CHAPTER THIRTY
—dumb rivers
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—JUDITH hadn't given a lot of thought as to how she would die. In fact, she'd hardly thought it possible up until this point. It was always how she would wish death upon someone else. Namely, Percy Jackson.
But this — this heroic idiot ... this dumb, stupid hero ... he refused to be struck down. Against all odds, he became this impossible demigod, looking danger in the eye and rising above it, constantly fighting for his life and overcoming. A god in a mortal hero's clothing. And somewhere along the line, the idea of Percy dying became her worst nightmare. This dumb, stupid hero couldn't die, not if Judith had anything to say about it.
But she had to be alive to see that through, didn't she?
But he was the impossible god. Not her.
Death had been chasing her for a while now, she realized.
Bryce Tanner had been the first. Bianca di Angelo and Zoë Knightshade, the next. Maya Brown, her sister. Charles Beckendorf, the last. And now, it had caught up to her, seizing her at her most vulnerable. She should have seen the signs, honestly. She'd been too lucky for too long.
But children of Ares weren't particularly versed in seeing the little things.
Neither were they very practiced in the art of hospitality.
"If you would stop squirming, maybe we'd give you some answers," Deimos growled as he tried to pin her arms to her side. "Stop! Stop it!"
But she didn't. Her hands fisted at her sides, ready to punch at the first hint of release. Her legs strained to kick up at any part of her brothers, particularly the sensitive ones that would inflict the most pain.
"Judith!" Phobos shouted. "Fine. You asked for this."
And then suddenly her brothers were gone, the pressure of their scarred hands lifted from her shoulders, and she was left in the darkness by herself, alone and furious. With no outlet for her rage. Her hands expertly moved to dispatch her weapons into her hands, but she found nothing at her waist.
Judith couldn't even remember the last time she was unarmed.
She felt naked and helpless.
Her knuckles popped as she held up her fists protectively.
But it was unnecessary, because what came next was only a series of memories. One by one, Judith watched every dangerous situation she'd witnessed Percy get into appear through a thick blanket of fog. But instead of nearly escaping like he always managed to do, each scene ended in his death.
The first vision, he was trampled and burned by the bronze bulls that invaded the camp. Back when she'd met him for the first time. Her mind willed her to move forward, to do something to help, but her legs were frozen stiff. Her heart hammered at a speed beyond comprehension, drumming to a morbid song.
The next one, she didn't see, but ... she felt it.
Just as she'd failed to save Bryce Tanner, Judith and Annabeth were not able to retrieve Percy from the Sea of Monsters after the ship's explosion. His body never surfaced. Judith's heart could still feel the helplessness, the sorrow that came from losing Bryce, but now it was Percy, and her chest felt three sizes too small for her growing heartbreak.
The next vision strangled the air from her lungs. Leaving Polyphemus' cave, they'd narrowly avoided catastrophe, but now ... now the Cyclops didn't miss its mark as it hurled a rock at Percy's retreating form.
The next image to pass her by had only occurred hours later, on the Princess Andromeda. Luke had always been a skilled swordsman, but this time, he was just that little bit better. Judith couldn't watch as Backbiter sliced through Percy's chest with precision.
The daughter of Ares didn't have time to prepare herself for the next set of visions. Dr. Thorn's poison had been too much for Percy to handle, and Judith had to watch as his head slumped down against her younger self's shoulder, his breath leaving him slowly. Something slipped down her cheek as she saw his tanned skin turn pale and his eyes glaze over.
And then it was the Nemean Lion, clawing through Percy's abdomen. The skeleton warriors and their pistols taking Percy's life with little more than a twitch of their fingers. Percy sacrificing himself in place of Bianca when faced with the celestial bronze automaton. Atlas crashing down upon him with the force of an ancient and unfailing Titan. The labyrinth and its many horrors. Geryon's Ranch and the Sphinx. And Judith's breathing picked up as reruns of the Mount St. Helens explosion ran in front of her at Hephaestus' forge. And then she was standing beside Percy's shroud for the second time. Except this time around, he never showed up. Didn't crash his own funeral, didn't walk up to the pavilion and show his dumb, stupid face.
Antaeus' Arena. Daedalus' workshop. Kronos striking down both Judith's ax and Percy in one swipe. The Battle of the Labyrinth; Percy's name now on the list of the dead, alongside Lee, Castor, and Maya. Struck down by Kampê's scimitars before the hundred-handed-one could stop her.
Both Percy and Beckendorf were lost with the Princess Andromeda, and Judith was left on Camp Half-Blood's beach, waiting for them forevermore.
