The Mark of Athena (The Heroes of Olympus #3)(87)

“Yeah. Let’s see. Pillars of Hercules…” Jason flipped a page. “Says here this island has no hotels, no restaurants, no transportation. Attractions: Hercules and two pillars. Huh, this is interesting. Supposedly the dollar sign—you know, the S with the two lines through it?—that came from the Spanish coat of arms, which showed the Pillars of Hercules with a banner curling between them.”

Great, Piper thought. Jason finally gets along with Annabeth, and her brainiac tendencies start rubbing off on him.

“Anything helpful?” she asked.

“Wait. Here’s a tiny reference to Achelous: This river god fought Hercules for the hand of the beautiful Deianira. During the struggle, Hercules broke off one of the river god’s horns, which became the first cornucopia.”

“Corn of what?”

“It’s that Thanksgiving decoration,” Jason said. “The horn with all the goodies spilling out? We have some in the mess hall at Camp Jupiter. I didn’t know the original one was actually some guy’s horn.”

“And we’re supposed to take his other one,” Piper said. “I’m guessing that won’t be so easy. Who was Deianira?”

“Hercules married her,” Jason said. “I think…doesn’t say here. But I think something bad happened to her.”

Piper remembered what Hercules had told them: his first family dead, his second wife dead after being tricked into poisoning him. She was liking this challenge less and less.

They trudged across a ridge between two hills, trying to stay in the shade; but Piper was already soaked with perspiration. The mosquitoes left welts on her ankles, arms, and neck, so she probably looked like a smallpox victim.

She’d finally gotten some alone time with Jason, and this was how they spent it.

She was irritated with Jason for having mentioned Hera, but she knew she shouldn’t blame him. Maybe she was just irritated with him in general. Ever since Camp Jupiter, she’d been carrying around a lot of worry and resentment.

She wondered what Hercules had wanted to tell her about the sons of Zeus. They couldn’t be trusted? They were under too much pressure? Piper tried to imagine Jason becoming a god when he died, standing on some beach guarding the gates to an ocean long after Piper and everyone else he knew in his mortal life were dead.

She wondered if Hercules had ever been as positive as Jason—more upbeat, confident, quick to comfort. It was hard to picture.

As they hiked down into the next valley, Piper wondered what was happening back on the Argo II. She was tempted to send an Iris-message, but Hercules had warned them not to contact their friends. She hoped Annabeth could guess what was going on and didn’t try to send another party ashore. Piper wasn’t sure what Hercules would do if he were bothered further. She imagined Coach Hedge getting impatient and aiming a ballista at the man in purple, or eidolons possessing the crew and forcing them to commit suicide-by-Hercules.

Piper shuddered. She didn’t know what time it was, but the sun was already starting to sink. How had the day passed so quickly? She would have welcomed sundown for the cooler temperatures, except it was also their deadline. A cool night breeze wouldn’t mean much if they were dead. Besides, tomorrow was July 1, the Kalends of July. If their information was correct, it would be Nico di Angelo’s last day of life, and the day Rome was destroyed.

“Stop,” Jason said.

Piper wasn’t sure what was wrong. Then she realized she could hear running water up ahead. They crept through the trees and found themselves on the bank of a river. It was maybe forty feet wide but only a few inches deep, a silver sheet of water racing over a smooth bed of stones. A few yards downstream, the rapids plunged into a dark blue swimming hole.

Something about the river bothered her. The cicadas in the trees had gone quiet. No birds were chirping. It was as if the water was giving a lecture and would only allow its own voice.

But the more Piper listened, the more inviting the river seemed. She wanted to take a drink. Maybe she should take off her shoes. Her feet could really use a soak. And that swimming hole…it would be so nice to jump in with Jason and relax in the shade of the trees, floating in the nice cool water. So romantic.

Piper shook herself. These thoughts weren’t hers. Something was wrong. It almost felt like the river was charmspeaking.

Jason sat on a rock and started taking off his shoes. He grinned at the swimming hole like he couldn’t wait to get in.

“Cut it out!” Piper yelled at the river.

Jason looked startled. “Cut what out?”

“Not you,” Piper said. “Him.”

She felt silly pointing at the water, but she was certain it was working some sort of magic, swaying their feelings.

Just when she thought she had lost it and Jason would tell her so, the river spoke: Forgive me. Singing is one of the few pleasures I have left.

A figure emerged from the swimming hole as if rising on an elevator.

Piper’s shoulders tensed. It was the creature she’d seen in her knife blade, the bull with the human face. His skin was as blue as the water. His hooves levitated on the river’s surface. At the top of his bovine neck was the head of a man with short curly black hair, a beard done in ringlets Ancient Greek style, deep, mournful eyes behind bifocal glasses, and a mouth that seemed set in a permanent pout. Sprouting from the left side of his head was a single bull’s horn—a curved black-and-white one like warriors might turn into drinking cups. The imbalance made his head tilt to the left, so that he looked like he was trying to get water out of his ear.