Invisible ― Jason Grace

xx. arion's filthy mouth

Camilla's scream was lost in the wind. Percy and Frank both cussed as bad as Arion and held on desperately, Camilla squished between them. If it kept her from flying, she didn't care. 

Somehow, they managed not to fall off as Arion scaled the cliffs, jumping from foothold to foothold with impossible speed and agility. It was like falling down a mountain in reverse. 

Then it was over. Arion stood proudly at the top of a ridge of ice that loomed over the void. The sea was now three hundred feet below them. 

Arion whinnied a challenge that echoed off the mountains. Beat that, fuckers!

Then he turned and ran inland across the top of the glacier, leaping a chasm fifty feet across. 

"There!" Percy pointed. 

The horse stopped. Ahead of them stood a frozen Roman camp like a giant-sized ghastly replica of Camp Jupiter. The trenches bristled with ice spikes. The snow-brick ramparts glared blinding white. Hanging from the guard towers, banners of frozen blue cloth shimmered in the arctic sun. 

There was no sign of life. The gates stood wide open. No sentries walked the walls. Still, there was an oppressive sense of malice. It felt as if the earth were trying to wake up and consume everything—as if the mountains on either side wanted to crush them and the entire glacier to pieces. 

Arion trotted skittishly. Oh, yell yeah, bring it on, bitch!

"Frank, Milla," Percy said, "how about we go on foot from here?" 

Camilla nodded. "No argument here." 

Frank sighed with relief. "Thought you'd never ask." 

The three dismounted and took some tentative steps. The ice seemed stable, covered with a fine carpet of snow so that it wasn't too slippery. 

Hazel urged Arion forward. Percy and Camilla walked on one side, Frank on the other, swords and bow ready. They approached the gates without being challenged. Camilla had been trained to spot pits, snares, trip lines, and all sorts of other traps Roman legions had faced for eons in enemy territory, but she saw nothing—just the yawning icy gates and the frozen banners crackling in the wind. 

She could see straight down to the Via Praetoria. At the crossroads, in front of the snow-brick principia, a tall, dark-robed figure stood, bound in icy chains. 

"Thanatos," Hazel murmured. 

She almost fell off of Arion, but Frank caught her and propped her up. 

"We've got you," he promised. "Nobody's taking you away." 

"I'm all right," Hazel said, though Camilla doubted that was entirely true. 

Percy looked around uneasily. "No defenders? No giant? This has to a trap."

"Obviously," Frank said. "But I don't think we have a choice." 

Before anyone could change their minds, Hazel urged Arion through the gates. 

The layout was so familiar—cohort barracks, baths, armory. It was an exact replica of Camp Jupiter, except three times as big. Camilla felt more tiny and invisible and unimportant than ever. 

They stopped ten feet from the robed figure.

Arion cantered back and forth, sensing Hazel's unease. 

"Hello?" Hazel managed. "Mr. Death?" 

The hooded figure raised his head. 

Instantly, the whole camp stirred to life. Figures in Roman armor emerged from the barracks, the principia, the armory, and the canteen, but they weren't human. Their bodies weren't much more than wisps of black vapor, but they managed to hold together sets of scale armor, greaves, and helmets. Frost-covered swords were strapped to their waists. Pila and dented shields floated in their smoky hands. The plumes on the centurions' helmets were frozen and ragged. Most of the shades were on foot, but two soldiers burst out of the stables in a golden chariot pulled by ghostly black steeds.