The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo #1)(41)

Laurel Victor raised her hand. “You mean the first team back wins?”

“Any team that gets back alive wins!” Harley said.

“That’s ridiculous!” Holly said. “There can only be one winner. First team back wins!”

Harley shrugged. “Have it your way. My only rules are stay alive, and don’t kill each other.”

“O quê?” Paolo started complaining so loudly in Portuguese that Connor had to cover his left ear.

“Now, now!” Chiron called. His saddlebags were overflowing with extra first-aid kits and emergency flares. “We won’t need any help making this a dangerous challenge. Let’s have a good clean three-legged death race. And another thing, campers, given the problems our test group had this morning, please repeat after me: Do not end up in Peru.”

“Do not end up in Peru,” everyone chanted.

Sherman Yang cracked his knuckles. “So where is the starting line?”

“There is no starting line,” Harley said with glee. “You’re all starting from right where you are.”

The campers looked around in confusion. Suddenly the meadow shook. Dark lines etched across the grass, forming a giant green checkerboard.

“Have fun!” Harley squealed.

The ground opened beneath our feet, and we fell into the Labyrinth.





Bowling balls of death

Rolling toward my enemies

I’ll trade you problems

AT LEAST WE DID NOT LAND IN PERU.

My feet hit stone, jarring my ankles. We stumbled against a wall, but Meg provided me with a convenient cushion.

We found ourselves in a dark tunnel braced with oaken beams. The hole we’d fallen through was gone, replaced by an earthen ceiling. I saw no sign of the other teams, but from somewhere above I could vaguely hear Harley chanting, “Go! Go! Go!”

“When I get my powers back,” I said, “I will turn Harley into a constellation called the Ankle Biter. At least constellations are silent.”

Meg pointed down the corridor. “Look.”

As my eyes adjusted, I realized the tunnel’s dim light emanated from a glowing piece of fruit about thirty meters away.

“A golden apple,” I said.

Meg lurched forward, pulling me with her.

“Wait!” I said. “There might be traps!”

As if to illustrate my point, Connor and Paolo emerged from the darkness at the other end of the corridor. Paolo scooped up the golden apple and shouted, “BRASIL!”

Connor grinned at us. “Too slow, suckers!”

The ceiling opened above them, showering them with iron orbs the size of cantaloupes.

Connor yelped, “Run!”

He and Paolo executed an awkward one-eighty and hobbled away, hotly pursued by a rolling herd of cannonballs with sparking fuses.

The sounds quickly faded. Without the glowing apple, we were left in total darkness.

“Great.” Meg’s voice echoed. “Now what?”

“I suggest we go the other direction.”

That was easier said than done. Being blind seemed to bother Meg more than it did me. Thanks to my mortal body, I already felt crippled and deprived of my senses. Besides, I often relied on more than sight. Music required keen hearing. Archery required a sensitive touch and the ability to feel the direction of the wind. (Okay, sight was also helpful, but you get the idea.) We shuffled ahead, our arms extended in front of us. I listened for suspicious clicks, snaps, or creaks that might indicate an incoming flock of explosions, but I suspected that if I did hear any warning signs, it would be too late.

Eventually Meg and I learned to walk with our bound legs in synchronicity. It wasn’t easy. I had a flawless sense of rhythm. Meg was always a quarter beat slow or fast, which kept us veering left or right and running into walls.

We lumbered along for what might have been minutes or days. In the Labyrinth, time was deceptive.

I remembered what Austin had told me about the Labyrinth feeling different since the death of its creator. I was beginning to understand what he meant. The air seemed fresher, as if the maze hadn’t been chewing up quite so many bodies. The walls didn’t radiate the same malignant heat. As far as I could tell, they weren’t oozing blood or slime, either, which was a definite improvement. In the old days, you couldn’t take a step inside Daedalus’s Labyrinth without sensing its all-consuming desire: I will destroy your mind and your body. Now the atmosphere was sleepier, the message not quite as virulent: Hey, if you die in here, that’s cool.

“I never liked Daedalus,” I muttered. “That old rascal didn’t know when to stop. He always had to have the latest tech, the most recent updates. I told him not to make his maze self-aware. ‘A.I. will destroy us, man,’ I said. But noooo. He had to give the Labyrinth a malevolent consciousness.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Meg said. “But maybe you shouldn’t bad-mouth the maze while we’re inside it.”

Once, I stopped when I heard the sound of Austin’s saxophone. It was faint, echoing through so many corridors I couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. Then it was gone. I hoped he and Kayla had found their three apples and escaped safely.

Finally, Meg and I reached a Y in the corridor. I could tell this from the flow of the air and the temperature differential against my face.