The House of Hades (The Heroes of Olympus #4)(77)

“Because you helped someone?”

“Yes.” Damasen looked ashamed. “Gaea opened the earth, and I was consumed, exiled here in the belly of my father Tartarus, where all the useless flotsam collects—all the bits of creation he does not care for.” The giant plucked a flower out of his hair and regarded it absently. “They let me live, tending my sheep, collecting my herbs, so I might know the uselessness of the life I chose. Every day—or what passes for day in this lightless place—the Maeonian drakon re-forms and attacks me. Killing it is my endless task.”

Annabeth gazed around the hut, trying to imagine how many eons Damasen had been exiled here—slaying the drakon, collecting its bones and hide and meat, knowing it would attack again the next day. She could barely imagine surviving a week in Tartarus. Exiling your own son here for centuries—that was beyond cruel.

“Break the curse,” she blurted out. “Come with us.”

Damasen chuckled sourly. “As simple as that. Don’t you think I have tried to leave this place? It is impossible. No matter which direction I travel, I end up here again. The swamp is the only thing I know—the only destination I can imagine. No, little demigod. My curse has overtaken me. I have no hope left.”

“No hope,” Bob echoed.

“There must be a way.” Annabeth couldn’t stand the expression on the giant’s face. It reminded her of her own father, the few times he’d confessed to her that he still loved Athena. He had looked so sad and defeated, wishing for something he knew was impossible.

“Bob has a plan to reach the Doors of Death,” she insisted. “He said we could hide in some sort of Death Mist.”

“Death Mist?” Damasen scowled at Bob. “You would take them to Akhlys?”

“It is the only way,” Bob said.

“You will die,” Damasen said. “Painfully. In darkness. Akhlys trusts no one and helps no one.”

Bob looked like he wanted to argue, but he pressed his lips together and remained silent.

“Is there another way?” Annabeth asked.

“No,” Damasen said. “The Death Mist…that is the best plan. Unfortunately, it is a terrible plan.”

Annabeth felt like she was hanging over the pit again, unable to pull herself up, unable to maintain her grip—left with no good options.

“But isn’t it worth trying?” she asked. “You could return to the mortal world. You could see the sun again.”

Damasen’s eyes were like the sockets of the drakon’s skull—dark and hollow, devoid of hope. He flicked a broken bone into the fire and rose to his full height—a massive red warrior in sheepskin and drakon leather, with dried flowers and herbs in his hair. Annabeth could see how he was the anti-Ares. Ares was the worst god, blustery and violent. Damasen was the best giant, kind and helpful…and for that, he’d been cursed to eternal torment.

“Get some sleep,” the giant said. “I will prepare supplies for your journey. I am sorry, but I cannot do more.”

Annabeth wanted to argue, but as soon as he said sleep, her body betrayed her, despite her resolution never to sleep in Tartarus again. Her belly was full. The fire made a pleasant crackling sound. The herbs in the air reminded her of the hills around Camp Half-Blood in the summer, when the satyrs and naiads gathered wild plants in the lazy afternoons.

“Maybe a little sleep,” she agreed.

Bob scooped her up like a rag doll. She didn’t protest. He set her next to Percy on the giant’s bed, and she closed her eyes.

ANNABETH WOKE STARING at the shadows dancing across the hut’s ceiling. She hadn’t had a single dream. That was so unusual, she wasn’t sure if she’d actually woken up.

As she lay there, Percy snoring next to her and Small Bob purring on her belly, she heard Bob and Damasen deep in conversation.

“You haven’t told her,” Damasen said.

“No,” Bob admitted. “She is already scared.”

The giant grumbled. “She should be. And if you cannot guide them past Night?”

Damasen said Night like it was a proper name—an evil name.

“I have to,” Bob said.

“Why?” Damasen wondered. “What have the demigods given you? They have erased your old self, everything you were. Titans and giants…we are meant to be the foes of the gods and their children. Are we not?”

“Then why did you heal the boy?”

Damasen exhaled. “I have been wondering that myself. Perhaps because the girl goaded me, or perhaps…I find these two demigods intriguing. They are resilient to have made it so far. That is admirable. Still, how can we help them any further? It is not our fate.”

“Perhaps,” Bob said, uncomfortably. “But…do you like our fate?”

“What a question. Does anyone like his fate?”

“I liked being Bob,” Bob murmured. “Before I started to remember…”

“Huh.” There was a shuffling sound, as if Damasen was stuffing a leather bag.

“Damasen,” the Titan asked, “do you remember the sun?”

The shuffling stopped. Annabeth heard the giant exhale through his nostrils. “Yes. It was yellow. When it touched the horizon, it turned the sky beautiful colors.”

“I miss the sun,” Bob said. “The stars, too. I would like to say hello to the stars again.”