The Last Olympian (Percy Jackson and the Olympians #5)(12)

"Thanks," I said. "Me too."

Chiron put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure you did everything you could, Percy. Will you tell us what happened?"

I didn't want to go through it again, but I told them the story, including my dream about the Titans. I left out the detail about Nico. Nico had made me promise not to tell anybody about his plan until I made up my mind, and the plan was so scary I didn't mind keeping it a secret.

Chiron gazed down at the valley. "We must call a war council immediately, to discuss this spy, and other matters."

"Poseidon mentioned another threat," I said. "Something even bigger than the Princess Andromeda. I thought it might be that challenge the Titan had mentioned in my dream."

Chiron and Annabeth exchanged looks, like they knew something I didn't. I hated when they did that.

"We will discuss that also," Chiron promised.

"One more thing." I took a deep breath. "When I talked to my father, he said to tell you it's time. I need to know the full prophecy."

Chiron's shoulders sagged, but he didn't look surprised. "I've dreaded this day. Very well. Annabeth, we will show Percy the truth—all of it. Let's go to the attic."

* * *

I’d been to the Big House attic three times before, which was three times more than I wanted to.

A ladder led up from the top of the staircase. I wondered how Chiron was going to get up there, being half horse and all, but he didn't try.

"You know where it is," he told Annabeth. "Bring it down, please."

Annabeth nodded. "Come on, Percy."

The sun was setting outside, so the attic was even darker and creepier than usual. Old hero trophies were slacked everywhere—dented shields, pickled heads in jars from various monsters, a pair of fuzzy dice on a bronze plaque that read: STOLEN FROM CHRYSAOR'S HONDA CIVIC, BY GUS, SON OF HERMES, 1988.

I picked up a curved bronze sword so badly bent it looked like the letter M. I could still see green stains on the metal from the magical poison that used to cover it. The tag was dated last summer. It read: Scimitar of Kampê, destroyed in the Battle of the Labyrinth.

"You remember Briares throwing those boulders?" I asked.

Annabeth gave me a grudging smile. "And Grover causing a Panic?"

We locked eyes. I thought of a different time last summer, under Mount St. Helens, when Annabeth thought I was going to die and she kissed me.

She cleared her throat and looked away. "Prophecy."

"Right." I put down the scimitar. "Prophecy."

We walked over to the window. On a three-legged stool sat the Oracle—a shriveled female mummy in a tie-dyed dress. Tufts of black hair clung to her skull. Glassy eyes stared out of her leathery face. Just looking at her made my skin crawl.

If you wanted to leave camp during the summer, it used to be you had to come up here to get a quest. This summer, that rule had been tossed. Campers left all the time on combat missions. We had no choice if we wanted to stop Kronos.

Still, I remembered too well the strange green mist—the spirit of the Oracle—that lived inside the mummy. She looked lifeless now, but whenever she spoke a prophecy, she moved. Sometimes fog gushed out of her mouth and created strange shapes. Once, she'd even left the attic and taken a little zombie stroll into the woods to deliver a message. I wasn't sure what she'd do for the "Great Prophecy." I half expected her to start tap dancing or something.

But she just sat there like she was dead—which she was.

"I never understood this," I whispered.

"What?" Annabeth asked.

"Why it's a mummy."

"Percy, she didn't used to be a mummy. For thousands of years the spirit of the Oracle lived inside a beautiful maiden. The spirit would be passed on from generation to generation. Chiron told me she was like that fifty years ago." Annabeth pointed at the mummy. "But she was the last."

"What happened?"

Annabeth started to say something, then apparently changed her mind. "Let's just do our job and get out of here."

I looked nervously at the Oracle's withered face. "So what now?"

Annabeth approached the mummy and held out her palms. "O Oracle, the time is at hand. I ask for the Great Prophecy."

I braced myself, but the mummy didn't move. Instead, Annabeth approached and unclasped one of its necklaces. I’d never paid too much attention to its jewelry before. I figured it was just hippie love beads and stuff. But when Annabeth turned toward me, she was holding a leather pouch—like a Native American medicine pouch on a cord braided with feathers. She opened the bag and took out a roll of parchment no bigger than her pinky.

"No way," I said. "You mean all these years, I've been asking about this stupid prophecy, and it's been right there around her neck?"

"The time wasn't right," Annabeth said. "Believe me, Percy, I read this when I was ten years old, and I still have nightmares about it."

"Great," I said. "Can I read it now?"

"Downstairs at the war council," Annabeth said. "Not in front of . . . you know."

I looked at the glassy eyes of the Oracle, and I decided not to argue. We headed downstairs to join the others. I didn't know it then, but it would be the last time I ever visited the attic.