And just when Judith had thought she'd reached the end of this torment, there was more. Percy, submerging himself in the Styx and not coming back up. Percy, facing off against Kronos, and being hit in the back, shattering him down to nothing. It was horror interlaced with torture and wrapped up in anguish.
Judith was no longer standing, no longer breathing. She was screaming, overpowering the sound of her shattering bones and heart. And her hands were buried deep beneath the black sand as she tried to grapple with what was real and what was the horrific lie.
Percy was dead, dying, going to die. And she was physically incapable of stopping it.
"Judith," the gravelly voice of Phobos attempted.
"Get away from me!" She howled, eyes screwed tight to keep in the flood of tears. "Don't touch me, don't you ever touch me again."
"Percy isn't dead," Deimos tried to console, his voice rough. "He's still in Hades' dungeon, unharmed."
He couldn't be trusted. Percy had been dead for years. Percy was killed a hundred times over and she hadn't stopped any of it. She was useless.
"Judith, you don't have to be useless," Phobos said as if he'd read her mind. That, or she was no longer capable of controlling her tongue and she'd been speaking out loud. "Just let us explain what has to happen next."
"I don't want to hear anything you have to say."
"You'll want to hear this, we promise." Judith didn't say anything more, giving them the opportunity to continue. "Our father is disappointed in our other siblings. They've forgone the war and are abstaining from the fight."
"I know. Why are you telling me this?" Judith asked, her throat constricting as she tried to fight back every awful emotion that threatened to break forth.
"Well, by choosing to fight, Ares believes you've volunteered your services. But since you are just a demigod, you are still weak to him," Deimos said without restraint. "He has a proposition."
"Then where is he?"
"He's a bit ... preoccupied with the Titans currently. But we are on strict orders to bring you to him and the war after this."
"After what?"
Judith's eyes were finally open and she took in the world around her. The River Styx. Black and roaring. Rushing and unyielding.
"No."
"You're the one who said you didn't want to be useless anymore, not us." Phobos' words crashed around in her brain.
"I'm not useless," she contradicted weakly. Her words washed away with the water only three feet away from where her hands sifted the sand. She was useless, she couldn't even stop Percy from dying. Couldn't stop Bryce from his fate, couldn't stop Maya, Lee, or Castor. Couldn't stop Beckendorf.
"Never said you were," Deimos answered, but there was a hint of something in his voice that Judith couldn't place. "So are you doing this or what?"
"I need a mother's blessing."
Phobos rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "That's a mortal's myth. It doesn't have to be matriarchal, it can be patriarchal. In fact, if you're strong enough, you don't even need anything. You mortals always think that something has to be more complicated than it is."
"How do you know?" Judith questioned unsurely, her throat raw.
"Don't you trust us?" Deimos grinned.
"No, I really don't."
"Ah, well, good on you. But we swear on the River Styx," Phobos chuckled. "The blessing has been made. Now, it is up to you. Whether you can handle it or not is all on you."
"And if I can't, I die," Judith deadpanned. "You're not really selling this very well."
"We don't have to sell it. You know what this will do, you know what it could do for you. Only two days ago you were begging Jackson to do this. Don't tell me you wouldn't do the same if the roles were reversed."
Images of Percy flashed through her mind. Dead, dying, going to die. As she was now, Judith would never be able to prevent that. And if she couldn't make the same sacrifice that he was about to make, what did that make her? Not a hero, that's what.
But now she was being offered this chance. A chance to be the hero of the story.
She could save Percy.
If only she'd do this.
"What do I need to do?"
Their white teeth glistened against the dark world around them. Deimos answered her question. "First of all, you need to want this. If there's any doubt in your mind, the river will manifest it into something greater and it will destroy you, body and soul with no chance of Elysium."
"Didn't think I was going there in the first place," Judith mumbled, knowing she'd never been as heroic as her friends.
The brothers gazed at her curiously before Phobos continued. "Remember what we said about your Odikinesis? How you need that anchor to keep you from blowing up? It'll help you here. You need something to tether you to mortal life."
"I never found a tether, I just force it all down and it works," Judith said.
There was a pause. "You did find something. You may not know what it is, but you did. And once you've found it again, you'll need to pass him."
Their fingers pointed over her shoulder and she came face-to-face with a warrior. His features were uncannily like her brothers, like Ares'. His black hair was shaved close and scars riddled his cheeks and chin. He wore a white tunic and bronze armor. He held a plumed war helm under his arm. But his eyes were human — pale green like a shallow sea — and a bloody arrow stuck out of his left calf, just above the ankle.
