The Blood of Olympus:The Heroes of Olympus Book FiveBy: Rick Riordan
Rick Riordan is the creator of the award-winning, bestselling Percy Jackson series and the thrilling Kane Chronicles and Heroes of Olympus series. According to Rick, the idea for the Percy Jackson stories was inspired by his son Haley. But rumour has it that Camp Half-Blood actually exists, and Rick spends his summers there recording the adventures of young demigods. Some believe that, to avoid a mass panic among the mortal population, he was forced to swear on the River Styx to present Percy Jackson’s story as fiction.
Rick lives in Boston (apart from his summers on Half-Blood Hill) with his wife and two sons.
To learn more about him and his books, visit: www.rickriordanmythmaster.co.uk
To my wonderful readers.
Sorry about that apology for that last cliffhanger.
I’ll try to avoid cliffhangers in this book.
Well, except for maybe a few small ones … because I love you guys.
Seven half-bloods shall answer the call,
To storm or fire the world must fall.
An oath to keep with a final breath,
And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death.
JASON HATED BEING OLD.
His joints hurt. His legs shook. As he tried to climb the hill, his lungs rattled like a box of rocks.
He couldn’t see his face, thank goodness, but his fingers were gnarled and bony. Bulging blue veins webbed the backs of his hands.
He even had that old-man smell – mothballs and chicken soup. How was that possible? He’d gone from sixteen to seventy-five in a matter of seconds, but the old-man smell happened instantly, like Boom. Congratulations! You stink!
‘Almost there.’ Piper smiled at him. ‘You’re doing great.’
Easy for her to say. Piper and Annabeth were disguised as lovely Greek serving maidens. Even in their white sleeveless gowns and laced sandals, they had no trouble navigating the rocky path.
Piper’s mahogany hair was pinned up in a braided spiral. Silver bracelets adorned her arms. She resembled an ancient statue of her mom, Aphrodite, which Jason found a little intimidating.
Dating a beautiful girl was nerve-racking enough. Dating a girl whose mom was the goddess of love … well, Jason was always afraid he’d do something unromantic and Piper’s mom would frown down from Mount Olympus and change him into a feral hog.
Jason glanced uphill. The summit was still a hundred yards above.
‘Worst idea ever.’ He leaned against a cedar tree and wiped his forehead. ‘Hazel’s magic is too good. If I have to fight, I’ll be useless.’
‘It won’t come to that,’ Annabeth promised. She looked uncomfortable in her serving-maiden outfit. She kept hunching her shoulders to keep the dress from slipping. Her pinned-up blonde bun had come undone in the back and her hair dangled like long spider legs. Knowing her hatred of spiders, Jason decided not to mention that.
‘We infiltrate the palace,’ she said. ‘We get the information we need, and we get out.’
Piper set down her amphora, the tall ceramic wine jar in which her sword was hidden. ‘We can rest for a second. Catch your breath, Jason.’
From her waist cord hung her cornucopia – the magic horn of plenty. Tucked somewhere in the folds of her dress was her knife, Katoptris. Piper didn’t look dangerous, but if the need arose she could dual-wield Celestial bronze blades or shoot her enemies in the face with ripe mangoes.
Annabeth slung her own amphora off her shoulder. She, too, had a concealed sword, but even without a visible weapon she looked deadly. Her stormy grey eyes scanned the surroundings, alert for any threat. If any dude asked Annabeth for a drink, Jason figured she was more likely to kick the guy in the bifurcum.
He tried to steady his breathing.
Below them, Afales Bay glittered, the water so blue it might’ve been dyed with food colouring. A few hundred yards offshore, the Argo II rested at anchor. Its white sails looked no bigger than postage stamps, its ninety oars like toothpicks. Jason imagined his friends on deck following his progress, taking turns with Leo’s spyglass, trying not to laugh as they watched Grandpa Jason hobble uphill.
‘Stupid Ithaca,’ he muttered.
He supposed the island was pretty enough. A spine of forested hills twisted down its centre. Chalky white slopes plunged into the sea. Inlets formed rocky beaches and harbours where red-roofed houses and white stucco churches nestled against the shoreline.
The hills were dotted with poppies, crocuses and wild cherry trees. The breeze smelled of blooming myrtle. All very nice – except the temperature was about a hundred and five degrees. The air was as steamy as a Roman bathhouse.
