck, Hazel,’ he said. Then he melted into the
shadows – just like her father had seventy years before.
The boat shuddered, jolting Hazel back to the present.
They entered the Pacific currents and skirted the rocky
coastline of Marin County.
Frank held his ski bag across his lap. It passed over
Hazel’s knees like the safety bar on an amusement ride,
which made her think of the time Sammy had taken her to
the carnival during Mardi Gras … She quickly pushed that
memory aside. She couldn’t risk a blackout.
‘You okay?’ Frank asked. ‘You look queasy.’
‘Seasickness,’ she confessed. ‘I didn’t think it would be
this bad.’
Frank pouted like it was somehow his fault. He started
digging in his pack. ‘I’ve got some nectar. And some
crackers. Um, my grandmother says ginger helps … I
don’t have any of that, but –’
‘It’s okay.’ Hazel mustered a smile. ‘That’s sweet of you,
though.’
Frank pulled out a saltine. It snapped in his big fingers.
Cracker exploded everywhere.
Hazel laughed. ‘Gods, Frank … Sorry. I shouldn’t laugh.’
‘Uh, no problem,’ he said sheepishly. ‘Guess you don’t
want that one.’
Percy wasn’t paying much attention. He kept his eyes
fixed on the shoreline. As they passed Stinson Beach, he
pointed inland, where a single mountain rose above the
green hills.
‘That looks familiar,’ he said.
‘Mount Tam,’ Frank said. ‘Kids at camp are always
talking about it. Big battle happened on the summit, at the
old Titan base.’
Percy frowned. ‘Were either of you there?’
‘No,’ Hazel said. ‘That was back in August, before I –
um, before I got to camp. Jason told me about it. The
legion destroyed the enemy’s palace and about a million
monsters. Jason had to battle Krios – hand-to-hand
combat with a Titan, if you can imagine.’
‘I can imagine,’ Percy muttered.
Hazel wasn’t sure what he meant, but Percy did remind
her of Jason, even though they looked nothing alike. They
had the same aura of quiet power, plus a kind of sadness,
like they’d seen their destiny and knew it was only a matter
of time before they met a monster they couldn’t beat.
Hazel understood the feeling. She watched the sun set
in the ocean, and she knew she had less than a week to
live. Whether or not their quest succeeded, her journey
would be over by the Feast of Fortuna.
She thought about her first death, and the months
leading up to it – her house in Seward, the six months
she’d spent in Alaska, taking that little boat into
Resurrection Bay at night, visiting that cursed island.
She realized her mistake too late. Her vision went
black, and she slipped back in time.
Their rental house was a clapboard box suspended on
pilings over the bay. When the train from Anchorage
rolled by, the furniture shook and the pictures rattled on
the walls. At night, Hazel fell asleep to the sound of icy
water lapping against the rocks under the floorboards. The
wind made the building creak and groan.
They had one room, with a hot plate and an icebox for a
kitchen. One corner was curtained off for Hazel, where she
kept her mattress and storage chest. She’d pinned her
drawings and old photos of New Orleans on the walls, but
that only made her homesickness worse.
Her mother was rarely home. She didn’t go by Queen
Marie any more. She was just Marie, the hired help. She’d
cook and clean all day at the diner on Third Avenue for
fishermen, railroad workers and the occasional crew of
navy men. She’d come home smelling like Pine-Sol and
fried fish.
At night, Marie Levesque would transform. The Voice
took over, giving Hazel orders, putting her to work on their
horrible project.
Winter was the worst. The Voice stayed longer because
of the constant darkness. The cold was so intense that
Hazel thought she would never be warm again.
When summer came, Hazel couldn’t get enough sun.
Every day of summer vacation, she stayed away from
home as long as she could, but she couldn’t walk around
town. It was a small community. The other kids spread
rumours about her – the witch’s child who lived in the old
shack by the docks. If she came too close, the kids jeered
at her or threw bottles and rocks. The adults weren’t much
better.
Hazel could’ve made their lives miserable. She
could’ve given them diamonds, pearls or gold. Up here in
Alaska, gold was easy. There was so much in the hills
Hazel could’ve buried the town without half trying. But she
didn’t really hate the locals for pushing her away. She
couldn’t blame them.
