Untitled Part 31
Hazel was thinking about secret weapons.
She wished she had one.
Arielle had collected several reports from newly arrived mythics, all of whom claimed that Pirithous had bragged in court about his power over the gods. Supposedly, he had something that made him unbeatable. He relished the chance to make Pluto appear and put the lord of the Underworld on trial. Unfortunately, details were scarce about what this secret weapon might be. Hazel guessed that was what made it "secret."
Still, thinking about it was not helping her headache.
The situation in the park was becoming dire. What had once been scattered groups of mythics was now one giant crowd, as if a concert were about to start at the band shell. The air was humid and stale. Everyone was brushing up against one another. Tempers were short.
Hazel watched from her bench as a centaur shoved an empousa out of the way at the central fountain. She fell into the damp basin, while a harpy swooped down and raked the centaur's back with her sharp claws.
"That's my friend!" the harpy screeched.
"Then tell her to get out of my way!" the centaur shouted. "I'm just trying to find water."
The empousa stood, her fangs bared. "We're all trying to find water, pony boy! Push me again and see what happens."
"Everyone, calm down!" bellowed Asterion, wading into the conflict. "Please, I know it is frightening and confusing in here, but we are close to a solution. We cannot turn on one another now."
The crowd grumbled in response, but no one directly countered the bullman.
He crossed over to Hazel and knelt in front of her. "How are you feeling, Praetor?"
"Tired," she said, rubbing one of her temples. "My head aches. I shouldn't complain, though. You're doing all the work."
Asterion made a rumbling sound deep in his chest. "I think you underestimate how hot and thin the air has become. I am impressed a mortal such as yourself is still conscious. One advantage we mythics have over humans—our bodies can withstand much more extreme conditions. Remember, we lived in Tartarus." He offered his hand. "Can you walk? There is still some water left in the west fountain."
Hazel placed her feet on solid ground. She stood, wobbling as the pain throbbed deeper in her head. She steadied herself on Asterion's outstretched arm.
"Hmm." Asterion sounded concerned. "Hazel, would you consent to me carrying you?"
She was too weak to do anything but nod.
He picked her up smoothly and cradled her in his arms. Hazel tried not to feel self-conscious about being carried like a baby. On the other hand, part of her felt safer than she had in days. As Asterion walked through the crowd of mythics, she noticed that everyone always moved out of his way without a word. A dryad with red leaves for hair nodded in deference. A satyr reached out and patted his arm.
"They respect you," Hazel said softly. "I can see it.
"I am doing my best," he said. "Quinoa, Arielle, and I have been trying to greet all our new neighbors as they arrive."
"Where are they right now? I haven't seen Arielle for hours."
Asterion stepped over the baby drakon, who had collapsed across the sidewalk after a hard day smelting ore. "Quinoa is counting, I imagine. Arielle is brokering a peace deal between the Laistrygonian giants and the Cyclopes. She is very good at diplomacy, talking others down from their heightened state of fear. You should see it."
Hazel smiled. "And to think she was rejected by her kindred because she couldn't charmspeak."
"Indeed," said the bull-man. "I believe that was her original dream: to learn how to persuade others without needing to charm them. She will make an excellent ambassador someday, assuming..."
Asterion's voice trailed off, but Hazel knew what he was thinking. Assuming we get out of here alive.
She hoped Naomi Solace had made it safely to Camp Jupiter. Hazel hated having to depend on factors that were outside her control, but the idea that reinforcements might be on their way was the only thing keeping her from despair. That, and the presence of her mythic friends...
If they did get out of here, Hazel was going to fashion Asterion some diamond knitting needles. She'd make sure Quinoa got the best kindergarten kinder-garden in Roman history. And she'd appoint Arielle the legion's official ambassador to somewhere.... Tartarus? Camp Half-Blood? Indiana? She realized maybe the lack of oxygen was affecting her brain.
At the west end of the park, Asterion gently set Hazel down at the edge of the fountain. There were only a few inches of water left at the bottom, and it didn't look very clean, but Hazel was surprised there was any left at all. The reason for that was probably the enormous fire-breathing bronze bull standing guard.
"This is Maxwell," Asterion told her. "He has been helping me by making sure the remainder of the water is rationed appropriately. Maxwell, this is Hazel. She would like a drink, please."
The Colchis bull lowered his horns in acknowledgment. His ruby eyes were so large Hazel doubted even her powers could have summoned them from the earth.
She didn't love the idea of drinking bottom-of-the-fountain water, but she decided it was better than no water at all. Besides, she understood that Asterion and Maxwell were doing her a favor.
In the end, it sort of tasted like one of those weird smoothies all the yoga people got in Berkeley. She'd shared one once with Frank when they were out on a date, and neither of them had quite understood what the hype was about. The memory brought sadness with it. When she turned to look back at Asterion, his image was blurred by her tears.