It would’ve been easy for Jason to control the winds and fly to the top of the hill, but nooo. For the sake of stealth, he had to struggle along as an old dude with bad knees and chicken-soup stink.
He thought about his last climb, two weeks ago, when Hazel and he had faced the bandit Sciron on the cliffs of Croatia. At least then Jason had been at full strength. What they were about to face would be much worse than a bandit.
‘You sure this is the right hill?’ he asked. ‘Seems kind of – I don’t know – quiet.’
Piper studied the ridgeline. Braided in her hair was a bright blue harpy feather – a souvenir from last night’s attack. The feather didn’t exactly go with her disguise, but Piper had earned it, defeating an entire flock of demon chicken ladies by herself while she was on duty. She downplayed the accomplishment, but Jason could tell she felt good about it. The feather was a reminder that she wasn’t the same girl she’d been last winter, when they’d first arrived at Camp Half-Blood.
‘The ruins are up there,’ she promised. ‘I saw them in Katoptris’s blade. And you heard what Hazel said. “The biggest –” ’
‘ “The biggest gathering of evil spirits I’ve ever sensed,” ’ Jason recalled. ‘Yeah, sounds awesome.’
After battling through the underground temple of Hades, the last thing Jason wanted was to deal with more evil spirits. But the fate of the quest was at stake. The crew of the Argo II had a big decision to make. If they chose wrong, they would fail, and the entire world would be destroyed.
Piper’s blade, Hazel’s magical senses and Annabeth’s instincts all agreed – the answer lay here in Ithaca, at the ancient palace of Odysseus, where a horde of evil spirits had gathered to await Gaia’s orders. The plan was to sneak among them, learn what was going on and decide the best course of action. Then get out, preferably alive.
Annabeth re-adjusted her golden belt. ‘I hope our disguises hold up. The suitors were nasty customers when they were alive. If they find out we’re demigods –’
‘Hazel’s magic will work,’ Piper said.
Jason tried to believe that.
The suitors: a hundred of the greediest, evilest cut-throats who’d ever lived. When Odysseus, the Greek king of Ithaca, went missing after the Trojan War, this mob of B-list princes had invaded his palace and refused to leave, each one hoping to marry Queen Penelope and take over the kingdom. Odysseus managed to return in secret and slaughter them all – your basic happy homecoming. But, if Piper’s visions were right, the suitors were now back, haunting the place where they’d died.
Jason couldn’t believe he was about to visit the actual palace of Odysseus – one of the most famous Greek heroes of all time. Then again, this whole quest had been one mind-blowing event after another. Annabeth herself had just come back from the eternal abyss of Tartarus. Given that, Jason decided maybe he shouldn’t complain about being an old man.
‘Well …’ He steadied himself with his walking stick. ‘If I look as old as I feel, my disguise must be perfect. Let’s get going.’
As they climbed, sweat trickled down his neck. His calves ached. Despite the heat, he began to shiver. And, try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about his recent dreams.
Ever since the House of Hades, they’d become more vivid.
Sometimes Jason stood in the underground temple of Epirus, the giant Clytius looming over him, speaking in a chorus of disembodied voices: It took all of you together to defeat me. What will you do when the Earth Mother opens her eyes?
Other times Jason found himself at the crest of Half-Blood Hill. Gaia the Earth Mother rose from the ground – a swirling figure of soil, leaves and stones.
Poor child. Her voice resonated across the landscape, shaking the bedrock under Jason’s feet. Your father is first among the gods, yet you are always second best – to your Roman comrades, to your Greek friends, even to your family. How will you prove yourself?
His worst dream started in the courtyard of the Sonoma Wolf House. Before him stood the goddess Juno, glowing with the radiance of molten silver.
Your life belongs to me, her voice thundered. An appeasement from Zeus.
Jason knew he shouldn’t look, but he couldn’t close his eyes as Juno went supernova, revealing her true godly form. Pain seared Jason’s mind. His body burned away in layers like an onion.
Then the scene changed. Jason was still at the Wolf House, but now he was a little boy – no more than two years old. A woman knelt before him, her lemony scent so familiar. Her features were watery and indistinct, but he knew her voice: bright and brittle, like the thinnest layer of ice over a fast stream.
I will be back for you, dearest, she said. I will see you soon.
