They were pretty miserable that night.
They camped out in the woods, a hundred yards from the main road, in a marshy clearing that local kids had obviously been using for parties. The ground was littered with flattened soda cans and fast-food wrappers.
They'd taken some food and blankets from Aunty Em's, but not even Pez dared to light a fire to dry their damp clothes. She was extremely disappointed by that. The Furies and Medusa had provided enough excitement for one day. They didn't want to attract anything else.
They decided to sleep in shifts. Percy volunteered to take first watch.
Pez had taken up ground next to him and Annabeth curled up on the blankets on the opposite side of the clearing – they both started snoring as soon as their heads hit the earth. Despite their previous understanding, the two girls still wanted nothing more to do with each other than absolutely necessary. Grover fluttered with his flying shoes to the lowest bough of a tree, put his back to the trunk, and stared at the night sky.
"Go ahead and sleep," Percy told him. "I'll wake you if there's trouble."
He nodded, but still didn't close his eyes. "It makes me sad, Percy."
"What does? The fact that you signed up for this stupid quest?"
"No. This makes me sad." He pointed at all the garbage on the ground. "And the sky. You can't even see the stars. They've polluted the sky. This is a terrible time to be a satyr."
"Oh, yeah. I guess you'd be an environmentalist."
He glared at Percy. "Only a human wouldn't be. Your species is clogging up the world so fast . . . ah, never mind. It's useless to lecture a human. At the rate things are going, I'll never find Pan."
"Pam? Like the cooking spray?"
"Pan!" he cried indignantly. "P-A-N. The great god Pan! What do you think I want a searcher's license for?"
A strange breeze rustled through the clearing, temporarily overpowering the stink of trash and muck. It brought the smell of berries and wildflowers and clean rainwater, things that might've once been in these woods. Suddenly Percy was nostalgic for something he'd never known.
"Tell me about the search," he said.
Grover looked at him cautiously, as if he were afraid he was just making fun.
"The God of Wild Places disappeared two thousand years ago," he told the demigod. "A sailor off the coast of Ephesos heard a mysterious voice crying out from the shore, 'Tell them that the great god Pan has died!' When humans heard the news, they believed it. They've been pillaging Pan's kingdom ever since. But for the satyrs, Pan was our lord and master. He protected us and the wild places of the earth. We refuse to believe that he died. In every generation, the bravest satyrs pledge their lives to finding Pan. They search the earth, exploring all the wildest places, hoping to find where he is hidden, and wake him from his sleep."
"And you want to be a searcher."
"It's my life's dream," he said. "My father was a searcher. And my Uncle Ferdinand ... the statue you saw back there-"
"Oh, right, sorry."
Grover shook his head. "Uncle Ferdinand knew the risks. So did my dad. But I'll succeed. I'll be the first searcher to return alive."
"Hang on – the first?"
Grover took his reed pipes out of his pocket. "No searcher has ever come back. Once they set out, they disappear. They're never seen alive again."
"Not once in two thousand years?"
"No."
"And your dad? You have no idea what happened to him?"
"None."
"But you still want to go," Percy said, amazed. "I mean, you really think you'll be the one to find Pan?"
"I have to believe that, Percy. Every searcher does. It's the only thing that keeps us from despair when we look at what humans have done to the world. I have to believe Pan can still be awakened."
He stared at the orange haze of the sky and tried to understand how Grover could pursue a dream that seemed so hopeless. Then again, was I any better?
"How are we going to get into the Underworld?" Grover asked him. "I mean, what chance do we have against a god?"
"I don't know," Percy admitted. He almost felt guilty for lying. He and Pez had an idea, but they hadn't spoken about.
Neither of them really wanted to talk about it.
"But back at Medusa's, when you were searching her office?" Grover continued. "Annabeth was telling me-"
"Oh, I forgot. Annabeth will have a plan all figured out."
He didn't mean for it to come out that way – he was still slightly salty at the way she treated Pez.
"Don't be so hard on her, Percy. She's had a tough life, but she's a good person. After all, she forgave me. . . ." Grover's voice faltered.
"What do you mean?" the boy asked. "Forgave you for what?"
Suddenly, Grover seemed very interested in playing notes on his pipes.
"Wait a minute," Percy said. "Your first keeper job was five years ago. Annabeth has been at camp five years. She wasn't . . . I mean, your first assignment that went wrong-"
"I can't talk about it," Grover said, and his quivering lower lip suggested he'd start crying if he pressed him. "But as I was saying, back at Medusa's, Annabeth and I agreed there's something strange going on with this quest. Some-thing isn't what it seems."
