XLVII
PERCY
Percy missed Bob.
He’d got used to having the Titan on his side, lighting their way with his silver hair and his fearsome war broom.
Now their only guide was an emaciated corpse lady with serious self-esteem issues.
As they struggled across the dusty plain, the fog became so thick that Percy had to resist the urge to swat it away with his hands. The only reason he was able to follow Akhlys’s path was because poisonous plants sprang up wherever she walked.
If they were still on the body of Tartarus, Percy figured they must be on the bottom of his foot – a rough, calloused expanse where only the most disgusting plant life grew.
Finally they arrived at the end of the big toe. At least that’s what it looked like to Percy. The fog dissipated, and they found themselves on a peninsula that jutted out over a pitch-black void.
‘Here we are.’ Akhlys turned and leered at them. Blood from her cheeks dripped on her dress. Her sickly eyes looked moist and swollen but somehow excited. Can Misery look excited?
‘Uh … great,’ Percy asked. ‘Where is here?’
‘The verge of final death,’ Akhlys said. ‘Where Night meets the void below Tartarus.’
Annabeth inched forward and peered over the cliff. ‘I thought there was nothing below Tartarus.’
‘Oh, certainly there is …’ Akhlys coughed. ‘Even Tartarus had to rise from somewhere. This is the edge of the earliest darkness, which was my mother. Below lies the realm of Chaos, my father. Here, you are closer to nothingness than any mortal has ever been. Can you not feel it?’
Percy knew what she meant. The void seemed to be pulling at him, leaching the breath from his lungs and the oxygen from his blood. He looked at Annabeth and saw that her lips were tinged blue.
‘We can’t stay here,’ he said.
‘No, indeed!’ Akhlys said. ‘Don’t you feel the Death Mist? Even now, you pass between. Look!’
White smoke gathered around Percy’s feet. As it coiled up his legs, he realized the smoke wasn’t surrounding him. It was coming from him. His whole body was dissolving. He held up his hands and found they were fuzzy and indistinct. He couldn’t even tell how many fingers he had. Hopefully still ten.
He turned to Annabeth and stifled a yelp. ‘You’re – uh –’
He couldn’t say it. She looked dead.
Her skin was sallow, her eye sockets dark and sunken. Her beautiful hair had dried into a skein of cobwebs. She looked like she’d been stuck in a cool, dark mausoleum for decades, slowly withering into a desiccated husk. When she turned to look at him, her features momentarily blurred into mist.
Percy’s blood moved like sap in his veins.
For years, he had worried about Annabeth dying. When you’re a demigod, that goes with the territory. Most half-bloods don’t live long. You always knew that the next monster you fought could be your last. But seeing Annabeth like this was too painful. He’d rather stand in the River Phlegethon, or get attacked by arai, or be trampled by giants.
‘Oh, gods,’ Annabeth sobbed. ‘Percy, the way you look …’
Percy studied his arms. All he saw were blobs of white mist, but he guessed that to Annabeth he looked like a corpse. He took a few steps, though it was difficult. His body felt insubstantial, like he was made of helium and cotton candy.
‘I’ve looked better,’ he decided. ‘I can’t move very well. But I’m all right.’
Akhlys clucked. ‘Oh, you’re definitely not all right.’
Percy frowned. ‘But we’ll pass unseen now? We can get to the Doors of Death?’
‘Well, perhaps you could,’ the goddess said, ‘if you lived that long, which you won’t.’
Akhlys spread her gnarled fingers. More plants bloomed along the edge of the pit – hemlock, nightshade and oleander spreading towards Percy’s feet like a deadly carpet. ‘The Death Mist is not simply a disguise, you see. It is a state of being. I could not bring you this gift unless death followed – true death.’
‘It’s a trap,’ Annabeth said.
The goddess cackled. ‘Didn’t you expect me to betray you?’
‘Yes,’ Annabeth and Percy said together.
‘Well, then, it was hardly a trap! More of an inevitability. Misery is inevitable. Pain is –’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Percy growled. ‘Let’s get to the fighting.’
He drew Riptide, but the blade was made of smoke. When he slashed at Akhlys, the sword just floated across her like a gentle breeze.
The goddess’s ruined mouth split into a grin. ‘Did I forget to mention? You are only mist now – a shadow before death. Perhaps if you had time, you could learn to control your new form. But you do not have time. Since you cannot touch me, I fear any fight with Misery will be quite one-sided.’
Her fingernails grew into talons. Her jaw unhinged, and her yellow teeth elongated into fangs.