The House of Hades (Heroes of Olympus Book 4) (24 page)

C
OSY.

Annabeth never thought she would describe anything in Tartarus that way, but, despite the fact that the giant’s hut was as big as a planetarium and constructed of bones, mud and drakon skin, it definitely felt cosy.

In the centre blazed a bonfire made of pitch and bone; yet the smoke was white and odourless, rising through the hole in the middle of the ceiling. The floor was covered with dry marsh grass and grey wool rugs. At one end lay a massive bed of sheepskins and drakon leather. At the other end, freestanding racks were hung with drying plants, cured leather and what looked like strips of drakon jerky. The whole place smelled of stew, smoke, basil and thyme.

The only thing that worried Annabeth was the flock of sheep huddled in a pen at the back of the hut.

Annabeth remembered the cave of Polyphemus the
Cyclops, who ate demigods and sheep indiscriminately. She wondered if giants had similar tastes.

Part of her was tempted to run, but Bob had already placed Percy in the giant’s bed, where he nearly disappeared in the wool and leather. Small Bob hopped off Percy and kneaded the blankets, purring so strongly the bed rattled like a Thousand Finger Massage.

Damasen
plodded to the bonfire. He tossed his drakon meat into a hanging pot that seemed to be made from an old monster skull, then picked up a ladle and began to stir.

Annabeth didn’t want to be the next ingredient in his stew, but she’d come here for a reason. She took a deep breath and marched up to Damasen. ‘My friend is dying. Can you cure him or not?’

Her voice caught on the word
friend.
Percy was a lot more than that. Even
boyfriend
really didn’t cover it. They’d been through so much together, at this point Percy was
part
of her – a sometimes annoying part, sure, but definitely a part she could not live without.

Damasen looked down at her, glowering under his bushy red eyebrows. Annabeth had met large scary humanoids before, but Damasen unsettled her in a different way. He didn’t seem hostile. He radiated sorrow and bitterness, as if he were so wrapped up in his own misery that he resented Annabeth for trying to make him focus on anything else.

‘I don’t hear words like those in Tartarus,’ the giant grumbled.
‘
Friend. Promise.
’

Annabeth crossed her arms. ‘How about
gorgon’s blood
? Can you cure that, or did Bob overstate your talents?’

Angering a twenty-foot-tall drakon-slayer probably wasn’t a wise strategy, but Percy was dying. She didn’t have time for diplomacy.

Damasen scowled at her. ‘You question my talents? A half-dead mortal straggles into my swamp and questions my talents?’

‘Yep,’ she said.

‘Hmph.’ Damasen handed Bob the ladle. ‘Stir.’

As Bob tended the stew, Damasen perused his drying racks, plucking various leaves and roots. He popped a fistful of plant material into his mouth, chewed it up then spat it into a clump of wool.

‘Cup of broth,’ Damasen ordered.

Bob ladled some stew juice into a hollow gourd. He handed it to Damasen, who dunked the chewed-up gunk ball and stirred it with his finger.

‘Gorgon’s blood,’ he muttered. ‘Hardly a challenge for
my
talents.’

He lumbered to the bedside and propped up Percy with one hand. Small Bob the kitten sniffed the broth and hissed. He scratched the sheets with his paws like he wanted to bury it.

‘You’re going to feed him
that
?’ Annabeth asked.

The giant glared at her. ‘Who is the healer here? You?’

Annabeth shut her mouth. She watched as the giant made Percy sip the broth. Damasen handled him with surprising gentleness, murmuring words of encouragement that she couldn’t quite catch.

With each sip, Percy’s colour improved. He drained the cup, and his eyes fluttered open. He looked around with a
dazed expression, spotted Annabeth and gave her a drunken grin. ‘Feel great.’

His eyes rolled up in his head. He fell back in the bed and began to snore.

‘A few hours of sleep,’ Damasen pronounced. ‘He’ll be good as new.’

Annabeth sobbed with relief.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

Damasen stared at her mournfully. ‘Oh, don’t thank me. You’re still doomed. And I require payment for my services.’

Annabeth mouth went dry. ‘Uh … what sort of payment?’

‘A story.’ The giant’s eyes glittered. ‘It gets boring in Tartarus. You can tell me your story while we eat, eh?’

Annabeth felt uneasy telling a giant about their plans.

