The Mark of Athena

An Iris-message? She had water, but she doubted that she could make enough light for a rainbow. The only coin she had was her silver Athenian drachma, which didn’t make a great tribute.

There was another problem with calling for help: this was supposed to be a solo quest. If Annabeth did get rescued, she’d be admitting defeat. Something told her that the Mark of Athena would no longer guide her. She could wander down here forever, and she’d never find the Athena Parthenos.

So…no good staying put and waiting for help. Which meant she had to find a way to keep going on her own.

She opened her water bottle and drank. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was. When the bottle was empty, she crawled to the gutter and refilled it.

The water was cold and moving swiftly—good signs that it might be safe to drink. She filled her bottle, then cupped some water in her hands and splashed her face. Immediately she felt more alert. She washed off and cleaned her scrapes as best she could.

Annabeth sat up and glared at her ankle.

“You had to break,” she scolded it.

The ankle did not reply.

She’d have to immobilize it in some sort of cast. That was the only way she’d be able to move.

Hmm…

She raised her dagger and inspected the room again in its bronze light. Now that she was closer to the open doorway, she liked it even less. It led into a dark silent corridor. The air wafting out smelled sickly sweet and somehow evil. Unfortunately, Annabeth didn’t see any other way she could go.

With a lot of gasping and blinking back tears, she crawled over to the wreckage of the stairs. She found two planks that were in fairly good shape and long enough for a splint. Then she scooted over to the wicker boxes and used her knife to cut off the leather straps.

While she was psyching herself up to immobilize her ankle, she noticed some faded words on one of the wooden crates: HERMES EXPRESS.

Annabeth scooted excitedly toward the box.

She had no idea what it was doing here, but Hermes delivered all sorts of useful stuff to gods, spirits, and even demigods. Maybe he’d dropped this care package here years ago to help demigods like her with this quest.

She pried it open and pulled out several sheets of Bubble Wrap, but whatever had been inside was gone.

“Hermes!” she protested.

She stared glumly at the Bubble Wrap. Then her mind kicked into gear, and she realized the wrapping was a gift. “Oh…that’s perfect!”

Annabeth covered her broken ankle in a Bubble Wrap cast. She set it with the lumber splints and tied it all together with the leather straps.

Once before, in first aid practice, she’d splinted a fake broken leg for another camper, but she never imagined she’d have to make a splint for herself.

It was hard, painful work, but finally it was done. She searched the wreckage of the stairs until she found part of the railing—a narrow board about four feet long that could serve as a crutch. She put her back against the wall, got her good leg ready, and hauled herself up.

“Whoa.” Black spots danced in her eyes, but she stayed upright.

“Next time,” she muttered to the dark room, “just let me fight a monster. Much easier.”

Above the open doorway, the Mark of Athena blazed to life against the arch.

The fiery owl seemed to be watching her expectantly, as if to say: About time. Oh, you want monsters? Right this way!

Annabeth wondered if that burning mark was based on a real sacred owl. If so, when she survived, she was going to find that owl and punch it in the face.

That thought lifted her spirits. She made it across the trench and hobbled slowly into the corridor.

THE TUNNEL RAN STRAIGHT AND SMOOTH, but after her fall, Annabeth decided to take no chances. She used the wall for support and tapped the floor in front of her with her crutch to make sure there were no traps.

As she walked, the sickly sweet smell got stronger and set her nerves on edge. The sound of running water faded behind her. In its place came a dry chorus of whispers like a million tiny voices. They seemed to be coming from inside the walls, and they were getting louder.

Annabeth tried to speed up, but she couldn’t go much faster without losing her balance or jarring her broken ankle. She hobbled onward, convinced that something was following her. The small voices were massing together, getting closer.

She touched the wall, and her hand came back covered in cobwebs.

She yelped, then cursed herself for making a sound.

It’s only a web, she told herself. But that didn’t stop the roaring in her ears.

She’d expected spiders. She knew what was ahead: The weaver. Her Ladyship. The voice in the dark. But the webs made her realize how close she was.

Her hand trembled as she wiped it on the stones. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t do this quest alone.