Rick Riordan
Percy Jackson and the Olympians
17
17
But she just sat there like she was dead—which she was.
"I never understood this," I whispered.
"What?" Annabeth asked.
"Why it's a mummy."
"Percy, she didn't used to be a mummy. For thousands of years the spirit of the Oracle lived
inside a beautiful maiden. The spirit would be passed on from generation to generation. Chiron told
me she was like that fifty years ago." Annabeth pointed at the mummy. "But she was the last."
"What happened?"
Annabeth started to say something, then apparently changed her mind. "Let's just do our job
and get out of here."
I looked nervously at the Oracle's withered face. "So what now?"
Annabeth approached the mummy and held out her palms. "O Oracle, the time is at hand. I
ask for the Great Prophecy."
I braced myself, but the mummy didn't move. Instead, Annabeth approached and unclasped
one of its necklaces. I’d never paid too much attention to its jewelry before. I figured it was just
hippie love beads and stuff. But when Annabeth turned toward me, she was holding a leather
pouch—like a Native American medicine pouch on a cord braided with feathers. She opened the
bag and took out a roll of parchment no bigger than her pinky.
"No way," I said. "You mean all these years, I've been asking about this stupid prophecy,
and it's been right there around her neck?"
"The time wasn't right," Annabeth said. "Believe me, Percy, I read this when I was ten years
old, and I still have nightmares about it."
"Great," I said. "Can I read it now?"
"Downstairs at the war council," Annabeth said. "Not in front of . . . you know."
I looked at the glassy eyes of the Oracle, and I decided not to argue. We headed downstairs
to join the others. I didn't know it then, but it would be the last time I ever visited the attic.
* * *
The senior counselors had gathered around the Ping-Pong table. Don't ask me why, but the
rec room had become the camp's informal headquarters for war councils. When Annabeth, Chiron,
and I came in, though, it looked more like a shouting match.
Clarisse was still in full battle gear. Her electric spear was strapped to her back. (Actually,
her second electric spear, since I'd broken the first one. She called the spear "Maimer." Behind her
back, everybody else called it "Lamer.") She had her boar-shaped helmet under one arm and a knife
at her belt.
She was in the midst of yelling at Michael Yew, the new head counselor for Apollo, which
looked kind of funny since Clarisse was a foot taller. Michael had taken over the Apollo cabin after
Lee Fletcher died in battle last summer. Michael stood four feet six, with another two feet of attitude.
He reminded me of a ferret, with a pointy nose and scrunched-up features—either because he
scowled so much or because he spent too much time looking down the shaft of an arrow.
"It's our loot!" he yelled, standing on his tiptoes so he could get in Clarisse's face. "If you
don't like it, you can kiss my quiver!"
Around the table, people were trying not to laugh—the Stoll brothers, Pollux from the
Dionysus cabin, Katie Gardner from Demeter. Even Jake Mason, the hastily appointed new
counselor from Hephaestus, managed a faint smile. Only Silena Beauregard didn't pay any
attention. She sat beside Clarisse and stared vacantly at the Ping-Pong net. Her eyes were red and
puffy. A cup of hot chocolate sat untouched in front of her. It seemed unfair that she had to be here. I
couldn't believe Clarisse and Michael standing over her, arguing about something as stupid as loot,
when she'd just lost Beckendorf.
"STOP IT!" I yelled. "What are you guys doing?"
Clarisse glowered at me. "Tell Michael not to be a selfish jerk."
"Oh, that's perfect, coming from you," Michael said.
"The only reason I'm here is to support Silena!" Clarisse shouted. "Otherwise I'd be back in
my cabin."
"What are you talking about?" I demanded.
Pollux cleared his throat. "Clarisse has refused to speak to any of us, until her, um, issue is