XXIII
ANNABETH
Annabeth literally stumbled over the second Titan.
After entering the storm front, they plodded on for what seemed like hours, relying on the light of Percy’s Celestial bronze blade, and on Bob, who glowed faintly in the dark like some sort of crazy janitor angel.
Annabeth could only see about five feet in front of her. In a strange way, the Dark Lands reminded her of San Francisco, where her dad lived – on those summer afternoons when the fog bank rolled in like cold, wet packing material and swallowed Pacific Heights. Except here in Tartarus, the fog was made of ink.
Rocks loomed out of nowhere. Pits appeared at their feet, and Annabeth barely avoided falling in. Monstrous roars echoed in the gloom, but Annabeth couldn’t tell where they came from. All she could be certain of was that the terrain was still sloping down.
Down seemed to be the only direction allowed in Tartarus. If Annabeth backtracked even a step, she felt tired and heavy, as if gravity were increasing to discourage her. Assuming that the entire pit was the body of Tartarus, Annabeth had a nasty feeling they were marching straight down his throat.
She was so preoccupied with that thought she didn’t notice the ledge until it was too late.
Percy yelled, ‘Whoa!’ He grabbed for her arm, but she was already falling.
Fortunately, it was only a shallow depression. Most of it was filled with a monster blister. She had a soft landing on a warm bouncy surface and was feeling lucky – until she opened her eyes and found herself staring through a glowing gold membrane at another, much larger face.
She screamed and flailed, toppling sideways off the mound. Her heart did a hundred jumping jacks.
Percy helped her to her feet. ‘You okay?’
She didn’t trust herself to answer. If she opened her mouth, she might scream again, and that would be undignified. She was a daughter of Athena, not some shrill girlie victim in a horror movie.
But gods of Olympus … Curled in the membrane bubble in front of her was a fully formed Titan in golden armour, his skin the colour of polished pennies. His eyes were closed, but he scowled so deeply he appeared to be on the verge of a bloodcurdling war cry. Even through the blister, Annabeth could feel the heat radiating from his body.
‘,’ Percy said. ‘I hate that guy.’
Annabeth’s shoulder suddenly ached from an old wound. During the Battle of Manhattan, Percy had fought this Titan at the Reservoir – water against fire. It had been the first time Percy had summoned a hurricane – which wasn’t something Annabeth would ever forget. ‘I thought Grover turned this guy into a maple tree.’
‘Yeah,’ Percy agreed. ‘Maybe the maple tree died, and he wound up back here?’
Annabeth remembered how Hyperion had summoned fiery explosions and how many satyrs and he’d destroyed before Percy and Grover stopped him.
She was about to suggest that they burst Hyperion’s bubble before he woke up. He looked ready to pop out at any moment and start charbroiling everything in his path.
Then she glanced at Bob. The silvery Titan was studying Hyperion with a frown of concentration – maybe recognition. Their faces looked so much alike …
Annabeth bit back a curse. Of course they looked alike. Hyperion was his brother. Hyperion was the Titan lord of the east. Iapetus, Bob, was the lord of the west. Take away Bob’s broom and his janitor’s clothes, put him in armour and cut his hair, change his colour scheme from silver to gold, and Iapetus would have been almost indistinguishable from Hyperion.
‘Bob,’ she said, ‘we should go.’
‘Gold, not silver,’ Bob murmured. ‘But he looks like me.’
‘Bob,’ Percy said. ‘Hey, buddy, over here.’
The Titan reluctantly turned.
‘Am I your friend?’ Percy asked.
‘Yes.’ Bob sounded dangerously uncertain. ‘We are friends.’
‘You know that some monsters are good,’ Percy said. ‘And some are bad.’
‘Hmm,’ Bob said. ‘Like … the pretty ghost ladies who serve Persephone are good. Exploding zombies are bad.’
‘Right,’ Percy said. ‘And some mortals are good, and some are bad. Well, the same thing is true for Titans.’
‘Titans …’ Bob loomed over them, glowering. Annabeth was pretty sure her boyfriend had just made a big mistake.
‘That’s what you are,’ Percy said calmly. ‘Bob the Titan. You’re good. You’re awesome, in fact. But some Titans are not. This guy here, Hyperion, is full-on bad. He tried to kill me … tried to kill a lot of people.’
Bob blinked his silver eyes. ‘But he looks … his face is so –’
‘He looks like you,’ Percy agreed. ‘He’s a Titan, like you. But he’s not good like you are.’
‘Bob is good.’ His fingers tightened on his broom handle. ‘Yes. There is always at least one good one – monsters, Titans, giants.’
‘Uh …’ Percy grimaced. ‘Well, I’m not sure about the giants.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Bob nodded earnestly.
Annabeth sensed they’d already been in this place too long. Their pursuers would be closing in.
‘We should go,’ she urged. ‘What do we do about …?’
‘Bob,’ Percy said, ‘it’s your call. Hyperion is your kind. We could leave him alone, but if he wakes up –’
Bob’s broom-spear swept into motion. If he’d been aiming at Annabeth or Percy, they would’ve been cut in half. Instead, Bob slashed through the monstrous blister, which burst in a geyser of hot golden mud.
Annabeth wiped the Titan sludge out of her eyes. Where Hyperion had been, there was nothing but a smoking crater.
‘Hyperion is a bad Titan,’ Bob announced, his expression grim. ‘Now he can’t hurt my friends. He will have to re-form somewhere else in Tartarus. Hopefully it will take a long time.’
The Titan’s eyes seemed brighter than usual, as if he were about to cry quicksilver.
‘Thank you, Bob,’ Percy said.
How was he keeping his cool? The way he talked to Bob left Annabeth awestruck … and maybe a little uneasy, too. If Percy had been serious about leaving the choice to Bob, then she didn’t like how much he trusted the Titan. If he’d been manipulating Bob into making that choice … well, then, Annabeth was stunned that Percy could be so calculating.
He met her eyes, but she couldn’t read his expression. That bothered her, too.
‘We’d better keep going,’ he said.
She and Percy followed Bob, the golden mud flecks from Hyperion’s burst bubble glowing on his janitor’s uniform.