She missed Frank. And Nico. And Will.
She missed her home.
Asterion read her expression. "Please do not lose hope, my friend," he said. "We will get out of here soon."
"Have the diggers found a way out yet?"
He didn't answer, which was all the answer she needed.
Her shadow-travel powers didn't work in this terrible cage. She could summon things from the earth, but that was of limited use. She had never felt so stuck in her life.
Hazel swayed in place, her heart beating rapidly in her ears. She didn't even realize Arielle and Quinoa had joined them until Quinoa fluttered up and looked her in the face.
"I said, are you okay, Hazel?" he asked. "You look sick."
"Manners, please," said Arielle. "You can't just tell people they look sick."
"It's okay," Hazel said. "I feel sick. I'm glad you guys are sturdier than me."
The karpos cracked his tiny knuckles. "I could take on Pirithous and Mary Tudor at once. And probably, like, twenty more people, if I'm being honest."
"I feel so useless," Hazel said. "Like I'm just waiting around to be rescued."
"Useless?" Arielle scoffed. "Without you, we'd have no weapons or tools. And without that, do you know how quickly this place would have devolved into chaos?"
"You gave us hope, Hazel," added Quinoa.
Hazel's instinct was to dismiss that idea. Her friends were just trying to cheer her up. Then Asterion put his hand on her shoulder.
"There has been much talk among the mythics," he said. "You know how suspicious the others were of you."
"I don't blame them," Hazel said
"But attitudes are changing," Asterion continued. "We have told them how you welcomed us into Camp Jupiter, how you fought for us. The others here...they may not say anything to your face, but they have come to respect you, Hazel. They have never seen someone like you work so hard to help them. They are not going to forget that."
Hazel shook her head. "But I didn't do anything. I failed."
"No." Arielle knelt beside her. "Listen to me, Hazel. Asterion told me that you struggle with whether you are a good person or not, but you have such a pure, loving soul. You care so much about the world around you, and that is rare. It shouldn't be, but it is. You are one of a kind, Hazel Levesque."
"What she said," added Quinoa. "Only, you know, I probably would've said it better."
Arielle gently swatted the karpos's wing. "The only problem you should worry about, Praetor, is that when we get out of here, you might have a few hundred more mythics asking for sanctuary."
Hazel suddenly felt even dizzier. "A few...hundred?"
Asterion chuckled. "You should rest, Hazel. You will burn less oxygen that way, and we need to preserve your energy for whatever comes next."
"Because we are getting free," said Arielle. "Maybe we don't know how at this exact moment, but the others haven't given up yet."
"I'll keep watch," said Quinoa. "No one will dare mess with you if I'm around!"
Hazel wrapped her friends in a group hug. She felt grateful and loved, even if her headache was so bad the sunlight was starting to hurt her eyes.
"Fine, I'll nap," she said. "But please wake me up if something happens."
Asterion guided her to a nearby oak tree, where she curled up on the ground.
She still wished she were back in bed with her squishy pillow, but she found comfort in the sight of her friends offering their protection.
She closed her eyes.
Of course she had a demigod dream.
She found herself back beneath the earth of Resurrection Island. But this time, all around her, the mythics from Pirithous's prison were digging furiously, using tools crafted from the jewels and metals she'd conjured. As they got deeper into the soil, smelly black oil seeped to the surface, but they didn't stop, even as it pooled around their feet.
Hazel herself was trapped inside the spire of gemstones. She could only watch as the oil got deeper and the mythics kept digging. She wanted to tell them to stop. They didn't need to work for Gaea anymore. They could make their own choices now. But she couldn't move or speak.
She glanced down. An enormous pair of hands jutted from the ground and wrapped around her legs, holding her in place within the spire. She felt like she should know who those hands belonged to, but the name evaded her.
The mythics continued to dig. The cavern filled with oil. No one seemed aware of it except Hazel.
It was all her fault. Somehow, she knew this.
A tiny griffin—was that Orcus?—disappeared under the dark tide. A few bubbles rose to the surface. Then nothing.
As the oil rose, things got stranger. An empousa raised her emerald shovel. Suddenly, her arm fell off. A blemmyae swung his golden pickax and stabbed himself right between the chest-eyes. Hazel watched in horror as this scene repeated across the cavern: every mythic using her conjured tools lost a limb or crippled themself in some bizarre accident.
Where had she seen this before?
Charlie Gasceaux. A name she hadn't thought of in decades...He had lost his arm because of a bracelet he'd purchased from Hazel's mother. Back then, all of Hazel's gems had been cursed. Anyone who used them or tried to sell them met a gruesome fate.
