The Mark of Athena

It’s just a dream, he told himself. I’ll wake up.

But that didn’t make it any less terrifying.

Percy had never been scared of water. It was his father’s element. But since the muskeg experience, he’d developed a fear of suffocation. He could never admit this to anyone, but it had even made him nervous about going in the water. He knew that was silly. He couldn’t drown. But he also suspected that if he didn’t control the fear, it might start controlling him.

He thought about his friend Thalia, who was scared of heights even though she was the daughter of the sky god. Her brother, Jason, could fly by summoning the winds. Thalia couldn’t, maybe because she was too afraid to try. If Percy started to believe he could drown…

The muskeg pressed against his chest. His lungs wanted to burst.

Stop panicking, he told himself. This isn’t real.

Just when he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, the dream changed.

He stood in a vast gloomy space like an underground parking garage. Rows of stone pillars marched off in every direction, holding up the ceiling about twenty feet above. Freestanding braziers cast a dim red glow over the floor.

Percy couldn’t see very far in the shadows, but hanging from the ceiling were pulley systems, sandbags, and rows of dark theater lights. Piled around the chamber, wooden crates were labeled PROPS, WEAPONS, and COSTUMES. One read: ASSORTED ROCKET LAUNCHERS.

Percy heard machinery creaking in the darkness, huge gears turning, and water rushing through pipes.

Then he saw the giant…or at least Percy guessed that he was a giant.

He was about twelve feet tall—a respectable height for a Cyclops, but only half as tall as other giants Percy had dealt with. He also looked more human than a typical giant, without the dragonlike legs of his larger kin. Nevertheless, his long purple hair was braided in a ponytail of dreadlocks, woven with gold and silver coins, which struck Percy as a giantish hairstyle. He had a ten-foot spear strapped to his back—a giantish weapon.

He wore the largest black turtleneck Percy had ever seen, black pants, and black leather shoes with points so long and curly, they might have been jester slippers. He paced back and forth in front of a raised platform, examining a bronze jar about the size of Percy.

“No, no, no,” the giant muttered to himself. “Where’s the splash? Where’s the value?” He yelled into the darkness, “Otis!”

Percy heard something shuffling in the distance. Another giant appeared out of the gloom. He wore exactly the same black outfit, right down to the curly shoes. The only difference between the two giants was that the second one’s hair was green rather than purple.

The first giant cursed. “Otis, why do you do this to me every day? I told you I was wearing the black turtleneck today. You could wear anything but the black turtleneck!”

Otis blinked as if he’d just woken up. “I thought you were wearing the yellow toga today.”

“That was yesterday! When you showed up in the yellow toga!”

“Oh. Right. Sorry, Ephie.”

His brother snarled. They had to be twins, because their faces were identically ugly.

“And don’t call me Ephie,” Ephie demanded. “Call me Ephialtes. That’s my name. Or you can use my stage name: The BIG F!”

Otis grimaced. “I’m still not sure about that stage name.”

“Nonsense! It’s perfect. Now, how are the preparations coming along?”

“Fine.” Otis didn’t sound very enthusiastic. “The man-eating tigers, the spinning blades…But I still think a few ballerinas would be nice.”

“No ballerinas!” Ephialtes snapped. “And this thing.” He waved at the bronze jar in disgust. “What does it do? It’s not exciting.”

“But that’s the whole point of the show. He dies unless the others rescue him. And if they arrive on schedule —”

“Oh, they’d better!” Ephialtes said. “July First, the Kalends of July, sacred to Juno. That’s when Mother wants to destroy those stupid demigods and really rub it in Juno’s face. Besides, I’m not paying overtime for those gladiator ghosts!”

“Well, then, they all die,” Otis said, “and we start the destruction of Rome. Just like Mother wants. It’ll be perfect. The crowd will love it. Roman ghosts adore this sort of thing.”

Ephialtes looked unconvinced. “But the jar just stands there. Couldn’t we suspend it above a fire, or dissolve it in a pool of acid or something?”

“We need him alive for a few more days,” Otis reminded his brother. “Otherwise, the seven won’t take the bait and rush to save him.”

“Hmm. I suppose. I’d still like a little more screaming. This slow death is boring. Ah, well, what about our talented friend? Is she ready to receive her visitor?”

Otis made a sour face. “I really don’t like talking to her. She makes me nervous.”

“But is she ready?”

“Yes,” Otis said reluctantly. “She’s been ready for centuries. No one will be removing that statue.”