Still, Damasen was a good host. He’d saved Percy. His drakon-meat stew was excellent (especially compared to firewater). His hut was warm and comfortable, and for the first time since plunging into Tartarus Annabeth felt like she could relax. Which was ironic, since she was having dinner with a Titan and a giant.

She told Damasen about her life and her adventures with Percy. She explained how Percy had met Bob, wiped his memory in the River Lethe and left him in the care of Hades.

‘Percy was trying to do something good,’ she promised Bob. ‘He didn’t know Hades would be such a creep.’

Even to her, it didn’t sound convincing. Hades was
always
a creep.

She thought about what the
arai
had said – how Nico di Angelo had been the only person to visit Bob in the palace of the Underworld. Nico was one of the least outgoing, least friendly demigods Annabeth knew. Yet he’d been kind to Bob. By convincing Bob that Percy was a friend, Nico had inadvertently saved their lives. Annabeth wondered if she would
ever
figure that guy out.

Bob washed his bowl with his squirt bottle and rag.

Damasen made a rolling gesture with his spoon. ‘Continue your story, Annabeth Chase.’

She explained about their quest in the
Argo II
. When she got to the part about stopping Gaia from waking, she faltered. ‘She’s, um … she’s your mom, right?’

Damasen scraped his bowl. His face was covered with old poison burns, gouges and scar tissue, so it looked like the surface of an asteroid.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And Tartarus is my father.’ He gestured around the hut. ‘As you can see, I was a disappointment to my parents. They expected … 
more
from me.’

Annabeth couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that she was sharing soup with a twenty-foot-tall lizard-legged man whose parents were Earth and the Pit of Darkness.

Olympian gods were hard enough to imagine as parents, but at least they resembled humans. The old primordial gods like Gaia and Tartarus … How could you leave home and ever be independent of your parents, when they literally encompassed the entire world?

‘So …’ she said. ‘You don’t mind us fighting your mom?’

Damasen snorted like a bull. ‘Best of luck. At present, it’s
my father you should worry about. With him opposing you, you have no chance to survive.’

Suddenly Annabeth didn’t feel so hungry. She put her bowl on the floor. Small Bob came over the check it out.

‘Opposing us how?’ she asked.

‘
All
of this.’ Damasen cracked a drakon bone and used a splinter as a toothpick. ‘All that you see is the body of Tartarus, or at least one manifestation of it. He knows you are here. He tries to thwart your progress at every step. My brethren hunt you. It is remarkable you have lived this long, even with the help of Iapetus.’

Bob scowled when he heard his name. ‘The defeated ones hunt us, yes. They will be close behind now.’

Damasen spat out his toothpick. ‘I can obscure your path for a while, long enough for you to rest. I have power in this swamp. But eventually they will catch you.’

‘My friends must reach the Doors of Death,’ Bob said. ‘That is the way out.’

‘Impossible,’ Damasen muttered. ‘The Doors are too well guarded.’

Annabeth sat forward. ‘But you know where they are?’

‘Of course. All of Tartarus flows down to one place: his heart. The Doors of Death are there. But you cannot make it there alive with only Iapetus.’

‘Then come with us,’ Annabeth said. ‘Help us.’

‘HA!’

Annabeth jumped. In the bed, Percy muttered deliriously in his sleep, ‘Ha, ha, ha.’

‘Child of Athena,’ the giant said, ‘I am not your friend.
I helped mortals once, and you see where it got me.’

‘You helped mortals?’ Annabeth knew a lot about Greek legends, but she drew a total blank on the name Damasen. ‘I – I don’t understand.’

‘Bad story,’ Bob explained. ‘Good giants have bad stories. Damasen was created to oppose Ares.’

‘Yes,’ the giant agreed. ‘Like all my brethren, I was born to answer a certain god. My foe was Ares. But Ares was the god of war. And so when I was born –’

‘You were his opposite,’ Annabeth guessed. ‘You were peaceful.’

‘Peaceful for a giant, at least.’ Damasen sighed. ‘I wandered the fields of Maeonia, in the land you now call Turkey. I tended my sheep and collected my herbs. It was a good life. But I would not fight the gods. My mother and father cursed me for that. The final insult: one day the Maeonian drakon killed a human shepherd, a friend of mine, so I hunted the creature down and slew it, thrusting a tree straight through its mouth. I used the power of the earth to regrow the tree’s roots, planting the drakon firmly in the ground. I made sure it would terrorize mortals no more. That was a deed Gaia could not forgive.’

