“Architecture,” Percy murmured. The fog started to clear from his eyes. “Thought you’d like the houses, the parks. There’s one street with all these cool fountains. ”
Annabeth started making progress against the current. Her limbs felt like bags of wet sand, but Percy was helping her now. She could see the dark line of the shore about a stone’s throw away.
“College,” she gasped. “Could we go there together?”
“Y-yeah,” he agreed, a little more confidently.
“What would you study, Percy?”
“Dunno,” he admitted.
“Marine science,” she suggested. “Oceanography?”
“Surfing?” he asked.
She laughed, and the sound sent a shock wave through the water. The wailing faded to background noise. Annabeth wondered if anyone had ever laughed in Tartarus before—just a pure, simple laugh of pleasure. She doubted it.
She used the last of her strength to reach the riverbank. Her feet dug into the sandy bottom. She and Percy hauled themselves ashore, shivering and gasping, and collapsed on the dark sand.
Annabeth wanted to curl up next to Percy and go to sleep. She wanted to shut her eyes, hope all of this was just a bad dream, and wake up to find herself back on the Argo II, safe with her friends (well…as safe as a demigod can ever be).
But, no. They were really in Tartarus. At their feet, the River Cocytus roared past, a flood of liquid wretchedness. The sulfurous air stung Annabeth’s lungs and prickled her skin. When she looked at her arms, she saw they were already covered with an angry rash. She tried to sit up and gasped in pain.
The beach wasn’t sand. They were sitting on a field of jagged black-glass chips, some of which were now embedded in Annabeth’s palms.
So the air was acid. The water was misery. The ground was broken glass. Everything here was designed to hurt and kill. Annabeth took a rattling breath and wondered if the voices in the Cocytus were right. Maybe fighting for survival was pointless. They would be dead within the hour.
Next to her, Percy coughed. “This place smells like my ex-stepfather. ”
Annabeth managed a weak smile. She’d never met Smelly Gabe, but she’d heard enough stories. She loved Percy for trying to lift her spirits.
If she’d fallen into Tartarus by herself, Annabeth thought, she would have been doomed. After all she’d been through beneath Rome, finding the Athena Parthenos,
this was simply too much. She would’ve curled up and cried until she became another ghost, melting into the Cocytus.
But she wasn’t alone. She had Percy. And that meant she couldn’t give up.
She forced herself to take stock. Her foot was still wrapped in its makeshift cast of board and Bubble Wrap, still tangled in cobwebs. But when she moved it, it didn’t hurt. The ambrosia she’d eaten in the tunnels under Rome must have finally mended her bones.
Her backpack was gone—lost during the fall, or maybe washed away in the river. She hated losing Daedalus’s laptop, with all its fantastic programs and data, but she had worse problems. Her Celestial bronze dagger was missing—the weapon she’d carried since she was seven years old.
The realization almost broke her, but she couldn’t let herself dwell on it. Time to grieve later. What else did they have?
No food, no water…basically no supplies at all.
Yep. Off to a promising start.
Annabeth glanced at Percy. He looked pretty bad. His dark hair was plastered across his forehead, his T-shirt ripped to shreds. His fingers were scraped raw from holding on to that ledge before they fell. Most worrisome of all, he was shivering and his lips were blue.
“We should keep moving or we’ll get hypothermia,” Annabeth said. “Can you stand?”
He nodded. They both struggled to their feet.
Annabeth put her arm around his waist, though she wasn’t sure who was supporting whom. She scanned their surroundings. Above, she saw no sign of the tunnel they’d fallen down. She couldn’t even see the cavern roof—just blood-colored clouds floating in the hazy gray air. It was like staring through a thin mix of tomato soup and cement.
The black-glass beach stretched inland about fifty yards, then dropped off the edge of a cliff. From where she stood, Annabeth couldn’t see what was below, but the edge flickered with red light as if illuminated by huge fires.
A distant memory tugged at her—something about Tartarus and fire. Before she could think too much about it, Percy inhaled sharply.
“Look. ” He pointed downstream.
A hundred feet away, a familiar-looking baby-blue Italian car had crashed headfirst into the sand. It looked just like the Fiat that had smashed into Arachne and sent her plummeting into the pit.
Annabeth hoped she was wrong, but how many Italian sports cars could there be in Tartarus? Part of her didn’t want to go anywhere near it, but she had to find out. She gripped Percy’s hand, and they stumbled toward the wreckage. One of the car’s tires had come off and was floating in a backwater eddy of the Cocytus. The Fiat’s windows had shattered, sending brighter glass like frosting across the dark beach. Under the crushed hood lay the tattered, glistening remains of a giant silk cocoon—the trap that Annabeth had tricked Arachne into weaving. It was unmistakably empty. Slash marks in the sand made a trail downriver…as if something heavy, with multiple legs, had scuttled into the darkness.
“She’s alive. ” Annabeth was so horrified, so outraged by the unfairness of it all, she had to suppress the urge to throw up.
“It’s Tartarus,” Percy said. “Monster home court. Down here, maybe they can’t be killed. ”