Sweat trickled between Jason’s shoulder blades. “Excuse me?”
“You say you need a navigator. You need my permission. I say you need neither. It is time to choose a direction. A wind that blows aimlessly is of no use to anyone. ”
“I don’t…I don’t understand. ”
Even as he said it, he did understand. Nico had talked about not belonging anywhere. At least Nico was free of attachments. He could go wherever he chose.
For months, Jason had been wrestling with the question of where he belonged. He’d always chafed against the traditions of Camp Jupiter, the power plays, the infighting. But Reyna was a good person. She needed his help. If he turned his back on her…someone like Octavian could take over and ruin everything Jason did love about New Rome. Could he be so selfish as to leave? The very idea crushed him with guilt.
But in his heart, he wanted to be at Camp Half-Blood. The months he’d spent there with Piper and Leo had felt more satisfying, more right than all his years at Camp Jupiter. Besides, at Camp Half-Blood, there was at least a chance he might meet his father someday. The gods hardly ever stopped by Camp Jupiter to say hello.
Jason took a shaky breath. “Yes. I know the direction I want to take. ”
“Good! And?”
“Uh, we still need a way to fix the ship. Is there—?”
Auster raised an index finger. “Still expecting guidance from the wind lords? A son of Jupiter should know better. ”
Jason hesitated. “We’re leaving, Lord Auster. Today. ”
The wind god grinned and spread his hands. “At last, you announce your purpose! Then you have my permission to go, though you do not need it. And how will you sail without your engineer, without your engines fixed?”
Jason felt the south winds zipping around him, whinnying in challenge like headstrong mustangs, testing his will.
All week he had been waiting, hoping Auster would decide to help. For months he had worried about his obligations to Camp Jupiter, hoping his path would become clear. Now, he realized, he simply had to take what he wanted. He had to control the winds, not the
other way around.
“You’re going to help us,” Jason said. “Your venti can take the form of horses. You’ll give us a team to pull the Argo II. They’ll lead us to wherever Leo is. ”
“Wonderful!” Auster beamed, his beard flashing with electricity. “Now…can you make good on those bold words? Can you control what you ask for, or will you be torn apart?”
The god clapped his hands. Winds swirled around his throne and took the form of horses. These weren’t dark and cold like Jason’s friend Tempest. The South Wind horses were made of fire, sand, and hot thunderstorm. Four of them raced past, their heat singeing the hair off Jason’s arms. They galloped around the marble columns, spitting flames, neighing with a sound like sandblasters. The more they ran, the wilder they became. They started to eye Jason.
Auster stroked his rainy beard. “Do you know why the venti can appear as horses, my boy? Every so often, we wind gods travel the earth in equine form. On occasion, we’ve been known to sire the fastest of all horses. ”
“Thanks,” Jason muttered, though his teeth were chattering with fear. “Too much information. ”
One of the venti charged at Jason. He ducked aside, his clothes smoking from the close call.
“Sometimes,” Auster continued cheerfully, “mortals recognize our divine blood. They will say, That horse runs like the wind. And for good reason. Like the fastest stallions, the venti are our children!”
The wind horses began to circle Jason.
“Like my friend Tempest,” he ventured.
“Oh, well…” Auster scowled. “I fear that one is a child of Boreas. How you tamed him, I will never know. These are my own offspring, a fine team of southern winds. Control them, Jason Grace, and they will pull your ship from the harbor. ”
Control them, Jason thought. Yeah, right.
They ran back and forth, working up a frenzy. Like their master, the South Wind, they were conflicted—half hot, dry sirocco, half stormy thunderhead.
I need speed, Jason thought. I need purpose.
He envisioned Notus, the Greek version of the South Wind—blistering hot, but very fast.
In that moment, he chose Greek. He threw in his lot with Camp Half-Blood—and the horses changed. The storm clouds inside burned away, leaving nothing but red dust and shimmering heat, like mirages on the Sahara.
“Well done,” said the god.
On the throne now sat Notus—a bronze-skinned old man in a fiery Greek chiton, his head crowned with a wreath of withered, smoking barley.
“What are you waiting for?” the god prompted.
Jason turned toward the fiery wind steeds. Suddenly he wasn’t afraid of them.
He thrust out his hand. A swirl of dust shot toward the nearest horse. A lasso—a rope of wind, more tightly wound than any tornado—wrapped around the horse’s neck. The wind formed a halter and brought the beast to a stop.
Jason summoned another wind rope. He lashed a second horse, binding it to his will. In less than a minute, he had tethered all four venti. He reined them in, still whinnying and bucking, but they couldn’t break Jason’s ropes. It felt like flying four kites in a strong wind—hard, yes, but not impossible.