The Blood of Olympus (The Heroes of Olympus, #5)(63)

Behind her, the second-storey balconies of her family house were crowded with glowing figures: a man with a forked beard and rusted conquistador armour; another bearded man in eighteenth-century pirate clothes, his shirt peppered with gunshot holes; a lady in a bloody nightgown; a U.S. Navy captain in his dress whites; and a dozen more Reyna knew from her childhood – all of them glaring at her accusingly, their voices whispering in her mind: Traitor. Murderer.

‘No …’ Reyna felt like she was ten years old again. She wanted to curl up in the corner of her room and press her hands over her ears to stop the whispering.

Nico took her arm. ‘Reyna, who are they? What do they – ?’

‘I can’t,’ she pleaded. ‘I – I can’t.’

She’d spent so many years building a dam inside her to hold back the fear. Now, it broke. Her strength washed away.

‘It’s all right.’ Nico gazed up at the balconies. The ghosts disappeared, but Reyna knew they weren’t really gone. They were never really gone. ‘We’ll get you out of here,’ Nico promised. ‘Let’s move.’

Thalia took Reyna’s other arm. The four of them ran for the restaurant and the Athena Parthenos. Behind them, Reyna heard Orion roaring in pain, Greek fire exploding.

And in her mind the voices still whispered: Murderer. Traitor. You can never flee your crime.





XXV


Jason


JASON ROSE FROM HIS DEATHBED so he could drown with the rest of the crew.

The ship was tilting so violently he had to climb the floor to get out of sickbay. The hull creaked. The engine groaned like a dying water buffalo. Cutting through the roar of the wind, the goddess Nike screamed from the stables: ‘YOU CAN DO BETTER, STORM! GIVE ME A HUNDRED AND TEN PERCENT!’

Jason climbed the stairs to the middle deck. His legs shook. His head spun. The ship pitched to port, knocking him against the opposite wall.

Hazel stumbled out of her cabin, hugging her stomach. ‘I hate the ocean!’

When she saw him, her eyes widened. ‘What are you doing out of bed?’

‘I’m going up there!’ he insisted. ‘I can help!’

Hazel looked like she wanted to argue. Then the ship tilted to starboard and she staggered towards the bathroom, her hand over her mouth.

Jason fought his way to the stairs. He hadn’t been out of bed in a day and a half, ever since the girls got back from Sparta and he’d unexpectedly collapsed. His muscles rebelled at the effort. His gut felt like Michael Varus was standing behind him, repeatedly stabbing him and yelling, Die like a Roman! Die like a Roman!

Jason forced down the pain. He was tired of people taking care of him, whispering how worried they were. He was tired of dreaming about being a shish kebab. He’d spent enough time nursing the wound in his gut. Either it would kill him or it wouldn’t. He wasn’t going to wait around for the wound to decide. He had to help his friends.

Somehow he made it above deck.

What he saw there made him almost as nauseous as Hazel. A wave the size of a skyscraper crashed over the forward deck, washing the front crossbows and half the port railing out to sea. The sails were ripped to shreds. Lightning flashed all around, hitting the sea like spotlights. Horizontal rain blasted Jason’s face. The clouds were so dark he honestly couldn’t tell if it was day or night.

The crew was doing what they could … which wasn’t much.

Leo had lashed himself to the console with a bungee cord harness. That might have seemed like a good idea when he rigged it up, but every time a wave hit he was washed away, then smacked back into his control board like a human paddleball.

Piper and Annabeth were trying to save the rigging. Since Sparta they’d become quite a team – able to work together without even talking, which was just as well, since they couldn’t have heard each other over the storm.

Frank – at least Jason assumed it was Frank – had turned into a gorilla. He was swinging upside down off the starboard rail, using his massive strength and his flexible feet to hang on while he untangled some broken oars. Apparently the crew was trying to get the ship airborne, but, even if they managed to take off, Jason wasn’t sure the sky would be any safer.

Even Festus the figurehead was trying to help. He spewed fire at the rain, though that didn’t seem to discourage the storm.

Only Percy was having any luck. He stood by the centre mast, his hands extended like he was on a tightrope. Every time the ship tilted, he pushed in the opposite direction and the hull stabilized. He summoned giant fists of water from the ocean to slam into the larger waves before they could reach the deck, so it looked like the ocean was hitting itself repeatedly in the face.

With the storm as bad as it was, Jason realized the ship would’ve already capsized or been smashed to bits if Percy wasn’t on the job.

Jason staggered towards the mast. Leo yelled something – probably Go downstairs! – but Jason only waved back. He made it to Percy’s side and grabbed his shoulder.

Percy nodded like ’sup. He didn’t look shocked, or demand that Jason go back to sickbay, which Jason appreciated.

Percy could stay dry if he concentrated, but obviously he had bigger things to worry about right now. His dark hair was plastered to his face. His clothes were soaked and ripped.

He shouted something in Jason’s ear, but Jason could only make out a few words: ‘THING … DOWN … STOP IT!’