"Well, duh. I'm getting blamed for stealing a thunder-bolt that Hades took."
"That's not what I mean," Grover said. "The Fur- The Kindly Ones were sort of holding back. Like Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy . . . why did she wait so long to try to kill you? Then on the bus, they just weren't as aggressive as they could've been."
"They seemed plenty aggressive to me."
Grover shook his head. "They were screeching at us: 'Where is it? Where?'"
"Asking about me," Percy said.
"Maybe . . . but Annabeth and I, we both got the feeling they weren't asking about a person. They said 'Where is it?' They seemed to be asking about an object."
"That doesn't make sense."
"I know." He looked at him like he was hoping for answers, but Percy didn't have any. Grover hesitated, and then continued cautiously. "And then there's pez turning up . . ."
Percy rolled his eyes, getting seriously fed up with the argument. Why can't they just leave it alone.Grover must read his emotions, because he quickly started backpedalling.
"No, no, no, no, no, I'm not- I'm just-" He stopped, took a breath, and started again. "Look, for whatever reason, Pez is here, and I don't think that's a coincidence – when you think about it, it can't be. I'm not going to demand to know why – and I know you know more than you're both saying – but I think she's meant to stay. I'm just saying that everything's converging and, I don't know if that's a good or bad thing, but . . . but if we've misunderstood something about this quest, and we only have nine days to find the master bolt. . . ."
Percy thought about the prophecy;
The Stone of Ádis shall claim its birthright, and you shall to choose between what is demanded, and is right
He and Pez had agreed that the 'Stone of Ádis' was probably her. Stone was a reference to her name Petra (Russian for stone) and Ádis being Greek for Hades. Now all they had to worry about was the rest of the line – what kind of birthright? What choice would Percy have to make? Safe to say, Percy was glad Grover didn't press him – he had a feeling the other boy would know there was something else going on.
He then thought about what Medusa had said: he was being used by the gods. What lay ahead of him was worse than petrification.
"I haven't been straight with you," he told Grover. "I don't care about the master bolt. I agreed to go to the Underworld so I could bring back my mother."
Grover blew a soft note on his pipes. "I know that, Percy. But are you sure that's the only reason?"
"I'm not doing it to help my father. He doesn't care about me. I don't care about him."
Grover gazed down from his tree branch. "Look, Percy, I'm not as smart as Annabeth. I'm not as brave as you. I'm definitely not as scary as Pez. But I'm pretty good at reading emotions. You're glad your dad is alive. You feel good that he's claimed you, and part of you wants to make him proud. That's why you mailed Medusa's head to Olympus. You wanted him to notice what you'd done."
"Yeah? Well maybe satyr emotions work differently than human emotions. Because you're wrong. I don't care what he thinks."
Grover pulled his feet up onto the branch. "Okay, Percy. Whatever."
"Besides, I haven't done anything worth bragging about. We barely got out of New York and we're stuck here with no money and no way west."
Grover looked at the night sky, like he was thinking about that problem. "How about I take first watch, huh? You get some sleep."
Percy wanted to protest, but the satyr started to play Mozart, soft and sweet, and Percy turned away, his eyes stinging. After a few bars of Piano Concerto no. 12, he was asleep.
|0.1|
In her dreams, Pez stood in a dark cavern before a gaping pit. Grey mist creatures churned all around her, whispering rags of smoke that she instinctively knew were the spirits of the dead.
They tugged at her clothes, trying to pull her back, but she felt compelled to walk forward to the very edge of the chasm.
Looking down made her dizzy.
The pit yawned so wide and was so completely black, she knew it must be bottomless. Yet she had a feeling that some-thing was trying to rise from the abyss, something huge and evil.
The little hero, an amused voice echoed far down in the darkness. Too weak, too young, but perhaps you will do.
The voice felt ancient-cold and heavy. It wrapped around her like sheets of lead. They have misled you, boy, it said. Barter with me. I will give you what you want.
Somehow, she got the sense it wasn't talking to her.
Across the chasm, Pez saw another person, just barely a spec of orange distinguishing them from the darkness.
Percy, Pez gasped.
A shimmering image hovered over the void: his mother, frozen at the moment she'd dissolved in a shower of gold. Pez could see her face was distorted with pain, as if the Minotaur were still squeezing her neck. Her eyes looked directly at Jackson, pleading: Go!