‘Because you helped someone?’

‘Yes.’ Damasen looked ashamed. ‘Gaia opened the earth, and I was consumed, exiled here in the belly of my father Tartarus, where all the useless flotsam collects – all the bits of creation he does not care for.’ The giant plucked a flower out of his hair and regarded it absently. ‘They let me live, tending my sheep, collecting my herbs, so I might know the
uselessness of the life I chose. Every day – or what passes for day in this lightless place – the Maeonian drakon re-forms and attacks me. Killing it is my endless task.’

Annabeth gazed around the hut, trying to imagine how many aeons Damasen had been exiled here – slaying the drakon, collecting its bones and hide and meat, knowing it would attack again the next day. She could barely imagine surviving a
week
in Tartarus. Exiling your own son here for centuries – that was beyond cruel.

‘Break the curse,’ she blurted out. ‘Come with us.’

Damasen chuckled sourly. ‘As simple as that. Don’t you think I have tried to leave this place? It is impossible. No matter which direction I travel, I end up here again. The swamp is the only thing I know – the only destination I can imagine. No, little demigod. My curse has overtaken me. I have no hope left.’

‘No hope,’ Bob echoed.

‘There must be a way.’ Annabeth couldn’t stand the expression on the giant’s face. It reminded her of her own father, the few times he’d confessed to her that he still loved Athena. He had looked so sad and defeated, wishing for something he knew was impossible.

‘Bob has a plan to reach the Doors of Death,’ she insisted. ‘He said we could hide in some sort of Death Mist.’

‘Death Mist?’ Damasen scowled at Bob. ‘You would take them to
Akhlys
?’

‘It is the only way,’ Bob said.

‘You will die,’ Damasen said. ‘Painfully. In darkness. Akhlys trusts no one and helps no one.’

Bob looked like he wanted to argue, but he pressed his lips together and remained silent.

‘Is there another way?’ Annabeth asked.

‘No,’ Damasen said. ‘The Death Mist … that is the best plan. Unfortunately, it is a terrible plan.’

Annabeth felt like she was hanging over the pit again, unable to pull herself up, unable to maintain her grip – left with no good options.

‘But isn’t it worth trying?’ she asked. ‘You could return to the mortal world. You could see the sun again.’

Damasen’s eyes were like the sockets of the drakon’s skull – dark and hollow, devoid of hope. He flicked a broken bone into the fire and rose to his full height – a massive red warrior in sheepskin and drakon leather, with dried flowers and herbs in his hair. Annabeth could see how he was the
anti-
Ares. Ares was the worst god, blustery and violent. Damasen was the best giant, kind and helpful … and for that he’d been cursed to eternal torment.

‘Get some sleep,’ the giant said. ‘I will prepare supplies for your journey. I am sorry, but I cannot do more.’

Annabeth wanted to argue, but, as soon as he said
sleep
, her body betrayed her, despite her resolution never to sleep in Tartarus again. Her belly was full. The fire made a pleasant crackling sound. The herbs in the air reminded her of the hills around Camp Half-Blood in the summer, when the satyrs and naiads gathered wild plants in the lazy afternoons.

‘Maybe a little sleep,’ she agreed.

Bob scooped her up like a rag doll. She didn’t protest. He set her next to Percy on the giant’s bed, and she closed her eyes.

A
NNABETH WOKE STARING
at the shadows dancing across the hut’s ceiling. She hadn’t had a single dream. That was so unusual, she wasn’t sure if she’d actually woken up.

As she lay there, Percy snoring next to her and Small Bob purring on her belly, she heard Bob and Damasen deep in conversation.

‘You haven’t told her,’ Damasen said.

‘No,’ Bob admitted. ‘She is already scared.’

The giant grumbled. ‘She
should
be. And if you cannot guide them past Night?’

Damasen said
Night
like it was a proper name – an
evil
name.

‘I have to,’ Bob said.

‘Why?’ Damasen wondered. ‘What have the demigods given you? They have erased your old self, everything you were. Titans and giants … we are meant to be the foes of the gods and their children. Are we not?’

‘Then why did you heal the boy?’

Damasen exhaled. ‘I have been wondering that myself. Perhaps because the girl goaded me, or perhaps … I find these two demigods intriguing. They are resilient to have made it so far. That is admirable. Still, how can we help them any further? It is not our fate.’

