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 North-west 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 afterwards, 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 ploughed 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 armour. 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 got 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 backwards.
‘It’s okay!’ Percy grinned. ‘These are friends.’
‘Brother!’ Tyson climbed off and ran towards 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 colour 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 greatgreat-
… 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 backwards, 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
Percy be so fine. Then, boom. Hera.
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