Now the curse was happening again.
She was powerless to stop it. The maimed army of mythics disappeared under the inky waves.
Just as the oil reached Hazel's chin...
Someone shook her awake. Fuzzy shapes loomed over her, haloed in sunlight.
"Hazel," said Arielle. "You need to see this."
She rubbed her eyes and sat up. The smell hit her first: musky and earthy, the odor of hundreds of creatures trapped together, breathing the same stale air for much too long. Hazel's shirt clung to her sweaty back.
Asterion stood next to her, with Quinoa perched on his shoulder. "I am sorry we had to wake you, but there has been a development. Pirithous has arrived...and he is not alone."
Hazel tried to stand and immediately regretted it. The whole world spun. She almost toppled over, but Arielle caught her arm.
"I've got you," said the empousa.
Asterion took her other arm and then bellowed deeply to the crowd, "Make way!"
And the crowd parted. It was so instantaneous that Hazel could hardly believe it. Mythics lined up to either side of them, letting her pass. Every eye was on her. It was an odd sensation, to be seen by so many at once, but she didn't feel the same hostility from them that she had earlier. She believed Asterion's words: the mythics were now seeing her in a different light. She would have been relieved, even elated, but she couldn't quite shake the memory of her dream—all these creatures drowning in oil, dying from her cursed gems and precious metals.
She passed the harpies she'd seen the day before. One of the injured ones bowed. "We will remember what you gave us."
Hazel smiled back weakly. Her throat was too dry to speak.
Just before they reached the edge of the barrier, Asterion stopped and pointed toward the de Young Museum. "There."
The sun was now arcing toward the west, casting a warm afternoon light over Golden Gate Park. On the road in front of the museum, where Hazel might have expected to see a school bus or a public shuttle, there stood an enormous two-wheeled wooden wagon, its top covered with a canvas tarp. Chained to the yoke, instead of horses or oxen, were two Cyclopes.
Pirithous himself was approaching the barrier, flanked by Mary Tudor, Tantalus, and the two red-robed skeletal guards from the courtroom, still holding their double-pronged spears. The judges' black gowns flowed around them. Their gold masks glinted on ropes around their necks. Mary Tudor and Tantalus looked almost bored, annoyed even, but Pirithous was beaming with excitement.
A few mortals passed by, enjoying their afternoon in the park, but none of them acknowledged the strange procession. Hazel concluded that the Mist must still be working, but that didn't reassure her. She didn't like the expression on Pirithous's face.
While the judges were still out of earshot, she turned to Asterion. "Any idea what this means?"
"No," admitted the bull-man. "But I do have some good news. It appears there is a limit to the dodecahedron's reach underground. The diggers are close. I have asked them to keep working while we deal with... whatever our jailers want."
Hazel allowed herself a moment of relief. "Thank the gods. Because I'll be honest with you—I'm not feeling very well right now."
"Neither am I," Quinoa muttered. "Even we karpoi require oxygen, and it stinks like Orcus's farts in here." He hesitated. "I miss that gassy griffin."
Hazel scanned the perimeter of their prison. Her heart sank as she noticed more of Pirithous's allies approaching from all directions. To her right, their old enemy Laverna, her head reattached, was riding what looked like a manticore. To their left, the three gray-robed di inferi were directing a mob of shambling undead, trying to get them to form a line.
"Why are they trying to surround us?" Hazel wondered.
Asterion frowned. He gestured to Rhodope, the orange-feathered leader of the harpies, who immediately flew to his side.
"My friend," he said, "please check the perimeter. Hazel has noted that Pirithous's forces seem to be encircling us."
With a bitter squawk, Rhodope flew off.
Hazel's hand tightened on her spatha, though she doubted she had the strength for a sword fight. "What are they up to? They can't seriously think Pluto is going to show up."
"And yet he appears to believe so," grumbled Arielle. "And I think that's all that matters—he believes what he says."
"There are many of us," Asterion said, loud enough for the nearby mythics to hear him. "If Pirithous wants a fight, he will get one."
The mythics muttered in agreement, closing ranks around them. Hazel wanted to feel the same hopefulness and determination, but she mostly just felt pain. Her lungs burned, begging her for more oxygen.
Finally Pirithous's entourage reached the barrier. Their captor strode forward, a smug look on his face.
"It is time, Hazel Levesque! You can tell your fellow prisoners to stop digging. That is pointless now."
Dread bloomed in Hazel's chest. Apparently, Pirithous had been keeping tabs on their activities.
"If you think we're giving up," she growled, "that's never happening. We will break out of here."
Pirithous laughed like this was an excellent joke.
"You misunderstand me, dear girl," he said. "You can stop digging because you don't need to find a way out. I'm setting you all free."
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