‘Perhaps,’ Bob said uncomfortably. ‘But … do you like our fate?’

‘What a question. Does anyone like his fate?’

‘I liked being Bob,’ Bob murmured. ‘Before I started to remember …’

‘Huh.’ There was a shuffling sound, as if Damasen was stuffing a leather bag.

‘Damasen,’ the Titan asked, ‘do you remember the sun?’

The shuffling stopped. Annabeth heard the giant exhale through his nostrils. ‘Yes. It was yellow. When it touched the horizon, it turned the sky beautiful colours.’

‘I miss the sun,’ Bob said. ‘The stars, too. I would like to say hello to the stars again.’

‘Stars …’ Damasen said the word as if he’d forgotten its meaning. ‘Yes. They made silver patterns in the night sky.’ He threw something to the floor with a thump. ‘Bah. This is useless talk. We cannot –’

In the distance, the Maeonian drakon roared.

Percy sat bolt upright. ‘What? What – where – what?’

‘It’s okay.’ Annabeth took his arm.

When he registered that they were together in a giant’s bed with a skeleton cat, he looked more confused than ever. ‘That noise … where are we?’

‘How much do you remember?’ she asked.

Percy frowned. His eyes seemed alert. All his wounds had vanished. Except for his tattered clothes and a few layers of dirt and grime, he looked as if he’d never fallen into Tartarus.

‘I – the demon grandmothers – and then … not much.’

Damasen loomed over the bed. ‘There is no time, little mortals. The drakon is returning. I fear its roar will draw the others – my brethren, hunting you. They will be here within minutes.’

Annabeth’s pulse quickened. ‘What will you tell them when they get here?’

Damasen’s mouth twitched. ‘What is there to tell? Nothing of significance, as long as you are gone.’

He tossed them two drakon-leather satchels. ‘Clothes, food, drink.’

Bob was wearing a similar but larger pack. He leaned on his broom, gazing at Annabeth as if still pondering Damasen’s words:
What have the demigods given you? We are meant to be the foes of the gods and their children.

Suddenly Annabeth was struck by a thought so sharp and clear, it was like a blade from Athena herself.

‘The Prophecy of Seven,’ she said.

Percy had already climbed out of the bed and was shouldering his pack. He frowned at her. ‘What about it?’

Annabeth grabbed Damasen’s hand, startling the giant. His brow furrowed. His skin was as rough as sandstone.

‘You
have
to come with us,’ she pleaded. ‘The prophecy says
foes bear arms to the Doors of Death.
I thought it meant Romans and Greeks, but that’s not it. The line means
us
– demigods, a Titan, a giant. We
need
you to close the Doors!’

The drakon roared outside, closer this time. Damasen gently pulled his hand away.

‘No, child,’ he murmured. ‘My curse is here. I cannot escape it.’

‘Yes, you can,’ Annabeth said. ‘Don’t fight the drakon. Figure out a way to break the cycle! Find
another
fate.’

Damasen shook his head. ‘Even if I could, I cannot leave this swamp. It is the only destination I can picture.’

Annabeth’s mind raced. ‘There
is
another destination. Look at me! Remember my face. When you’re ready, come find me. We’ll take you to the mortal world with us. You can see the sunlight and stars.’

The ground shook. The drakon was close now, stomping through the marsh, blasting trees and moss with its poison spray. Further away, Annabeth heard the voice of the giant Polybotes, urging his followers forward. ‘THE SEA GOD’S SON! HE IS CLOSE!’

‘Annabeth,’ Percy said urgently, ‘that’s our cue to leave.’

Damasen took something from his belt. In his massive hand, the white shard looked like another toothpick, but when he offered it to Annabeth she realized it was a sword – a blade of dragon bone, honed to a deadly edge, with a simple grip of leather.

‘One last gift for the child of Athena,’ rumbled the giant. ‘I cannot have you walking to your death unarmed. Now, go! Before it is too late.’

Annabeth wanted to sob. She took the sword, but she
couldn’t even make herself say thank you. She knew the giant was meant to fight at their side. That was the answer – but Damasen turned away.

‘We must leave,’ Bob urged as his kitten climbed onto his shoulder.

‘He’s right, Annabeth,’ Percy said.

They ran for the entrance. Annabeth didn’t look back as she followed Percy and Bob into the swamp, but she heard Damasen behind them, shouting his battle cry at the advancing drakon, his voice cracking with despair as he faced his old enemy yet again.