Every time Jason woke up from that nightmare, his face was beaded with sweat. His eyes stung with tears.
Nico di Angelo had warned them: the House of Hades would stir their worst memories, make them see things and hear things from the past. Their ghosts would become restless.
Jason had hoped that particular ghost would stay away, but every night the dream got worse. Now he was climbing to the ruins of a palace where an army of ghosts had gathered.
That doesn’t mean she’ll be there, Jason told himself.
But his hands wouldn’t stop trembling. Every step seemed harder than the last.
‘Almost there,’ Annabeth said. ‘Let’s –’
BOOM! The hillside rumbled. Somewhere over the ridge, a crowd roared in approval, like spectators in a coliseum. The sound made Jason’s skin crawl. Not so long ago, he’d fought for his life in the Roman Colosseum before a cheering ghostly audience. He wasn’t anxious to repeat the experience.
‘What was that explosion?’ he wondered.
‘Don’t know,’ Piper said. ‘But it sounds like they’re having fun. Let’s go make some dead friends.’
NATURALLY, the situation was worse than Jason expected.
It wouldn’t have been any fun otherwise.
Peering through the olive bushes at the top of the rise, he saw what looked like an out-of-control zombie frat party.
The ruins themselves weren’t that impressive: a few stone walls, a weed-choked central courtyard, a dead-end stairwell chiselled into the rock. Some plywood sheets covered a pit and a metal scaffold supported a cracked archway.
But superimposed over the ruins was another layer of reality – a spectral mirage of the palace as it must have appeared in its heyday. Whitewashed stucco walls lined with balconies rose three storeys high. Columned porticoes faced the central atrium, which had a huge fountain and bronze braziers. At a dozen banquet tables, ghouls laughed and ate and pushed one another around.
Jason had expected about a hundred spirits, but twice that many were milling about, chasing spectral serving girls, smashing plates and cups, and basically making a nuisance of themselves.
Most looked like Lares from Camp Jupiter – transparent purple wraiths in tunics and sandals. A few revellers had decayed bodies with grey flesh, matted clumps of hair and nasty wounds. Others seemed to be regular living mortals – some in togas, some in modern business suits or army fatigues. Jason even spotted one guy in a purple Camp Jupiter T-shirt and Roman legionnaire armour.
In the centre of the atrium, a grey-skinned ghoul in a tattered Greek tunic paraded through the crowd, holding a marble bust over his head like a sports trophy. The other ghosts cheered and slapped him on the back. As the ghoul got closer, Jason noticed that he had an arrow in his throat, the feathered shaft sprouting from his Adam’s apple. Even more disturbing: the bust he was holding … was that Zeus?
It was hard to be sure. Most Greek god statues looked similar. But the bearded, glowering face reminded Jason very much of the giant Hippie Zeus in Cabin One at Camp Half-Blood.
‘Our next offering!’ the ghoul shouted, his voice buzzing from the arrow in his throat. ‘Let us feed the Earth Mother!’
The partiers yelled and pounded their cups. The ghoul made his way to the central fountain. The crowd parted, and Jason realized the fountain wasn’t filled with water. From the three-foot-tall pedestal, a geyser of sand spewed upward, arcing into an umbrella-shaped curtain of white particles before spilling into the circular basin.
The ghoul heaved the marble bust into the fountain. As soon as Zeus’s head passed through the shower of sand, the marble disintegrated like it was going through a wood chipper. The sand glittered gold, the colour of ichor – godly blood. Then the entire mountain rumbled with a muffled BOOM, as if belching after a meal.
The dead partygoers roared with approval.
‘Any more statues?’ the ghoul shouted to the crowd. ‘No? Then I guess we’ll have to wait for some real gods to sacrifice!’
His comrades laughed and applauded as the ghoul plopped himself down at the nearest feast table.
Jason clenched his walking stick. ‘That guy just disintegrated my dad. Who does he think he is?’
‘I’m guessing that’s Antinous,’ said Annabeth, ‘one of the suitors’ leaders. If I remember right, it was Odysseus who shot him through the neck with that arrow.’
Piper winced. ‘You’d think that would keep a guy down. What about all the others? Why are there so many?’
‘I don’t know,’ Annabeth said. ‘Newer recruits for Gaia, I guess. Some must’ve come back to life before we closed the Doors of Death. Some are just spirits.’