Daughter of Wine

Percy

It's about four in the morning. The weather is miserable. The fog is so thick, I can't see Festus at the end of the prow, and warm drizzle hangs in the air like a bead curtain. As we sail into twenty-foot swells, the sea heaving underneath us, I can hear poor Hazel down in her cabin, also heaving. 

Despite all that, I'm grateful to be back on the water. I prefer it to flying through storm clouds and being attacked by man-eating birds and enchilada-trampling pegasi. Literally, earlier, a pegasus came down from nowhere, trampled Hedge's enchiladas, and left. 

I stand with Annabeth at the forward rail while I tell her about my dream I just had. 

I'm not sure how she'll take the news. Her reaction is even more troubling than I anticipated: she doesn't seem surprised.

She peers into the fog. "Percy, you have to promise me something. Don't tell the others about this dream."

"Don't what? Annabeth—"

"What you saw was about the Mark of Athena," she says. "It won't help the others to know. It'll only make them worry, and it'll make it harder for me to go off on my own."

"Annabeth, you can't be serious. That thing in the dark, the big chamber with the crumbling floor—"

"I know." Her face looks unnaturally pale, and I suspect it isn't just the fog. "But I have to do this alone."

I swallow back my anger. I'm not sure if I'm mad at Annabeth, or my dream, or the entire Greek/Roman world that has endured and shaped human history for five thousand years with one goal in mind: to make my life suck as much as possible.

"You know what's in that cavern," I guess. "Does it have to do with spiders?"

"Yes," she says in a small voice.

"Then how can you even...?" I make myself stop.

Once Annabeth has made up her mind, arguing with her won't do any good. 

I stare into the fog. I can't see anything around us, but I have perfect bearings at sea. I know our exact latitude and longitude. I know the depth of the ocean and which way the currents are flowing. I know the ship's speed, and can sense no rocks, sandbars, or other natural dangers in our path. Still, being blind is unsettling. 

We haven't been attacked since we touched the water, but the sea seems different. I've been in the Atlantic, the Pacific, even the Gulf of Alaska, but this sea feels more ancient and powerful. Every Greek or Roman hero has sailed these waters, from Hercules to Aeneas. Monsters still dwell in the depths, so deeply wrapped in Mist that they sleep most of the time. But I can feel them stirring, responding to the Celestial bronze hull of a Greek trireme and the presence of demigod blood. 

They are back, the monsters seem to say, Finally, fresh blood. 

"We're not far from the Italian coast." I say, mostly to break the silence. "Maybe a hundred nautical miles to the mouth of the Tiber." 

"Good." Annabeth says, "By daybreak, we should-"

"Stop." My skin feels washed with ice. "We have to stop." 

"Why?" Annabeth asks. 

"Leo, stop!" I yell. 

Too late. The other boat appears out of the fog and rams us head-on. In that split second, I register random details. Another trireme: Black sails painted with a gorgon's head, hulking warriors, not quite human, crowd at the front of the boat in Greek armor, swords and spears ready, and a bronze ram at water level, slamming against the hull of the Argo II. 

Annabeth and I are almost thrown overboard. 

Festus blows fire, sending a dozen very surprised warriors screaming and diving into the sea, but more swarm aboard the Argo II. Grappling lines wrap around the rails and the mast, digging iron claws into the hull's planks. 

By the time I've recovered my wits, the enemy is everywhere. I can't see well through the fog and the dark, but the invaders seem to be human-like dolphins, or dolphin-like humans. Some have gray snouts. Others hold their swords in stunted flippers. Some waddle on legs partially fused together, while others have flippers for feet, which reminds me of clown shoes. 

Leo sounds the alarm bell. He makes a dash for the nearest ballista but goes down under a pile of chattering dolphin warriors. 

Annabeth and I stand back-to-back, as we've done many times before, our weapons drawn. I try to summon the waves, hoping I can push the ships apart or even capsize the enemy vessel, but nothing happens. It almost feels like something is pushing against my will, wrestling the sea from my control. 

I raise Riptide, ready to fight, but we are hopelessly outnumbered. Several dozen warriors lower their spears and make a ring around us, wisely keeping out of striking distance of my sword. The dolphin men open their snouts and make whistling, popping noises. I never considered how vicious dolphin teeth looked. 

I try to think. Maybe I can break out of the circle and destroy a few invaders, but not without the others skewering me and Annabeth. 

At least the warriors don't seem interested in killing us immediately. They keep us contained while more of their comrades flood belowdecks and secure the hull. I can hear them breaking down the cabin doors, scuffling with my friends. Even if the other demigods hadn't been fast asleep, they wouldn't stand a chance against so many enemies. 

Leo gets dragged across the deck, half-conscious and groaning, and dumped on a pile of ropes. Below, the sounds of fighting taper off. Either the others have been subdued or... or I refuse to think about it. 

On one side of the ring of spears, the dolphin warriors part to let someone through. He appears to be fully human, but from the way the dolphins fall back before him, he's clearly the leader. He's dressed in Greek combat armor: sandals, kilt, and greaves, a breastplate decorated with elaborate sea monster designs, and everything he wears is gold. Even his sword, a Greek blade like Riptide, is gold instead of bronze. 

The golden boy, I remember from my dream. They'll have to get past the golden boy.

What really makes me nervous is the guy's helmet. His visor is a full face mask fashioned like a gorgon's head. Curved tusks, horrible features pinched into a snarl, and golden snake hair curling around the face. I've met gorgons before. The likeness is good. A little too good for my taste. 

Annabeth turns so that she's shoulder to shoulder with me. I want to put my arm around her protectively, but I doubt she'd appreciate the gesture, and I don't want to give this golden guy any indication that Annabeth is my girlfriend. No sense giving the enemy more leverage than they already have. 

"Who are you?" I demand. "What do you want?"

The golden warrior chuckles. With a flick of his blade, faster than I can follow, he smacks Riptide out of my hand and sends it flying into the sea.

He might as well have thrown my lungs into the sea, because suddenly I can't breathe. I've never been disarmed so easily.

"Hello, brother." The golden warrior's voice is rich and velvety, with an exotic accent—Middle Eastern, maybe—that seems vaguely familiar. "Always happy to rob a fellow son of Poseidon. I am Chrysaor, the Golden Sword. As for what I want..." He turns his metal mask toward Annabeth. "Well, that's easy. I want everything you have."