The Mark of Athena (The Heroes of Olympus #3)(65)

A sleepy voice murmured in her head: Soon, my dear. You will meet the weaver soon.

“Gaea?” Annabeth murmured. She feared the answer, but she asked: “Who—who is the weaver?”

The spiders became excited, swarming over the walls, swirling around Annabeth’s feet like a glistening black whirlpool. Only the hope that it might be an illusion kept Annabeth from passing out from fear.

I hope you survive, child, the woman’s voice said. I would prefer you as my sacrifice. But we must let the weaver take her revenge…

Gaea’s voice faded. On the far wall, in the center of the spider swarm, a red symbol blazed to life: the figure of an owl like the one on the silver drachma, staring straight at Annabeth. Then, just as in her nightmares, the Mark of Athena burned across the walls, incinerating the spiders until the room was empty except for the smell of sickly sweet ashes.

Go, said a new voice—Annabeth’s mother. Avenge me. Follow the Mark.

The blazing symbol of the owl faded. The garrison door burst open. Annabeth stood stunned in the middle of the room, unsure whether she’d seen something real, or just a vision.

An explosion shook the building. Annabeth remembered that her friends were in danger. She’d stayed here much too long.

She forced herself to move. Still trembling, she stumbled outside. The ocean air helped clear her mind. She gazed across the courtyard—past the panicked tourists and fighting demigods—to the edge of the battlements, where a large mortar pointed out to sea.

It might have been Annabeth’s imagination, but the old artillery piece seemed to be glowing red. She dashed toward it. An eagle swooped at her, but she ducked and kept running. Nothing could possibly scare her as much as those spiders.

Roman demigods had formed ranks and were advancing toward the Argo II, but a miniature storm had gathered over their heads. Though the day was clear all around them, thunder rumbled, and lightning flashed above the Romans. Rain and wind pushed them back.

Annabeth didn’t stop to think about it.

She reached the mortar and put her hand on the muzzle. On the plug that blocked the opening, the Mark of Athena began to glow—the red outline of an owl.

“In the mortar,” she said. “Of course.”

She pried at the plug with her fingers. No luck. Cursing, she drew her dagger. As soon as the Celestial bronze touched the plug, the plug shrank and loosened. Annabeth pulled it off and stuck her hand inside the cannon.

Her fingers touched something cold, smooth, and metal. She pulled out a small disk of bronze the size of a tea saucer, etched with delicate letters and illustrations. She decided to examine it later. She thrust it in her pack and turned.

“Rushing off?” Reyna asked.

The praetor stood ten feet away, in full battle armor, holding a golden javelin. Her two metal greyhounds growled at her side.

Annabeth scanned the area. They were more or less alone. Most of the combat had moved toward the docks. Hopefully her friends had all made it on board, but they’d have to set sail immediately or risk being overrun. Annabeth had to hurry.

“Reyna,” she said, “what happened at Camp Jupiter was Gaea’s fault. Eidolons, possessing spirits—”

“Save your explanations,” Reyna said. “You’ll need them for the trial.”

The dogs snarled and inched forward. This time, it didn’t seem to matter to them that Annabeth was telling the truth. She tried to think of an escape plan. She doubted she could take Reyna in one-on-one combat. With those metal dogs, she stood no chance at all.

“If you let Gaea drive our camps apart,” Annabeth said, “the giants have already won. They’ll destroy the Romans, the Greeks, the gods, the whole mortal world.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Reyna’s voice was as hard as iron. “What choice have you left me? Octavian smells blood. He’s whipped the legion into a frenzy, and I can’t stop it. Surrender to me. I’ll bring you back to New Rome for trial. It won’t be fair. You’ll be painfully executed. But it may be enough to stop further violence. Octavian won’t be satisfied, of course, but I think I can convince the others to stand down.”

“It wasn’t me!”

“It doesn’t matter!” Reyna snapped. “Someone must pay for what happened. Let it be you. It’s the better option.”

Annabeth’s skin crawled. “Better than what?”

“Use that wisdom of yours,” Reyna said. “If you escape today, we won’t follow. I told you—not even a madman would cross the sea to the ancient lands. If Octavian can’t have vengeance on your ship, he’ll turn his attention to Camp Half-Blood. The legion will march on your territory. We will raze it and salt the earth.”

Kill the Romans, she heard her mother urging. They can never be your allies.

Annabeth wanted to sob. Camp Half-Blood was the only real home she’d ever known, and in a bid for friendship, she had told Reyna exactly where to find it. She couldn’t leave it at the mercy of the Romans and travel halfway around the world.

But their quest, and everything she’d suffered to get Percy back…if she didn’t go to the ancient lands, it would all mean nothing. Besides, the Mark of Athena didn’t have to lead to revenge.

If I could find the route, her mother had said, the way home…

How will you use your reward? Aphrodite had asked. For war or peace?