On first contact, the fire wasn’t painful. It felt cold, which probably meant it was so hot it was overloading Annabeth’s nerves. Before she could change her mind, she cupped the fiery liquid in her palms and raised it to her mouth.
She expected a taste like gasoline. It was so much worse. Once, at a restaurant back in San Francisco, she’d made the mistake of tasting a ghost chili pepper that came with a plate of Indian food. After barely nibbling it, she thought her respiratory system was going to implode. Drinking from the Phlegethon was like gulping down a ghost chili smoothie. Her sinuses filled with liquid flame. Her mouth felt like it was being deep-fried. Her eyes shed boiling tears, and every pore on her face popped. She collapsed, gagging and retching, her whole body shaking violently.
“Annabeth!” Percy grabbed her arms and just managed to stop her from rolling into the river.
The convulsions passed. She took a ragged breath and managed to sit up. She felt horribly weak and nauseous, but her next breath came more easily. The blisters on her arms were starting to fade.
“It worked,” she croaked. “Percy, you’ve got to drink. ”
“I…” His eyes rolled up in his head, and he slumped against her.
Desperately, she cupped more fire in her palm. Ignoring the pain, she dripped the liquid into Percy’s mouth. He didn’t respond.
She tried again, pouring a whole handful down his throat. This time he spluttered and coughed. Annabeth held him as he trembled, the magical fire coursing through his system. His fever disappeared. His boils faded. He managed to sit up and smack his lips.
“Ugh,” he said. “Spicy, yet disgusting. ”
Annabeth laughed weakly. She was so relieved, she felt light-headed. “Yeah. That pretty much sums it up. ”
“You saved us. ”
“For now,” she said. “The problem is, we’re still in Tartarus. ”
Percy blinked. He looked around as if just coming to terms with where they were. “Holy Hera. I never thought…well, I’m not sure what I thought. Maybe that Tartarus was empty space, a pit with no bottom. But this is a real place. ”
Annabeth recalled the landscape she’d seen while they fell—a series of plateaus leading ever downward into the gloom.
“We haven’t seen all of it,” she warned. “This could be just the first tiny part of the abyss, like the front steps. ”
“The welcome mat,” Percy muttered.
They both gazed up at the blood-colored clouds swirling in the gray haze. No way would they have the strength to climb back up that cliff, even if they wanted to. Now there were only two choices: downriver or upriver, skirting the banks of the Phlegethon.
“We’ll find a way out,” Percy said. “The Do
ors of Death. ”
Annabeth shuddered. She remembered what Percy had said just before they fell into Tartarus. He’d made Nico di Angelo promise to lead the Argo II to Epirus, to the mortal side of the Doors of Death.
We’ll see you there, Percy had said.
That idea seemed even crazier than drinking fire. How could the two of them wander through Tartarus and find the Doors of Death? They’d barely been able to stumble a hundred yards in this poisonous place without dying.
“We have to,” Percy said. “Not just for us. For everybody we love. The Doors have to be closed on both sides, or the monsters will just keep coming through. Gaea’s forces will overrun the world. ”
Annabeth knew he was right. Still…when she tried to imagine a plan that could succeed, the logistics overwhelmed her. They had no way of locating the Doors. They didn’t know how much time it would take, or even if time flowed at the same speed in Tartarus. How could they possibly synchronize a meeting with their friends? And Nico had mentioned a legion of Gaea’s strongest monsters guarding the Doors on the Tartarus side. Annabeth and Percy couldn’t exactly launch a frontal assault.
She decided not to mention any of that. They both knew the odds were bad. Besides, after swimming in the River Cocytus, Annabeth had heard enough whining and moaning to last a lifetime. She promised herself never to complain again.
“Well. ” She took a deep breath, grateful at least that her lungs didn’t hurt. “If we stay close to the river, we’ll have a way to heal ourselves. If we go downstream—”
It happened so fast, Annabeth would have been dead if she’d been on her own.
Percy’s eyes locked on something behind her. Annabeth spun as a massive dark shape hurtled down at her—a snarling, monstrous blob with spindly barbed legs and glinting eyes.
She had time to think: Arachne. But she was frozen in terror, her senses smothered by the sickly sweet smell.
Then she heard the familiar SHINK of Percy’s ballpoint pen transforming into a sword. His blade swept over her head in a glowing bronze arc. A horrible wail echoed through the canyon.
Annabeth stood there, stunned, as yellow dust—the remains of Arachne—rained around her like tree pollen.
“You okay?” Percy scanned the cliffs and boulders, alert for more monsters, but nothing else appeared. The golden dust of the spider settled on the obsidian rocks.
Annabeth stared at her boyfriend in amazement. Riptide’s Celestial bronze blade glowed even brighter in the gloom of Tartarus. As it passed through the thick hot air, it made a defiant hiss like a riled snake.
“She…she would’ve killed me,” Annabeth stammered.
Percy kicked the dust on the rocks, his expression grim and dissatisfied. “She died too easily, considering how much torture she put you through. She deserved worse. ”
Annabeth couldn’t argue with that, but the hard edge in Percy’s voice made her unsettled. She’d never seen someone get so angry or vengeful on her behalf. It almost made her glad Arachne had died quickly. “How did you move so fast?”
Percy shrugged. “Gotta watch each other’s backs, right? Now, you were saying…downstream?”