She spent the day walking the hills. She attracted
ravens. They’d caw at her from the trees and wait for the
shiny things that always appeared in her footsteps. The
curse never seemed to bother them. She saw brown
bears, too, but they kept their distance. When Hazel got
thirsty, she’d find a snowmelt waterfall and drink cold,
clean water until her throat hurt. She’d climb as high as
she could and let the sunshine warm her face.
It wasn’t a bad way to pass the time, but she knew
eventually she’d have to go home.
Sometimes she thought about her father – that strange
pale man in the silver-and-black suit. Hazel wished he’d
come back and protect her from her mother, maybe use
his powers to get rid of that awful Voice. If he was a god, he
should be able to do that.
She looked up at the ravens and imagined they were
his emissaries. Their eyes were dark and maniacal, like
his. She wondered if they reported her movements to her
father.
But Pluto had warned her mother about Alaska. It was a
land beyond the gods. He couldn’t protect them here. If he
was watching Hazel, he didn’t speak to her. She often
wondered if she had imagined him. Her old life seemed
as distant as the radio programmes she listened to, or
President Roosevelt talking about the war. Occasionally
the locals would discuss the Japanese and some fighting
on the outer islands of Alaska, but even that seemed far
away – not nearly as scary as Hazel’s problem.
One day in midsummer, she stayed out later than
usual, chasing a horse.
She’d seen it first when she had heard a crunching
sound behind her. She turned and saw a gorgeous tan
roan stallion with a black mane – just like the one she’d
ridden on her last day in New Orleans, when Sammy had
taken her to the stables. It could’ve been the same horse,
though that was impossible. It was eating something off
the path, and for a second Hazel had the crazy
impression it was munching one of the gold nuggets that
always appeared in her wake.
‘Hey, fella,’ she called.
The horse looked at her warily.
Hazel figured it must belong to someone. It was too well
groomed, its coat too sleek for a wild horse. If she could
get close enough … What? She could find its owner?
Return it?
No, she thought. I just want to ride again.
She got within ten feet, and the horse bolted. She spent
the rest of the afternoon trying to catch it – getting
maddeningly close before it ran away again.
She lost track of time, which was easy to do with the
summer sun staying up so long. Finally she stopped at a
creek for a drink and looked at the sky, thinking it must be
around three in the afternoon. Then she heard a train
whistle from down in the valley. She realized it had to be
the evening run to Anchorage, which meant it was ten at
night.
She glared at the horse, grazing peacefully across the
creek. ‘Are you trying to get me in trouble?’
The horse whinnied. Then … Hazel must’ve imagined
it. The horse sped away in a blur of black and tan, faster
than forked lightning – almost too quick for her eyes to
register. Hazel didn’t understand how, but the horse was
definitely gone.
She stared at the spot where the horse had stood. A
wisp of steam curled from the ground.
The train whistle echoed through the hills again, and
she realized how much trouble she was in. She ran for
home.
Her mother wasn’t there. For a second Hazel felt
relieved. Maybe her mom had had to work late. Maybe
tonight they wouldn’t have to make the journey.
Then she saw the wreckage. Hazel’s curtain was pulled
down. Her storage chest was open and her few clothes
strewn across the floor. Her mattress had been shredded
as if a lion had attacked it. Worst of all, her drawing pad
was ripped to pieces. Her coloured pencils were all
broken. Pluto’s birthday gift, Hazel’s only luxury, had been
destroyed. Pinned to the wall was a note in red on the last
piece of drawing paper, in writing that was not her
mother’s: Wicked girl. I’m waiting at the island. Don’t
disappoint me. Hazel sobbed in despair. She wanted to
ignore the summons. She wanted to run away, but there
was nowhere to go. Besides, her mother was trapped. The
Voice had promised that they were almost done with their
task. If Hazel kept helping, her mother would be freed.
Hazel didn’t trust the Voice, but she didn’t see any other
option.
She took the rowboat – a little skiff her mother had
bought with a few gold nuggets from a fisherman, who had
a tragic accident with his nets the next day. They had only
one boat, but Hazel’s mother seemed capable on
occasion of reaching the island without any transportation.
