Rick Riordan
Percy Jackson and the Olympians
97
97
Behind Luke, the golden sarcophagus began to glow. As it did, I saw images in the mist all
around us: black marble walls rising, the ruins becoming whole, a terrible and beautiful palace rising
around us, made of fear and shadow.
"We will raise Mount Othrys right here," Luke promised, in a voice so strained it was hardly
his. "Once more, it will be stronger and greater than Olympus. Look, Thalia. We are not weak."
He pointed toward the ocean, and my heart fell. Marching up the side of the mountain, from
the beach where the Princess Andromeda was docked, was a great army. Dracaenae and
Laestrygonians, monsters and half-bloods, hell hounds, harpies, and other things I couldn't even
name. The whole ship must've been emptied, because there were hundreds, many more than I'd
seen on board last summer. And they were marching toward us. In a few minutes, they would be
here.
"This is only a taste of what is to come," Luke said. "Soon we will be ready to storm Camp
Half-Blood. And after that, Olympus itself. All we need is your help."
For a terrible moment, Thalia hesitated. She gazed at Luke, her eyes full of pain, as if the
only thing she wanted in the world was to believe him. Then she leveled her spear. "You aren't
Luke. I don't know you anymore."
"Yes, you do, Thalia," he pleaded. "Please. Don't make me… Don't make him destroy you."
There was no time. If that army got to the top of the hill, we would be overwhelmed. I met
Annabeth's eyes again. She nodded.
I looked at Thalia and Zoe, and I decided it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to die
fighting with friends like this.
"Now," I said.
Together, we charged.
Thalia went straight for Luke. The power of her shield was so great that his dragon-women
bodyguards fled in a panic, dropping the golden coffin and leaving him alone. But despite his sickly
appearance, Luke was still quick with his sword. He snarled like a wild animal and counterattacked.
When his sword, Backbiter, met Thalia's shield, a ball of lightning erupted between them, frying the
air with yellow tendrils of power.
As for me, I did the stupidest thing in my life, which is saying a lot. I attacked the Titan Lord
Atlas.
He laughed as I approached. A huge javelin appeared in his hands. His silk suit melted into
full Greek battle armor. "Go on, then!"
"Percy!" Zoe said. "Beware!"
I knew what she was warning me about. Chiron had told me long ago: Immortals are
constrained by ancient rules. But a hero can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as he has the
nerve. Once I attacked, however, Atlas was free to attack back directly, with all his might.
I swung my sword, and Atlas knocked me aside with the shaft of his javelin. I flew through
the air and slammed into a black wall. It wasn't Mist anymore. The palace was rising, brick by brick.
It was becoming real.
"Fool!" Atlas screamed gleefully, swatting aside one of Zoe's arrows. "Did you think, simply
because you could challenge that petty war god, that you could stand up to me?"
The mention of Ares sent a jolt through me. I shook off my daze and charged again. If I could
get to that pool of water, I could double my strength.
The javelins point slashed toward me like a scythe. I raised Riptide, planning to cut off his
weapon at the shaft, but my arm felt like lead. My sword suddenly weighed a ton.
And I remembered Ares's warning, spoken on the beach in Los Angeles so long ago: When
you need it most, your sword will fail you.
Not now! I pleaded. But it was no good. I tried to dodge, but the javelin caught me in the
chest and sent me flying like a rag doll. I slammed into the ground, my head spinning. I looked up
and found I was at the feet of Artemis, still straining under the weight of the sky.
"Run, boy," she told me. "You must run!"
Atlas was taking his time coming toward me. My sword was gone. It had skittered away over
the edge of the cliff. It might reappear in my pocket—maybe in a few seconds—but it didn't matter.