Chapter 18

I looked at Grover, who nodded encouragingly.

Easy for him. I was the one Zeus wanted to kill.

“All right,” I said. “It’s better than being turned into a dolphin.”

“Then it’s time you consulted the Oracle,” Chiron said. “Go upstairs, Percy

Jackson, to the attic. When you come back down, assuming you’re still sane, we will

talk more.”

Four flights up, the stairs ended under a green trapdoor.

I pulled the cord. The door swung down, and a wooden ladder clattered into

place.

The warm air from above smelled like mildew and rotten wood and something

else ... a smell I remembered from biology class. Reptiles. The smell of snakes.

I held my breath and climbed.

The attic was filled with Greek hero junk: armor stands covered in cobwebs;

once-bright shields pitted with rust; old leather steamer trunks plastered with stickers

saying ITHAKA, CIRCE’S ISLE, and LAND OF THE AMAZONS. One long table

was stacked with glass jars filled with pickled things—severed hairy claws, huge

yellow eyes, various other parts of monsters. A dusty mounted trophy on the wall

looked like a giant snake’s head, but with horns and a full set of shark’s teeth. The

plaque read, HYDRA HEAD #1, WOODSTOCK, N.Y., 1969.

By the window, sitting on a wooden tripod stool, was the most gruesome

memento of all: a mummy. Not the wrapped-in-cloth kind, but a human female body

shriveled to a husk. She wore a tie-dyed sundress, lots of beaded necklaces, and a

headband over long black hair. The skin of her face was thin and leathery over her

skull, and her eyes were glassy white slits, as if the real eyes had been replaced by

marbles; she’d been dead a long, long time.

Looking at her sent chills up my back. And that was before she sat up on her

stool and opened her mouth. A green mist poured from the mummy’s mouth, coiling

over the floor in thick tendrils, hissing like twenty thousand snakes. I stumbled over

myself trying to get to the trapdoor, but it slammed shut. Inside my head, I heard a

voice, slithering into one ear and coiling around my brain: I am the spirit of Delphi,

speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python. Approach,

seeker, and ask.

I wanted to say, No thanks, wrong door, just looking for the bathroom. But I

forced myself to take a deep breath.

The mummy wasn’t alive. She was some kind of gruesome receptacle for

something else, the power that was now swirling around me in the green mist. But its

presence didn’t feel evil, like my demonic math teacher Mrs. Dodds or the Minotaur.

It felt more like the Three Fates I’d seen knitting the yarn outside the highway fruit

stand: ancient, powerful, and definitely not human. But not particularly interested in

killing me, either.

I got up the courage to ask, “What is my destiny?”

The mist swirled more thickly, collecting right in front of me and around the

table with the pickled monster-part jars. Suddenly there were four men sitting around

the table, playing cards.

Their faces became clearer. It was Smelly Gabe and his buddies.

My fists clenched, though I knew this poker party couldn’t be real. It was an

illusion, made out of mist.

Gabe turned toward me and spoke in the rasping voice of the Oracle: You shall

go west, and face the god who has turned.

His buddy on the right looked up and said in the same voice: You shall find

what was stolen, and see it safely returned.

The guy on the left threw in two poker chips, then said: You shall he betrayed

by one who calls you a friend.

Finally, Eddie, our building super, delivered the worst line of all: And you

shall fail to save what matters most, in the end.

The figures began to dissolve. At first I was too stunned to say anything, but as

the mist retreated, coiling into a huge green serpent and slithering back into the

mouth of the mummy, I cried, “Wait! What do you mean? What friend? What will I

fail to save?”

The tail of the mist snake disappeared into the mummy’s mouth. She reclined

back against the wall. Her mouth closed tight, as if it hadn’t been open in a hundred

years. The attic was silent again, abandoned, nothing but a room full of mementos.

I got the feeling that I could stand here until I had cobwebs, too, and I

wouldn’t learn anything else.

My audience with the Oracle was over.

“Well?” Chiron asked me.

I slumped into a chair at the pinochle table. “She said I would retrieve what

was stolen.”

Grover sat forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can.

“That’s great!”

“What did the Oracle say exactly?” Chiron pressed. “This is important.”

My ears were still tingling from the reptilian voice. “She . .. she said I would

go west and face a god who had turned. I would retrieve what was stolen and see it

safely returned.”

“I knew it,” Grover said.

Chiron didn’t look satisfied. “Anything else?”

I didn’t want to tell him.

What friend would betray me? I didn’t have that many.

And the last line—I would fail to save what mattered most. What kind of

Oracle would send me on a quest and tell me, Oh, by the way, you’ll fail

How could I confess that?

“No,” I said. “That’s about it.”

He studied my face. “Very well, Percy. But know this: the Oracle’s words

often have double meanings. Don’t dwell on them too much. The truth is not always

clear until events come to pass.”

I got the feeling he knew I was holding back something bad, and he was trying

to make me feel better.

“Okay,” I said, anxious to change topics. “So where do I go? Who’s this god in

the west?”

“Ah, think, Percy,” Chiron said. “If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a

war, who stands to gain?”

“Somebody else who wants to take over?” I guessed.

“Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his

lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with

the deaths of millions.

Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more

children, an oath that both of them have now broken.”

I thought about my dreams, the evil voice that had spoken from under the

ground. “Hades.”

Chiron nodded. “The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility.”

A scrap of aluminum dribbled out of Grover’s mouth. “Whoa, wait. Wh-

what?”

“A Fury came after Percy,” Chiron reminded him. “She watched the young

man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one

lord: Hades.”

