The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo #1)(45)

Tiers of stone seats ringed a sandy pit about the right size for a gladiator fight. Hanging from the ceiling were dozens of thick iron chains. I wondered what ghastly spectacles might have been staged here, but we didn’t stay very long.

We limped out the opposite side, back into the Labyrinth’s twisting corridors.

By this point, we had perfected the art of three-legged running. Whenever I started to tire, I imagined Python behind us, spewing poisonous gas.

At last we turned a corner, and Meg shouted, “There!”

In the middle of the corridor sat a third golden apple.

This time I was too exhausted to care about traps. We loped forward until Meg scooped up the fruit.

In front of us, the ceiling lowered, forming a ramp. Fresh air filled my lungs. We climbed to the top, but instead of feeling elated, my insides turned as cold as the garbage juice on my skin. We were back in the woods.

“Not here,” I muttered. “Gods, no.”

Meg hopped us in a full circle. “Maybe it’s a different forest.”

But it wasn’t. I could feel the resentful stare of the trees, the horizon stretching out in all directions. Voices began to whisper, waking to our presence.

“Hurry,” I said.

As if on cue, the bands around our legs sprang loose. We ran.

Even with her arms full of apples, Meg was faster. She veered between trees, zigzagging left and right as if following a course only she could see. My legs ached and my chest burned, but I didn’t dare fall behind.

Up ahead, flickering points of light resolved into torches. At last we burst out of the woods, right into a crowd of campers and satyrs.

Chiron galloped over. “Thank the gods!”

“You’re welcome,” I gasped, mostly out of habit. “Chiron…we have to talk.”

In the torchlight, the centaur’s face seemed carved from shadow. “Yes, we do, my friend. But first, I fear one more team is still missing…your children, Kayla and Austin.”


Chiron forced us to take showers and change clothes. Otherwise I would have plunged straight back into the woods.

By the time I was done, Kayla and Austin still had not returned.

Chiron had sent search parties of dryads into the forest, on the assumption that they would be safe in their home territory, but he adamantly refused to let demigods join the hunt.

“We cannot risk anyone else,” he said. “Kayla, Austin, and—and the other missing…They would not want that.”

Five campers had now disappeared. I harbored no illusions that Kayla and Austin would return on their own. The Beast’s words still echoed in my ears: I have upped the stakes. Apollo will have no choice.

Somehow he had targeted my children. He was inviting me to look for them, and to find the gates of this hidden Oracle. There was still so much I did not understand—how the ancient grove of Dodona had relocated here, what sort of “gates” it might have, why the Beast thought I could open them, and how he’d snared Austin and Kayla. But there was one thing I did know: the Beast was right. I had no choice. I had to find my children…my friends.

I would have ignored Chiron’s warning and run into the forest except for Will’s panicked shout, “Apollo, I need you!”

At the far end of the field, he had set up an impromptu hospital where half a dozen campers lay injured on stretchers. He was frantically tending to Paolo Montes while Nico held down the screaming patient.

I ran to Will’s side and winced at what I saw.

Paolo had managed to get one of his legs sawed off.

“I got it reattached,” Will told me, his voice shaky with exhaustion. His scrubs were speckled with blood. “I need somebody to keep him stable.”

I pointed to the woods. “But—”

“I know!” Will snapped. “Don’t you think I want to be out there searching too? We’re shorthanded for healers. There’s some salve and nectar in that pack. Go!”

I was stunned by his tone. I realized he was just as concerned about Kayla and Austin as I was. The only difference: Will knew his duty. He had to heal the injured first. And he needed my help.

“Y-yes,” I said. “Yes, of course.”

I grabbed the supply pack and took charge of Paolo, who had conveniently passed out from the pain.

Will changed his surgical gloves and glared at the woods. “We will find them. We have to.”

Nico di Angelo gave him a canteen. “Drink. Right now, this is where you need to be.”

I could tell the son of Hades was angry too. Around his feet, the grass steamed and withered.

Will sighed. “You’re right. But that doesn’t make me feel better. I have to set Valentina’s broken arm now. You want to assist?”

“Sounds gruesome,” Nico said. “Let’s go.”

I tended to Paolo Montes until I was sure he was out of danger, then asked two satyrs to carry his stretcher to the Hebe cabin.

I did what I could to nurse the others. Chiara had a mild concussion. Billie Ng had come down with a case of Irish step dancing. Holly and Laurel needed pieces of shrapnel removed from their backs, thanks to a close encounter with an exploding chain-saw Frisbee.

The Victor twins had placed in first, predictably, but they also demanded to know which of them had the most pieces of shrapnel extracted, so they could have bragging rights. I told them to be quiet or I would never allow them to wear laurel wreaths again. (As the guy who held the patent on laurel wreaths, that was my prerogative.)