Hazel had learned not to ask about that.
Even in midsummer, chunks of ice swirled in
Resurrection Bay. Seals glided by her boat, looking at
Hazel hopefully, sniffing for fish scraps. In the middle of
the bay, the glistening back of a whale raked the surface.
As always, the rocking of the boat made her stomach
queasy. She stopped once to be sick over the side. The
sun was finally going down over the mountains, turning
the sky blood red.
She rowed towards the bay’s mouth. After several
minutes, she turned and looked ahead. Right in front of
her, out of the fog, the island materialized – an acre of
pine trees, boulders and snow with a black sand beach.
If the island had a name, she didn’t know it. Once Hazel
had made the mistake of asking the townsfolk, but they
had stared at her like she was crazy.
‘Ain’t no island there,’ said one old fisherman, ‘or my
boat would’ve run into it a thousand times.’
Hazel was about fifty yards from the shore when a raven
landed on the boat’s stern. It was a greasy black bird
almost as large as an eagle, with a jagged beak like an
obsidian knife.
Its eyes glittered with intelligence, so Hazel wasn’t much
surprised when it talked.
‘Tonight,’ it croaked. ‘The last night.’
Hazel let the oars rest. She tried to decide if the raven
was warning her, or advising her, or making a promise.
‘Are you from my father?’ she asked.
The raven tilted its head. ‘The last night. Tonight.’
It pecked at the boat’s prow and flew towards the island.
The last night, Hazel told herself. She decided to take it
as a promise. No matter what she tells me, I will make this
the last night.
That gave her enough strength to row on. The boat slid
ashore, cracking through a fine layer of ice and black silt.
Over the months, Hazel and her mother had worn a
path from the beach into the woods. She hiked inland,
careful to stick to the trail. The island was full of dangers,
both natural and magical. Bears rustled in the
undergrowth. Glowing white spirits, vaguely human, drifted
through the trees. Hazel didn’t know what they were, but
she knew they were watching her, hoping she’d stray into
their clutches.
At the centre of the island, two massive black boulders
formed the entrance to a tunnel. Hazel made her way into
the cavern she called the Heart of the Earth.
It was the only truly warm place Hazel had found since
moving to Alaska. The air smelled of freshly turned soil.
The sweet, moist heat made Hazel feel drowsy, but she
fought to stay awake. She imagined that if she fell asleep
here her body would sink into the earthen floor and turn to
mulch.
The cave was as large as a church sanctuary, like the
St Louis Cathedral back home on Jackson Square. The
walls glowed with luminescent mosses – green, red and
purple. The whole chamber thrummed with energy, an
echoing boom, boom, boom that reminded Hazel of a
heartbeat. Perhaps it was just the sea’s waves battering
the island, but Hazel didn’t think so. This place was alive.
The earth was asleep, but it pulsated with power. Its
dreams were so malicious, so fitful, that Hazel felt herself
losing her grip on reality.
Gaia wanted to consume her identity, just as she’d
overwhelmed Hazel’s mother. She wanted to consume
every human, god and demigod that dared to walk across
her surface.
You all belong to me, Gaia murmured like a lullaby.
Surrender. Return to the earth.
No, Hazel thought. I’m Hazel Levesque. You can’t have
me. Marie Levesque stood over the pit. In six months, her
hair had turned as grey as lint. She’d lost weight. Her
hands were gnarled from hard work. She wore snow boots
and waders and a stained white shirt from the diner. She
never would have been mistaken for a queen.
‘It’s too late.’ Her mother’s frail voice echoed through the
cavern. Hazel realized with a shock that it was her voice –
not Gaia’s.
‘Mother?’
Marie turned. Her eyes were open. She was awake and
conscious. This should have made Hazel feel relieved,
but it made her nervous. The Voice had never
relinquished control while they were on the island.
‘What have I done?’ her mother asked helplessly. ‘Oh,
Hazel, what did I do to you?’
She stared in horror at the thing in the pit.
For months they’d been coming here, four or five nights
a week as the Voice required. Hazel had cried, she’d
collapsed with exhaustion, she’d pleaded, she’d given in
to despair. But the Voice that controlled her mother had
urged her on relentlessly. Bring valuables from the earth.
