The Fiction Games

Chapter Ten - The Basilisk Arrives

Percy's legs turned to water. His blindfold restlessly sent him in perpetual darkness as hands struggled to weave him around tree trunks. Stumbling over a root, he heard his assailant gasp in horror, but quickly regain their motives. 

His sword still clasped in his hand. 

In one swing, he would be free. Return to Annabeth and possibly save her life. Tears countered his inference. The canon fired for her.

The hissing sound that was emitting just behind his neck was out of earshot. Gulping down air, the tribute carefully willed Percy to stop. It was now or never.

"Finite!" she cried.

The blindfold whipped off Percy's eyes. Although the sun glare was no different, he had to cope with his senses. Kill her before she kills you...

When he whirled around, the girl held a polished stick like it was a saber. She had bushy brown hair profound by the arena's humidity and wild eyes. Her pink complexion told him she had been crying recently. Percy remembered her from the training center. She and her partner disembodied practice dummies with a few words rolled off their tongues.

"Why have you brought me here?" Percy snapped.

Hermione answered, "Please, let me explain..."

"No, if you are going to kill me, do so already. I'm not waiting anymore." Percy dropped his sword. Not even the son of Poseidon could match the girl with a magic wand.

Hermione selected her words anxiously. "I saved your life."

Percy howled with laughter. "My life? Because of you, I don't have one. I never will. Annabeth is gone." He could feel hot tears burn his eyes. 

"That thing that lurks in the river is a Basilisk."

"A Basi-what?"

"Basilisk," Hermione corrected. "It lived in the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as Lord Voldemort's pet. It killed innocent Muggleborns. Somehow they've copied its power to kill anyone with a single look. I blindfolded you for your protection."

"But not my girlfriend's, right?" His mind raced so much his skull began to throb. "You let her fall into the Bazzlestick's hands."

Hermione's skin flushed all color. "Please, there was only time to save you. If I didn't get you away from the river, the Basilisk would've claimed you too."

Percy couldn't find her reasoning valid. Splitting two tributes from a death as peaceful as falling asleep, rather then having blood spill on the beautiful evergreen. 

"Harry is close to death...there's nothing I can do...I stopped it from bleeding...but I need some sort of Dittany..." The more she spoke, the more she became inaudible. She choked between words and sobs.  "I know...I know..."

Percy wished he could collapse. His grip on the sword loosened until he dropped it, knees buckled under his enormous weight.

"There," started Hermione. "There's s-still a chance... she's alive."

Percy looked at her, a flare igniting in the pit of his stomach. He didn't wait for an explanation, and the two tributes flew over the green nest of fallen leaves, the river cascading louder with every step. If Percy wasn't running so blindly, he would've stopped. The noise was different. It wasn't muffled, easily concealed in the wild. It was like being in the middle of a malevolent tempest.

"Don't look directly in its eyes!" warned Hermione. 

Percy found Annabeth's body unscathed, but rooted to the river bank. On the river's surface, the storm ensued, revealing the Basilisk somersaulting over tidal waves that slammed against its writhing frame. Seething, the serpent's glossy scales shuddered at mercy of the tsunami, which drove the beast farther down the river. Percy, discovering the waves were not generated by the river itself, caught a glimpse of the manipulator. 

The girl with long, black hair reaching her waist. The one who called herself a waterbender.

Situated on the opposite bank, her movements were precise as though she was dancing. With a final slice through the air, she exerted a powerful surge of water, carrying the Basilisk downstream. 

The river restored its normal flow. Immediately Percy was at Annabeth's side. She was icy cold, still transfixed in a stooping posture, solid as a sculpture.

Hermione examined her closely. "She's not dead. She's been petrified."

Percy didn't know whether it was good news or bad. He dared ask what "being petrified" meant.

"Annabeth, isn't it? She did not fully look at the Basilisk, only through a reflection did she see its eyes. She must've saw it in the river."

The girl glided across the water like it was solid ground. She didn't even break a sweat.

"What was that thing?" she asked.

"A Basilisk," Hermione replied. "Very dangerous. Thank goodness you were here before it wiped out all of us."

"Who was the canon for, then?" Percy asked.

The girl signaled to a figure yards away. It was the blonde tribute from Middle Earth. Unlike Annabeth, she was limp as a rag doll, mouth hung open ajar. As soon as they saw her, the sky above began to waver and diffuse, exposing the true sky of Narnia. From the hole a hovercraft descended. Wind pinked up sand, licking the tribute's feet and masking their eyes. The bank was wide enough to land and only have a portion of the craft submerged in the water. 

Two men in white hurried down the landing, grabbed the body and returned to the hovercraft. In a few minutes, the nearby trees gave way for the vehicle to lift off the floor and out of the arena.

_____________________________________________________________ 

Elizabeth was marooned again. Abandoned from civilization, no sea for a ship to come rescue her. She was far away from home in a world of interminable trees. With Jack.

Except for a sword Jack swished to thin the brush, they carried nothing but the clothes on their backs. She was practically naked. How she needed a flintlock to aid her in one dire consequence, a gesture Barbossa supplied when she was thrown off the Black Pearl near a deserted island. Just a single shot will do. 

That reminds her. There wasn't rum either. 

Jack's temper steadily increased as the alcohol drained from his body. His eternal ecstasy of booze shattered like he was smacked over the head with a club.

"We've been venturing for hours," Miss Turner panted. "What are we searching for?"

He grumbled, "Must be keeping a rum stash nearby." 

"Jack, the only place where we could get supplies was--" 

"Shut it," he barked. He held out a finger. Of course, no bloody wind. Would it be curious of him to retrace his steps back to that--what's the word?--golden horn thingy? His compass must be sitting there,  calling him. If the sword in his hand mirrored to his in the Caribbean, then other possessions still wait to be claimed.

Jack reconciled. "Change of plan. I need my compass."

"Hang on," Elizabeth froze. "Do you hear that?"

It was impossible to hear anything over the river.

Wait...

Elizabeth and Jack darted through the trees and found the source. The river snaked through a slim break in the forest, spewing water and dragging debris along the floor. In fact, as Jack stooped over to guzzle down handfuls, he couldn't see a bottom. It was endless.

His headache seemed to lessen a little, but not even water could quench his thirst. Rum was the only option. Once he had his fill, Jack Sparrow collapsed on the gravel, exhausted. Hopefully no one stalked within the forest. He looked left, right, and left again. 

He stood up.

"Might as well wash yourself," Elizabeth snarled. "Your personal hygiene reeks as ever."

Jack didn't listen. His feet moved without any acknowledgement.

Something in the mist...something massive.