The Son of Neptune (The Heroes of Olympus #2)(108)

They ate in silence, watching the stars, until Frank said, “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

Percy looked across the table. “About what?”

In the starlight, Frank’s face might have been alabaster, like an old Roman statue. “About…being proud that we’re related.”

Percy tapped his granola bar on the table. “Well, let’s see. You single-handedly took out three basilisks while I was sipping green tea and wheat germ. You held off an army of Laistrygonians so that our plane could take off in Vancouver. You saved my life by shooting down that gryphon. And you gave up the last charge on your magic spear to help some defenseless mortals. You are, hands down, the nicest child of the war god I’ve ever met…maybe the only nice one. So what do you think?”

Frank stared up at the northern lights, still cooking across the stars on low heat. “It’s just…I was supposed to be in charge of this quest, the centurion, and all. I feel like you guys have had to carry me.”

“Not true,” Percy said.

“I’m supposed to have these powers I haven’t figured out how to use,” Frank said bitterly. “Now I don’t have a spear, and I’m almost out of arrows. And…I’m scared.”

“I’d be worried if you weren’t scared,” Percy said. “We’re all scared.”

“But the Feast of Fortuna is…” Frank thought about it.

“It’s after midnight, isn’t it? That means it’s June twenty-fourth now. The feast starts tonight at sundown. We have to find our way to Hubbard Glacier, defeat a giant who is undefeatable in his home territory, and get back to Camp Jupiter before they’re overrun—all in less than eighteen hours.”

“And when we free Thanatos,” Percy said, “he might claim your life. And Hazel’s. Believe me, I’ve been thinking about it.”

Frank gazed at Hazel, still snoring lightly. Her face was buried under a mass of curly brown hair.

“She’s my best friend,” Frank said. “I lost my mom, my grandmother…I can’t lose her, too.”

Percy thought about his old life—his mom in New York, Camp Half-Blood, Annabeth. He’d lost all of that for eight months. Even now, with the memories coming back…he’d never been this far away from home before. He’d been to the Underworld and back. He’d faced death dozens of times. But sitting at this picnic table, thousands of miles away, beyond the power of Olympus, he’d never been so alone—except for Hazel and Frank.

“I’m not going to lose either of you,” he promised. “I’m not going to let that happen. And, Frank, you are a leader. Hazel would say the same thing. We need you.”

Frank lowered his head. He seemed lost in thought. Finally he leaned forward until his head bumped the picnic table. He started to snore in harmony with Hazel.

Percy sighed. “Another inspiring speech from Jackson,” he said to himself. “Rest up, Frank. Big day ahead.”

* * *

At dawn, the store opened up. The owner was a little surprised to find three teenagers crashed out on his picnic table, but when Percy explained that they had stumbled away from last night’s train wreck, the guy felt sorry for them and treated them to breakfast. He called a friend of his, an Inuit native who had a cabin close to Seward. Soon they were rumbling along the road in a beat-up Ford pickup that had been new about the time Hazel was born.

Hazel and Frank sat in back. Percy rode up front with the leathery old man, who smelled like smoked salmon. He told Percy stories about Bear and Raven, the Inuit gods, and all Percy could think was that he hoped he didn’t meet them. He had enough enemies already.

The truck broke down a few miles outside Seward. The driver didn’t seem surprised, as though this happened to him several times a day. He said they could wait for him to fix the engine, but since Seward was only a few miles away, they decided to walk it.

By midmorning, they climbed over a rise in the road and saw a small bay ringed with mountains. The town was a thin crescent on the right-hand shore, with wharves extending into the water and a cruise ship in the harbor.

Percy shuddered. He’d had bad experiences with cruise ships.

“Seward,” Hazel said. She didn’t sound happy to see her old home.

They’d already lost a lot of time, and Percy didn’t like how fast the sun was rising. The road curved around the hillside, but it looked like they could get to town faster going straight across the meadows.

Percy stepped off the road. “Come on.”

The ground was squishy, but he didn’t think much about it until Hazel shouted, “Percy, no!”

His next step went straight through the ground. He sank like a stone until the earth closed over his head—and the earth swallowed him.

XLI Hazel

“YOUR BOW!” HAZEL SHOUTED.

Frank didn’t ask questions. He dropped his pack and slipped the bow off his shoulder.

Hazel’s heart raced. She hadn’t thought about this boggy soil—muskeg—since before she had died. Now, too late, she remembered the dire warnings the locals had given her. Marshy silt and decomposed plants made a surface that looked completely solid, but it was even worse than quicksand. It could be twenty feet deep or more, and impossible to escape.

She tried not to think what would happen if it were deeper than the length of the bow.