Use your powers, child. Bring my most valuable
possession to me.
At first, her efforts had brought only scorn. The fissure in
the earth had filled with gold and precious stones,
bubbling in a thick soup of petroleum. It looked like a
dragon’s treasure dumped in a tar pit. Then, slowly, a rock
spire began to grow like a massive tulip bulb. It emerged
so gradually, night after night, that Hazel had trouble
judging its progress. Often she concentrated all night on
raising it, until her mind and soul were exhausted, but she
didn’t notice any difference. Yet the spire did grow.
Now Hazel could see how much she’d accomplished.
The thing was two storeys high, a swirl of rocky tendrils
jutting like a spear tip from the oily morass. Inside,
something glowed with heat. Hazel couldn’t see it clearly,
but she knew what was happening. A body was forming out
of silver and gold, with oil for blood and raw diamonds for
a heart. Hazel was resurrecting the son of Gaia. He was
almost ready to wake.
Her mother fell to her knees and wept. ‘I’m sorry, Hazel.
I’m so sorry.’ She looked helpless and alone, horribly sad.
Hazel should have been furious. Sorry? She’d lived in
fear of her mother for years. She’d been scolded and
blamed for her mother’s unfortunate life. She’d been
treated like a freak, dragged away from her home in New
Orleans to this cold wilderness, and worked like a slave by
a merciless evil goddess. Sorry didn’t cut it. She should
have despised her mother.
But she couldn’t make herself feel angry.
Hazel knelt and put her arm round her mother. There
was hardly anything left of her – just skin and bones and
stained work clothes. Even in the warm cave, she was
trembling.
‘What can we do?’ Hazel said. ‘Tell me how to stop it.’
Her mother shook her head. ‘She let me go. She knows
it’s too late. There’s nothing we can do.’
‘She … the Voice?’ Hazel was afraid to get her hopes
up, but if her mother was really freed then nothing else
mattered. They could get out of here. They could run
away, back to New Orleans. ‘Is she gone?’
Her mother glanced fearfully around the cave. ‘No,
she’s here. There’s only one more thing she needs from
me. For that, she needs my free will.’
Hazel didn’t like the sound of that.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ she urged. ‘That thing in the
rock … it’s going to hatch.’
‘Soon,’ her mother agreed. She looked at Hazel so
tenderly … Hazel couldn’t remember the last time she’d
seen that kind of affection in her mother’s eyes. She felt a
sob building in her chest.
‘Pluto warned me,’ her mother said. ‘He told me my wish
was too dangerous.’
‘Your – your wish?’
‘All the wealth under the earth,’ she said. ‘He controlled
it. I wanted it. I was so tired of being poor, Hazel. So tired.
First I summoned him … just to see if I could. I never
thought the old gris-gris spell would work on a god. But he
courted me, told me I was brave and beautiful …’ She
stared at her bent, calloused hands. ‘When you were born,
he was so pleased and proud. He promised me anything.
He swore on the River Styx. I asked for all the riches he
had. He warned me the greediest wishes cause the
greatest sorrows. But I insisted. I imagined living like a
queen – the wife of a god! And you … you received the
curse.’
Hazel felt as if she were expanding to the breaking
point, just like that spire in the pit. Her misery would soon
become too great to hold inside, and her skin would
shatter. ‘That’s why I can find things under the earth?’
‘And why they bring only sorrow.’ Her mother gestured
listlessly around the cavern. ‘That’s how she found me,
how she was able to control me. I was angry with your
father. I blamed him for my problems. I blamed you. I was
so bitter that I listened to Gaia’s voice. I was a fool.’
‘There’s got to be something we can do,’ Hazel said.
‘Tell me how to stop her.’
The ground trembled. Gaia’s disembodied voice
echoed through the cave.
My eldest rises, she said, the most precious thing in the
earth – and you have brought him from the depths, Hazel
Levesque. You have made him anew. His awakening
cannot be stopped. Only one thing remains.
