The Tower of Nero

“We start with Rachel,” Will said, still picking glumly at his muffin. “A Dare reveals the path that was unknown.”

The truth pierced the base of my neck like an acupuncture needle.

Of course, Will’s interpretation made total sense. Our old friend would probably be at home in Brooklyn, just starting her summer break, not expecting me to crash her place and demand help.

“Rachel Elizabeth Dare,” I said. “My Delphic priestess.”

“Excellent,” Dionysus said. “Now that you’ve got your suicidal quest figured out, can we please finish breakfast? And stop hogging the syrup, McCaffrey. Other people have pancakes, too.”

WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOU ONLY HAD one day at Camp Half-Blood?

Perhaps you’d partake in a game of capture-the-flag, or ride a pegasus over the beach, or laze in the meadow enjoying the sunshine and the sweet fragrance of ripening strawberries.

All good choices. I did none of them.

I spent my day running around in a panic, trying to prepare myself for imminent death.

After breakfast, Nico refused to share any more information about the mysterious cave-runners. “You’ll find out tomorrow” was all he said.

When I asked Will, he clammed up and looked so sad I didn’t have the heart to press him.

Dionysus probably could have enlightened me, but he’d already checked us off his to-do list.

“I told you, Apollo, the world has many crises. Just this morning, scientists released another study tying soda to hypertension. If they continue to disparage the name of Diet Coke, I will have to smite someone!” He stormed off to plot his revenge on the health industry.

I thought Meg, at least, would stay at my side as we got ready for our quest. Instead, she chose to spend her morning planting squash with the Demeter cabin. That’s correct, dear reader. She chose ornamental gourds over me.

My first stop was the Ares cabin, where I asked Sherman Yang if he had any helpful intel on Nero’s tower.

“It’s a fortress,” he said. “A frontal attack would be—”

“Suicide,” I guessed. “No secret entrances?”

“Not that I know of. If there were, they’d be heavily guarded and set with traps.” He got a faraway look on his face. “Maybe motion-activated flamethrowers. That would be cool.”

I began to wonder if Sherman would be more helpful as an advisor to Nero.

“Is it possible,” I asked, “that Nero could have a doomsday weapon in place? For instance, enough Greek fire to destroy New York at the push of a button?”

“Whoa…” Sherman developed the lovestruck expression of someone seeing Aphrodite for the first time. “That would be amazing. I mean bad. That would be bad. But…yeah, it’s possible. With his wealth and resources? The amount of time he’s had to plan? Sure. He’d need a central storage facility and a delivery system for rapid dispersal. My guess? It would be underground—to take advantage of the city’s pipes, sewers, tunnels, and whatnot. You think he’s really got something like that? When do we leave for battle?”

I realized I may have told Sherman Yang too much. “I’ll get back to you,” I muttered, and beat a hasty retreat.

Next stop: the Athena cabin.

I asked their current head counselor, Malcolm, if he had any information about the Tower of Nero or creatures called “cave-runners,” or any hypotheses about why a Gaul like Luguselwa might be working for Nero, and whether or not she could be trusted.

Malcolm paced the cabin, frowning at various wall maps and bookshelves. “I could do some research,” he offered. “We could come up with a solid intelligence dossier and a plan of attack.”

“That—that would be amazing!”

“It’ll take us about four weeks. Maybe three, if we push it. When do you have to leave?”

I exited the cabin in tears.

Before lunchtime, I decided to consult my weapon of last resort: the Arrow of Dodona. I moved into the woods, thinking perhaps the arrow would be more prophetic if I brought it closer to its place of origin, the Grove of Dodona, where trees whispered the future and every branch dreamed of growing up to be a Shakespeare-spouting projectile. Also, I wanted to be far enough from the cabins that no one would see me talking to an inanimate object.

I updated the arrow on the latest developments and prophecy verses. Then, gods help me, I asked its advice.

I TOLDST THOU BEFORE, the arrow said. I SEEST NO OTHER INTERPRETATION. THOU MUST TRUST THE EMPEROR’S OWN.

“Meaning Luguselwa,” I said. “Meaning I should surrender myself to Nero, because a Gaul I barely know tells me it’s the only way to stop the emperor.”

VERILY, said the arrow.

“And seest thou— Can you see what will happen after we surrender?”

NAY.

“Maybe if I brought you back to the Grove of Dodona?”

NAY! It spoke so forcefully, it almost rattled out of my grasp.

I stared at the arrow, waiting for more, but I got the feeling its outburst had surprised even it.

“So…are you just making horse sounds now?”

A FIG! it cursed. At least, I assumed it was a swear and not a lunch order. TAKEST ME NOT TO THE GROVE, PERNICIOUS LESTER! THINKEST THOU I SHOULDST BE WELCOMED THERE, MY QUEST INCOMPLETE?

Its tone wasn’t easy to understand, since its voice resonated straight into the plates of my skull, but I thought it sounded…hurt.

“I—I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize—”

OF COURSE THOU DIDST NOT. Its fletching rippled. I LEFT NOT WILLINGLY FROM MY HOME, O LESTER. I WAS FORCED, CAST OUT! ONE SMALL BRANCH, EXPENDABLE, FORGETTABLE, EXILED FROM THE CHORUS OF TREES UNTIL I SHOULDST PROVE MYSELF! IF NOW I RETURNED, THE ENTIRE GROVE WOULD LAUGH. THE HUMILIATION…

It became still in my hand.

FORGETTEST THOU WHAT I SAID, it hummed. PRETENDEST THOU IT NEVER HAPPENED.

I wasn’t sure what to say. All my years as a god of archery had not prepared me for playing therapist to an arrow. And yet…I felt terrible for the poor projectile. I had hauled it across the country and back again. I had complained about its shortcomings. I had belittled its advice and made fun of its lofty language. I had never stopped to consider that it had feelings, hopes, dreams, and perhaps even a family as dysfunctional and unsupportive as mine.

I wondered, bitterly, if there was anyone I hadn’t neglected, hurt, or overlooked during my time as a mortal—strike that—during my four thousand years of existence, period. I could only be grateful that my shoes were not sentient. Or my underwear. Gods, I would never be able to stop apologizing.

“I have used you poorly,” I told the arrow. “I’m sorry. Once we’ve succeeded in our quest, I’ll return you to the Grove of Dodona, and you’ll be welcomed back as a hero.”

I could feel the pulse in my fingertips beating against the arrow’s shaft. It remained quiet for six heartbeats.

AYE, it said at last. DOUBTLESS YOU ARE RIGHT.

As far as red flags went, the Arrow of Dodona telling me I was right was the reddest and flaggiest I could imagine.

“What is it?” I demanded. “You’ve seen something in the future? Something bad?”

Its point shuddered. WORRY NOT, THOU. I MUST NEEDS RETURN TO MY QUIVER. THOU SHOULDST SPEAK TO MEG.