The Sea of Monsters(71)

“Now.”

I stared out at the waves in the Long Island Sound. The water was glistening red in the sunset.

“I’m happy for you, big guy,” I managed. “Seriously.”

“Hard to leave my new brother,” he said with a tremble in his voice. “But I want to make things. Weapons for the camp. You will need them.”

Unfortunately, I knew he was right. The Fleece hadn’t solved all the camp’s problems. Luke was still out there, gathering an army aboard the Princess Andromeda. Kronos was still re-forming in his golden coffin. Eventually, we would have to fight them.

“You’ll make the best weapons ever,” I told Tyson. I held up my watch proudly. “I bet they’ll tell good time, too.”

Tyson sniffled. “Brothers help each other.”

“You’re my brother,” I said. “No doubt about it.”

He patted me on the back so hard he almost knocked me down the sand dune. Then he wiped a tear from his cheek and stood to go. “Use the shield well.”

“I will, big guy.”

“Save your life some day.”

The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, I wondered if that Cyclops eye of his could see into the future.

He headed down to the beach and whistled. Rainbow, the hippocampus, burst out of the waves. I watched the two of them ride off together into the realm of Poseidon.

Once they were gone, I looked down at my new wristwatch. I pressed the button and the shield spiraled out to full size. Hammered into the bronze were pictures in Ancient Greek style, scenes from our adventures this summer. There was Annabeth slaying a Laistrygonian dodgeball player, me fighting the bronze bulls on Half-Blood Hill, Tyson riding Rainbow toward the Princess Andromeda, the CSS Birmingham blasting its cannons at Charybdis. I ran my hand across a picture of Tyson, battling the Hydra as he held aloft a box of Monster Donuts.

I couldn’t help feeling sad. I knew Tyson would have an awesome time under the ocean. But I’d miss everything about him—his fascination with horses, the way he could fix chariots or crumple metal with his bare hands, or tie bad guys into knots. I’d even miss him snoring like an earthquake in the next bunk all night.

“Hey, Percy.”

I turned.

Annabeth and Grover were standing at the top of the sand dune. I guess maybe I had some sand in my eyes, because I was blinking a lot.

“Tyson …” I told them. “He had to …”

“We know,” Annabeth said softly. “Chiron told us.”

“Cyclopes forges.” Grover shuddered. “I hear the cafeteria food there is terrible! Like, no enchiladas at all.”

Annabeth held out her hand. “Come on, Seaweed Brain. Time for dinner.”

We walked back toward the dining pavilion together, just the three of us, like old times.

A storm raged that night, but it parted around Camp Half-Blood as storms usually did.

Lightning flashed against the horizon, waves pounded the shore, but not a drop fell in our valley. We were protected again, thanks to the Fleece, sealed inside our magical borders.

Still, my dreams were restless. I heard Kronos taunting me from the depths of Tartarus: Polyphemus sits blindly in his cave, young hero, believing he has won a great victory. Are you any less deluded? The titan’s cold laughter filled the darkness.

Then my dream changed. I was following Tyson to the bottom of the sea, into the court of Poseidon. It was a radiant hall filled with blue light, the floor cobbled with pearls. And there, on a throne of coral, sat my father, dressed like a simple fisherman in khaki shorts and a sun-bleached T-shirt. I looked up into his tan weathered face, his deep green eyes, and he spoke two words: Brace yourself.

I woke with a start.

There was a banging on the door. Grover flew inside without waiting for permission. “Percy!” he stammered. “Annabeth … on the hill … she …”

The look in his eyes told me something was terribly wrong. Annabeth had been on guard duty that night, protecting the Fleece. If something had happened—I ripped off the covers, my blood like ice water in my veins. I threw on some clothes while Grover tried to make a complete sentence, but he was too stunned, too out of breath. “She’s lying there … just lying there …”

I ran outside and raced across the central yard, Grover right behind me. Dawn was just breaking, but the whole camp seemed to be stirring. Word was spreading. Something huge had happened. A few campers were already making their way toward the hill, satyrs and nymphs and heroes in a weird mix of armor and pajamas.

I heard the clop of horse hooves, and Chiron galloped up behind us, looking grim.

“Is it true?” he asked Grover.

Grover could only nod, his expression dazed.

I tried to ask what was going on, but Chiron grabbed me by the arm and effortlessly lifted me onto his back. Together we thundered up Half-Blood Hill, where a small crowd had started to gather.

I expected to see the Fleece missing from the pine tree, but it was still there, glittering in the first light of dawn. The storm had broken and the sky was bloodred.

“Curse the titan lord,” Chiron said. “He’s tricked us again, given himself another chance to control the prophecy.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“The Fleece,” he said. “The Fleece did its work too well.”