The Sea of Monsters(50)

Beware, they whispered. Traps. Trickery.

Kronos’s golden sarcophagus glowed faintly—the only source of light in the room.

A cold laugh startled me. It seemed to come from miles below the ship. You don’t have the courage, young one. You can’t stop me.

I knew what I had to do. I had to open that coffin.

I uncapped Riptide. Ghosts whirled around me like a tornado. Beware!

My heart pounded. I couldn’t make my feet move, but I had to stop Kronos. I had to destroy whatever was in that box.

Then a girl spoke right next to me: “Well, Seaweed Brain?”

I looked over, expecting to see Annabeth, but the girl wasn’t Annabeth. She wore punk-style clothes with silver chains on her wrists. She had spiky black hair, dark eyeliner around her stormy blue eyes, and a spray of freckles across her nose. She looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure why.

“Well?” she asked. “Are we going to stop him or not?”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t move.

The girl rolled her eyes. “Fine. Leave it to me and Aegis.”

She tapped her wrist and her silver chains transformed— flattening and expanding into a huge shield. It was silver and bronze, with the monstrous face of Medusa protruding from the center. It looked like a death mask, as if the gorgon’s real head had been pressed into the metal. I didn’t know if that was true, or if the shield could really petrify me, but I looked away. Just being near it made me cold with fear. I got a feeling that in a real fight, the bearer of that shield would be almost impossible to beat. Any sane enemy would turn and run.

The girl drew her sword and advanced on the sarcophagus. The shadowy ghosts parted for her, scattering before the terrible aura of her shield.

“No,” I tried to warn her.

But she didn’t listen. She marched straight up to the sarcophagus and pushed aside the golden lid.

For a moment she stood there, gazing down at whatever was in the box.

The coffin began to glow.

“No.” The girl’s voice trembled. “It can’t be.”

From the depths of the ocean, Kronos laughed so loudly the whole ship trembled.

“No!” The girl screamed as the sarcophagus engulfed her in a blast of a golden light.

“Ah!” I sat bolt upright in my hammock.

Annabeth was shaking me. “Percy, you were having a nightmare. You need to get up.”

“Wh—what is it?” I rubbed my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Land,” she said grimly. “We’re approaching the island of the Sirens.”

I could barely make out the island ahead of us—just a dark spot in the mist.

“I want you to do me a favor,” Annabeth said. “The Sirens … we’ll be in range of their singing soon.”

I remembered stories about the Sirens. They sang so sweetly their voices enchanted sailors and lured them to their death.

“No problem,” I assured her. “We can just stop up our ears. There’s a big tub of candle wax below deck—”

“I want to hear them.”

I blinked. “Why?”

“They say the Sirens sing the truth about what you desire. They tell you things about yourself you didn’t even realize. That’s what’s so enchanting. If you survive … you become wiser. I want to hear them. How often will I get that chance?”

Coming from most people, this would’ve made no sense. But Annabeth being who she was—well, if she could struggle through Ancient Greek architecture books and enjoy documentaries on the History Channel, I guessed the Sirens would appeal to her, too.

She told me her plan. Reluctantly, I helped her get ready.

As soon as the rocky coastline of the island came into view, I ordered one of the ropes to wrap around Annabeth’s waist, tying her to the foremast.

“Don’t untie me,” she said, “no matter what happens or how much I plead. I’ll want to go straight over the edge and drown myself.”

“Are you trying to tempt me?”

“Ha-ha.”

I promised I’d keep her secure. Then I took two large wads of candle wax, kneaded them into earplugs, and stuffed my ears.

Annabeth nodded sarcastically, letting me know the earplugs were a real fashion statement.

I made a face at her and turned to the pilot’s wheel.

The silence was eerie. I couldn’t hear anything but the rush of blood in my head. As we approached the island, jagged rocks loomed out of the fog. I willed the Queen Anne’s Revenge to skirt around them. If we sailed any closer, those rocks would shred our hull like blender blades.

I glanced back. At first, Annabeth seemed totally normal. Then she got a puzzled look on her face. Her eyes widened.

She strained against the ropes. She called my name—I could tell just from reading her lips.

Her expression was clear: She had to get out. This was life or death. I had to let her out of the ropes right now.

She seemed so miserable it was hard not to cut her free.

I forced myself to look away. I urged the Queen Anne’s Revenge to go faster.

I still couldn’t see much of the island—just mist and rocks—but floating in the water were pieces of wood and fiberglass, the wreckage of old ships, even some flotation cushions from airplanes.

How could music cause so many lives to veer off course? I mean, sure, there were some Top Forty songs that made me want to take a fiery nosedive, but still … What could the Sirens possibly sing about?