Pez tried to cry out to him, but her voice wouldn't work.
Cold laughter echoed from the chasm.
The Son of Poseidon suddenly lurched forward, an invisible force seemingly pulling him forward. It would drag him into the pit unless he stood firm.
Help me rise, boy. The voice became hungrier. Bring me the bolt. Strike a blow against the treacherous gods!
Jackson! Pez tried to scream. She tried to move, the spirits around her latched on to her, immobilising her.
By the gods, help him! Or I'll disperse you all!
Pez didn't know if she could actually do that, but they certainly seemed to think so and started to whisper around the other demigod, No! Wake!
The image of Jackson's mother began to fade. The thing in the pit tightened its unseen grip around both demigods. Pez realised it wasn't interested in pulling them in. It was using them to pull itself out.
Jackson looked up, and locked eyes with Pez.
Good, it murmured. Good.
Wake! the dead whispered. They were talking to both of them now. Wake!
Finally, Jackson started to fade, and then disappear completely.
Thank the gods, Pez thought.
No! the voice roared. How dare you, you insolent little girl!
Trakhni tebya. Pez mentally told him, an air of smugness radiating from her every pore.
The ground shook and for a breathless moment, Pez was air-borne and-
Someone was shaking her awake.
Without even opening her eyes, she reached out with a fist and made contact with a body.
Hard.
The responding yelp made up for the rude awakening.
"Well," she heard Blondie say, "the zombie lives."
Pez sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, ignoring the wincing Underwood in favour for searching for Jackson.
He was trembling. Their eyes met, and it was like the dream all over again. A look of a thousand words passed between the two demigods and both resolved to discuss the dream later. Percy could still feel the grip of the chasm monster around his chest. "How long was I asleep?"
"Long enough for me to cook breakfast." Annabeth tossed him a bag of nacho-flavoured corn chips from Aunty Em's snack bar. "And Grover went exploring. Look, he found a friend."
Pez looked over and found her eyes had trouble focusing.
Underwood was now sitting cross-legged on a blanket with something fuzzy in his lap, a dirty, unnaturally pink stuffed animal. He balefully glared at Pez, and then seemed to remember himself and looked away in emabrissment.
Still got it, Pez thought. Then she looked again. No. That isn't a stuffed animal. That's as a pink poodle.
The poodle yapped at Jackson suspiciously. Grover said, "No, he's not."
Percy blinked. "Are you . . . talking to that thing?"
The poodle growled.
Pez snorted.
"This thing," Grover warned, "is our ticket west. Be nice to him."
"You can talk to animals?"
Grover ignored the question. "Percy, meet Gladiola. Gladiola, Percy." Then he added as an afterthought, still miffed about the punch. "And that's Pez."
Percy stared at Annabeth, figuring she'd crack up at this practical joke they were playing on me, but she looked deadly serious.
"I'm not saying hello to a pink poodle," he said. "Forget it."
"Percy," Annabeth said. "I said hello to the poodle. You say hello to the poodle."
The poodle growled.
He said hello to the poodle.
Pez raised an eyebrow at it when it growled at her.
It quickly stopped.
Underwood explained that he'd come across Gladiola in the woods and they'd struck up a conversation. The poodle had run away from a rich local family, who'd posted a $200 reward for his return. Gladiola didn't really want to go back to his family, but he was willing to if it meant helping Underwood.
"How does Gladiola know about the reward?" Jackson asked.
"He read the signs," Grover said. "Duh."
"Of course," Pez muttered. "Silly us."
"So, we turn in Gladiola," Blondie explained in her best strategy voice, "we get money, and we buy tickets to Los Angeles. Simple."
Percy thought about his dream – the whispering voices of the dead, the thing in the chasm, and his mother's face, shimmering as it dissolved into gold. All that might be waiting for him in the West.
He remembered seeing Pez across the chasm, an unfamiliar expression marring her usually composed face.
He didn't recognise it at the time, but he did now.
It was worry. Pez had been worried.
And whatever could worry Pez, was enough to make him want to turn tail and flee.
"Not another bus," he said warily.
"No," Annabeth agreed.
She pointed downhill, toward train tracks he hadn't been able to see last night in the dark. "There's an Amtrak station half a mile that way. According to Gladiola, the west-bound train leaves at noon."
"Great," Pez muttered to Percy as they packed up, "Follow fluffy pink poodle."
For the rest of the day, Percy couldn't get the tune of 'Follow the Yellow Brick Road' out of his head.