"Achilles," her brothers greeted for her, like they were old friends.
"Pain, Panic," Achilles returned, using their nicknames. Then his eyes turned on Judith, scrutinizing her. "Hello."
Judith's eyes narrowed. "They tell me I have to pass you."
The ghost nodded. "I've come to warn you about the dangers."
"Don't worry, I know the dangers."
"Do you?" He asked in a tone that implied she surely didn't. "This curse could kill you before taking effect, yes. But if it works, it'll change you. Power changes everyone. Some greed over it while some cower from it. If you can't find a balance, it will overtake you and you will become only a figment of what you are now."
Judith was silent.
"I see a hunger in your eyes. A thirst for it. This power would consume you. Don't do this."
But Achilles was the hero of his story, he couldn't understand where she was coming from. Judith did have a hunger, but not for power, not for invincibility. It was to be a hero, to be able to save those she loved.
"I see you've already made your choice." His voice was defeated. "I hope you don't live to regret this."
Judith took a deep breath. "I won't."
Achilles lowered his head. "Let the gods witness I tried. If you must do this, concentrate on your mortal point. Imagine one spot of your body that will remain vulnerable. This is the point where your soul will anchor your body to the world. It will be your greatest weakness, but also your only hope. No man may be completely invulnerable. Lose sight of what keeps you mortal, and the River Styx will burn you to ashes. You will cease to exist."
And then he was gone, his body turning to mist and falling into the river below.
"Insanely dramatic," Judith breathed, but her mind reeled for a spot on her body.
She shuffled until her toes lined the shore. A good tactician would choose a spot that could be easily protected. The inside of a thigh, an armpit, the elbow. But as Judith thought of every spot twice, one place started to ache, as if begging her to bring attention to it.
The top of her right foot stung as she honed in on it. Where Zoë Knightshade had struck her with a silver arrow.
An arrow never hits the same spot twice.
As the stars and her brothers as her witness, Judith stepped into the River Styx.
The pain was unimaginable. Boiling acid, freezing ice. A vat of oil. Every part of her body screamed in agony as her head submerged, lungs already begging to breathe again. Judith had imagined what the sensation of drowning would feel like. Lungs burning, head bursting. But she never thought of the total panic it would bring. Her body flailed as she tried to reach the surface, but she'd sunk too far beneath the waves.
And then Judith was sent far away from herself. She imagined she was somewhere far away.
"Sorry, who are you?"
"Are you sure you don't hate me?"
"You sure you don't need help?"
"What? Judy Moody?"
"You did refuse the Hunters, right?"
"You're so frustrating, you know that?"
"What exactly is the word you would use to describe what I am to you then?"
"Do you trust me?"
"What was I supposed to do? Let you die under the weight of the sky?"
"You promise to be careful?"
"Are you crazy?!"
"You're jealous—?"
"I'm stubborn? Have you met yourself?"
"What happened to not wanting me to be a stupid hero?"
"What are you going to do, fight the Fates?"
"You said you had faith in me, remember?"
What Judith would give to hear his dumb, stupid questions again. She'd give anything, do anything. By the end of the spiel, it was almost like Percy was right in front of her, speaking right in her ear. Taunting her with a voice she was never going to hear again.
"Jude? Judith?! Come on, wake up! Please, wake up."
And as she flashed her eyes open and took a startling breath of air and not water, her impossible, dumb, stupid hero was there, smiling through the waves of anger emanating off of him.
Her god in a mortal hero's clothing wasn't dead, dying, or going to die. Not now, not ever. Not while she continued to breathe on this earth.
NOTES ;
OKAY SO LIKE SOME OF YOU GUESSED THAT SHE WOULD BATHE IN THE RIVER STYX, BUT LIKE I HOPE THIS WAS STILL A SURPRISE.
I'M NOT QUITE SURE HOW I FEEL ABOUT THE WHOLE MONTAGE OF DEATH OR STRING OF QUESTIONS. OBVIOUSLY, JUDITH'S CURRENT WORST FEAR WOULD BE PERCY DYING BC OF THE PROPHECY AND APPROACHING WAR AND EVERYTHING (I SWEAR THAT SHE HAS OTHER FEARS THAT ARE WORSE, BUT CURRENTLY IT'S CENTERED AROUND PERCY). AND THE QUESTIONS. SHE ALWAYS COMPLAINS ABOUT HIS QUESTIONS AND IT SHOWS THE GROWTH OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP PRETTY WELL SO I FIGURED I'D TIE THAT INTO HER MORTAL TETHER