The Veiled Legacy | PJO - Book Two

eleven

A GIANTS HOME

The moment they entered the house Bob had plonked Ariana on the giants bed, where she nearly disappeared in wool and leather.

Small Bob hopped off Percy and kneaded the blankets, purring so strongly the bed rattled like a Thousand Finger Massage.

Ariana barely registered any of their conversations until a giant walked towards her.

"Cup of broth." Damasen ordered.

Bob ladled some stew juice into a hollow gourd. He handed it to Damasen, who dunked the chewed-up gunk ball and stirred it with his finger.

"Gorgon's blood." he muttered. "Hardly a challenge for my talents."

He lumbered to the bedside and propped up Ariana with one hand. Small Bob the kitten sniffed the broth and hissed. He scratched the sheets with his paws like he wanted to bury it.

"You're going to feed her that?" Percy asked.

The giant glared at him. "Who is the healer here? You?"

Percy shut his mouth. He and Annabeth watched as the giant made Ariana sip the broth. Damasen handled her with surprising gentleness, murmuring words of encouragement.

With each sip, Ariana's colour improved. She drained the cup, and her eyes fluttered open.

She looked around with a dazed expression, spotted Percy and Annabeth and gave them a drunken grin. "Feel great!"

Her eyes rolled up in her head. Ariana fell back in the bed and began to snore.

A noise awoke her. In the distance, the Maeonian drakon roared.

Ariana sat bolt upright. "What? What - where - what?"

"It's okay." Annabeth took her arm.

When she registered that three of them were together in a giant's bed with a skeleton cat, she looked more confused than ever. "That noise ... where are we?"

"How much do you remember?" Percy asked.

Ariana frowned. Her eyes seemed alert. All her wounds had vanished.

Except for her tattered clothes and a few layers of dirt and grime, she looked as if she'd never fallen into Tartarus.

"I - the demon grandmothers - and then ... not much."

Damasen loomed over the bed.

"There is no time, little mortals. The drakon is returning. I fear its roar will draw the others - my brethren, hunting you. They will be here within minutes."

Annabeth's pulse quickened. "What will you tell them when they get here?"

Damasen's mouth twitched. "What is there to tell? Nothing of significance, as long as you are gone."

He tossed them three drakon-leather satchels. "Clothes, food, drink."

Bob was wearing a similar but larger pack. He leaned on his broom, gazing at Annabeth as if still pondering something.

"Thhe Prophecy of the Eight." Annabeth said.

Ariana had already climbed out of the bed and was shouldering her pack.

Percy frowned at her, standing besides Ariana. "What about it?"

Annabeth grabbed Damasen's hand, startling the giant. His brow furrowed.

"You have to come with us." she pleaded. "The prophecy says foes bear arms to the Doors of Death. I thought it meant Romans and Greeks, but that's not it. The line means us - demigods, a Titan, a giant. We need you to close the Doors!"