The Curse of Achilles (PJO AU)

The House of Hades (Part 2)

The Phlegethon, Tartarus

When they reached the ground, Annabeth stumbled. Percy caught her. He was alarmed by how feverish her skin felt. Red boils had erupted on her face, so she looked like a smallpox victim.

Percy's vision was starting to blur. His stomach was clenched tighter than a fist. But his skin didn't look as bad as hers, and his guilt grew.

Annabeth seemed to notice his comparatively healthy state. "How—"

"The Curse of Achilles," he grumbled. "I wish I could give it to you."

"But the exertion," she said. "Are you—"

"Yeah," Percy said. The climb down the cliff had been nearly impossible. Percy's arms had trembled the entire time, and his feet kept threatening to fail him. He could barely keep his head up. "I don't think it'll go away until I get some sleep or ambrosia. Or until we get back to the mortal world."

On cue, Percy stumbled and Annabeth caught him. He knew they were both thinking the same thing—they might not be able to sleep or find some ambrosia. Or even make it back to the mortal world.

"Just to the river," Annabeth said. "We can do this."

Percy wasn't sure how a fire river would help them, but he obeyed. They staggered over slick glass ledges, around massive boulders, avoiding stalagmites that would've impaled Annabeth with any slip of the foot. Their tattered clothes steamed from the heat of the river, but they kept going until they crumpled to their knees at the banks of the Phlegethon.

"We have to drink," Annabeth said.

Percy swayed, his eyes half-closed. It took him three seconds to understand what she said. "Uh . . . drink fire?"

"The Phlegethon flows from Hades' realm down into Tartarus. The river is used to punish the wicked. But also . . . some legends call it the River of Healing."

"Some legends?"

Annabeth swallowed. "The Phlegethon keeps the wicked in one piece so that they can endure the torments of the Fields of Punishment. I think . . . it might be the Underworld equivalent of ambrosia and nectar."

Percy winced as cinders sprayed from the river, curling around his face. "But it's fire. How can we—"

"Like this." Annabeth thrust her hands into the river.

Percy jumped and fought the urge to yank her back. She was right—this was the best plan they had. He just hoped she remembered her stories correctly.

Annabeth's hands didn't burst into flames on contact, so that was good. She cupped the fiery liquid and raised it to her mouth and drank. Her eyes shed boiling tears, and every pore on her face popped. She collapsed, gagging and retching, her whole body shaking violently.

"Annabeth!" Percy grabbed her arms and just managed to stop her from rolling into the river.

The convulsions passed. Annabeth took a ragged breath and managed to sit up. Her next breath sounded healthier. The blisters on her arms were starting to fade.

"It worked," she croaked. "Percy, you've got to drink."

"I . . ."

And the exhaustion won. Percy's eyes rolled up in his head, and he slumped against Annabeth.

The next thing he knew, a hot, spicy liquid was running down his throat. It tasted like the gorgon's blood—only a million times worse. Percy's mind immediately shot back to that park in Portland, with barely any memories, making a desperate gamble to beat an awful person. That was the first time he'd felt real pain since waking up in the Wolf House. It had been awful, and now Percy was reliving it. Once again, he'd made a dumb decision and voluntarily drank poison.