Hazel clenched her fists. She was terrified, but now that
her mother was free, she felt like she could confront her
enemy at last. This creature, this evil goddess, had ruined
their lives. Hazel wasn’t going to let her win.
‘I won’t help you any more!’ she yelled.
But I am done with your help, girl. I brought you here for
one reason only. Your mother required … incentive.
Hazel’s throat constricted. ‘Mother?’
‘I’m sorry, Hazel. If you can forgive me, please – know
that it was only because I loved you. She promised to let
you live if –’
‘If you sacrifice yourself,’ Hazel said, realizing the truth.
‘She needs you to give your life willingly to raise that –
that thing.’
Alcyoneus, Gaia said. Eldest of the giants. He must rise
first, and this will be his new homeland – far from the gods.
He will walk these icy mountains and forests. He will raise
an army of monsters. While the gods are divided, fighting
each other in this mortal World War, he will send forth his
armies to destroy Olympus.
The earth goddess’s dreams were so powerful they cast
shadows across the cave walls – ghastly shifting images
of Nazi armies raging across Europe, Japanese planes
destroying American cities. Hazel finally understood. The
gods of Olympus would take sides in the battle as they
always did in human wars. While the gods fought each
other to a bloody standstill, an army of monsters would
rise in the north. Alcyoneus would revive his brother
giants and send them forth to conquer the world. The
weakened gods would fall. The mortal conflict would rage
for decades until all civilization was swept away, and the
earth goddess awakened fully. Gaia would rule forever.
All this, the goddess purred, because your mother was
greedy and cursed you with the gift of finding riches. In my
sleeping state, I would have needed decades more,
perhaps even centuries, before I found the power to
resurrect Alcyoneus myself. But now he will wake and,
soon, so shall I!
With terrible certainty, Hazel knew what would happen
next. The only thing Gaia needed was a willing sacrifice –
a soul to be consumed for Alcyoneus to awaken. Her
mother would step into the fissure and touch that horrible
spire – and she would be absorbed.
‘Hazel, go.’ Her mother rose unsteadily. ‘She’ll let you
live, but you must hurry.’
Hazel believed it. That was the most horrible thing. Gaia
would honour the bargain and let Hazel live. Hazel would
survive to see the end of the world, knowing that she’d
caused it.
‘No.’ Hazel made her decision. ‘I won’t live. Not for that.’
She reached deep into her soul. She called on her
father, the Lord of the Underworld, and summoned all the
riches that lay in his vast realm. The cavern shook.
Around the spire of Alcyoneus, oil bubbled, then
churned and erupted like a boiling cauldron.
Don’t be foolish, Gaia said, but Hazel detected concern
in her tone, maybe even fear. You will destroy yourself for
nothing! Your mother will still die!
Hazel almost wavered. She remembered her father’s
promise: some day her curse would be washed away; a
descendant of Neptune would bring her peace. He’d even
said she might find a horse of her own. Maybe that
strange stallion in the hills was meant for her. But none of
that would happen if she died now. She’d never see
Sammy again, or return to New Orleans. Her life would be
thirteen short, bitter years with an unhappy ending.
She met her mother’s eyes. For once, her mother didn’t
look sad or angry. Her eyes shone with pride.
‘You were my gift, Hazel,’ she said. ‘My most precious
gift. I was foolish to think I needed anything else.’
She kissed Hazel’s forehead and held her close. Her
warmth gave Hazel the courage to continue. They would
die, but not as sacrifices to Gaia. Instinctively Hazel knew
that their final act would reject Gaia’s power. Their souls
would go to the Underworld, and Alcyoneus would not rise
– at least not yet.
Hazel summoned the last of her willpower. The air
turned searing hot. The spire began to sink. Jewels and
chunks of gold shot from the fissure with such force that
they cracked the cavern walls and sent shrapnel flying,
stinging Hazel’s skin through her jacket.
Stop this! Gaia demanded. You cannot prevent his rise.
At best, you will delay him – a few decades. Half a
century. Would you trade your lives for that?
Hazel gave her an answer.
The last night, the raven had said.
The fissure exploded. The roof crumbled. Hazel sank
into her mother’s arms, into the darkness, as oil filled her
lungs and the island collapsed into the bay.
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