“Yes, but—but Hades hates all heroes,” Grover protested. “Especially if he has

found out Percy is a son of Poseidon... .”

“A hellhound got into the forest,” Chiron continued. “Those can only be

summoned from the Fields of Punishment, and it had to be summoned by someone

within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to

use Percy to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill this young half-

blood before he can take on the quest.”

“Great,” I muttered. “That’s two major gods who want to kill me.”

“But a quest to ...” Grover swallowed. “I mean, couldn’t the master bolt be in

some place like Maine? Maine’s very nice this time of year.”

“Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt,” Chiron insisted. “He hid it in

the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don’t pretend

to understand the Lord of the Dead’s motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to

start a war, but one thing is certain. Percy must go to the Underworld, find the master

bolt, and reveal the truth.”

A strange fire burned in my stomach. The weirdest thing was: it wasn’t fear. It

was anticipation. The desire for revenge. Hades had tried to kill me three times so

far, with the Fury, the Minotaur, and the hellhound. It was his fault my mother had

disappeared in a flash of light.

Now he was trying to frame me and my dad for a theft we hadn’t committed.

I was ready to take him on.

Besides, if my mother was in the Underworld ...

Whoa, boy, said the small part of my brain that was still sane. You’re a kid.

Hades is a god.

Grover was trembling. He’d started eating pinochle cards like potato chips.

The poor guy needed to complete a quest with me so he could get his

searcher’s license, whatever that was, but how could I ask him to do this quest,

especially when the Oracle said I was destined to fail? This was suicide.

“Look, if we know it’s Hades,” I told Chiron, “why can’t we just tell the other

gods? Zeus or Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads.”

“Suspecting and knowing are not the same,” Chiron said. “Besides, even if the

other gods suspect Hades—and I imagine Poseidon does—they couldn’t retrieve the

bolt themselves. Gods cannot cross each other’s territories except by invitation. That

is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can

go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they’re bold enough and strong enough to

do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero’s actions. Why do you think the gods

always operate through humans?”

“You’re saying I’m being used.”

“I’m saying it’s no accident Poseidon has claimed you now. It’s a very risky

gamble, but he’s in a desperate situation. He needs you.”

My dad needs me.

Emotions rolled around inside me like bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. I didn’t

know whether to feel resentful or grateful or happy or angry. Poseidon had ignored

me for twelve years. Now suddenly he needed me.

I looked at Chiron. “You’ve known I was Poseidon’s son all along, haven’t

you?”

“I had my suspicions. As I said ... I’ve spoken to the Oracle, too.”

I got the feeling there was a lot he wasn’t telling me about his prophecy, but I

decided I couldn’t worry about that right now. After all, I was holding back

information too.

“So let me get this straight,” I said. “I’m supposed go to the Underworld and

confront the Lord of the Dead.”

“Check,” Chiron said.

“Find the most powerful weapon in the universe.”

“Check.”

“And get it back to Olympus before the summer solstice, in ten days.”

“That’s about right.”

I looked at Grover, who gulped down the ace of hearts.

“Did I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?” he asked weakly.

“You don’t have to go,” I told him. “I can’t ask that of you.

“Oh ...” He shifted his hooves. “No ... it’s just that satyrs and underground

places ... well...”

He took a deep breath, then stood, brushing the shredded cards and aluminum

bits off his T-shirt. “You saved my life, Percy. If ... if you’re serious about wanting

me along, I won’t let you down.”

I felt so relieved I wanted to cry, though I didn’t think that would be very

heroic. Grover was the only friend I’d ever had for longer than a few months. I

wasn’t sure what good a satyr could do against the forces of the dead, but I felt better

knowing he’d be with me.

“All the way, G-man.” I turned to Chiron. “So where do we go? The Oracle

just said to go west.”

“The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to

age, just like Olympus. Right now, of course, it’s in America.”

“Where?”

Chiron looked surprised. “I thought that would be obvious enough. The

entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles.”

“Oh,” I said. “Naturally. So we just get on a plane—”

“No!” Grover shrieked. “Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on

a plane in your life?”

I shook my head, feeling embarrassed. My mom had never taken me anywhere

by plane.

She’d always said we didn’t have the money. Besides, her parents had died in

a plane crash.

“Percy, think,” Chiron said. “You are the son of the Sea God. Your father’s

bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Your mother knew better than to trust you in

an airplane. You would be in Zeus’s domain. You would never come down again

alive.”

Overhead, lightning crackled. Thunder boomed.

“Okay,” I said, determined not to look at the storm. “So, I’ll travel overland.”

“That’s right,” Chiron said. “Two companions may accompany you. Grover is

one. The other has already volunteered, if you will accept her help.”

“Gee,” I said, feigning surprise. “Who else would be stupid enough to

volunteer for a quest like this?”

The air shimmered behind Chiron.

Annabeth became visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for a quest, seaweed brain,” she said. “Athena

is no fan of Poseidon, but if you’re going to save the world, I’m the best person to

keep you from messing up.”

“If you do say so yourself,” I said. “I suppose you have a plan, wise girl?”

Her cheeks colored. “Do you want my help or not?”

The truth was, I did. I needed all the help I could get.

“A trio,” I said. “That’ll work.”

“Excellent,” Chiron said. “This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus

terminal in Manhattan. After that, you are on your own.”

Lightning flashed. Rain poured down on the meadows that were never

supposed to have violent weather.

“No time to waste,” Chiron said. “I think you should all get packing.”

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