The Blood of Olympus - Dreamscape Navigation

THE LAST THING NICO HEARD was Coach Hedge grumbling, “Well, this isn’t good.”

He wondered what he’d done wrong this time. Maybe he’d teleported them into a den of Cyclopes, or a thousand feet above another volcano. There was nothing he could do about it. His vision was gone. His other senses were shutting down. His knees buckled and he passed out.

He tried to make the most of his unconsciousness.

Dreams and death were old friends of his. He knew how to navigate their dark borderland. He sent out his thoughts, searching for Thalia Grace.

He rushed past the usual fragments of painful memories—his mother smiling down at him, her face illuminated by the sunlight rippling off the Venetian Grand Canal; his sister Bianca laughing as she pulled him across the Mall in Washington, D.C., her green floppy hat shading her eyes and the splash of freckles across her nose. He saw Percy Jackson on a snowy cliff outside Westover Hall, shielding Nico and Bianca from the manticore as Nico clutched a Mythomagic figurine and whispered, I’m scared. He saw Minos, his old ghostly mentor, leading him through the Labyrinth. Minos’s smile was cold and cruel. Don’t worry, son of Hades. You will have your revenge.

Nico couldn’t stop the memories. They cluttered his dreams like the ghosts of Asphodel—an aimless, sorrowful mob pleading for attention. Save me, they seemed to whisper. Remember me. Help me. Comfort me.

He didn’t dare stop to dwell on them. They would only crush him with wants and regrets. The best he could do was to stay focused and push through.

I am the son of Hades, he thought. I go where I wish. The darkness is my birthright.

He forged ahead through a gray-and-black terrain, looking for the dreams of Thalia Grace, daughter of Zeus. Instead, the ground dissolved at his feet and he fell into a familiar backwater—the Hypnos cabin at Camp Half-Blood.

Buried under piles of feather comforters, snoring demigods nestled in their bunks. Above the mantel, a dark tree branch dripped milky water from the River Lethe into a bowl. A cheerful fire crackled in the fireplace. In front of it, in a leather armchair, dozed the head counselor for Cabin Fifteen—a pot-bellied guy with unruly blond hair and a gentle bovine face.

“Clovis,” Nico growled, “for the gods’ sake, stop dreaming so powerfully!”

Clovis’s eyes fluttered open. He turned and stared at Nico, though Nico knew this was simply part of Clovis’s own dreamscape. The actual Clovis would still be snoring in his armchair back at camp.

“Oh, hi...” Clovis yawned wide enough to swallow a minor god. “Sorry. Did I pull you off course again?”

Nico gritted his teeth. There was no point getting upset. The Hypnos cabin was like Grand Central Station for dream activity. You couldn’t travel anywhere without going through it once in a while.

“As long as I’m here,” Nico said, “pass along a message. Tell Chiron I’m on my way with a couple of friends. We’re bringing the Athena Parthenos.”

Clovis rubbed his eyes. “So it’s true? How are you bringing it? Did you rent a van or something?”

Nico explained as concisely as possible. Messages sent through dreams tended to get fuzzy around the edges, especially when you were dealing with Clovis. The simpler, the better.

“We’re being followed by a hunter,” Nico said. “One of Gaea’s giants, I think. Can you get that message to Thalia Grace? You’re better at finding people in dreams than I am. I need her advice.”

“I’ll try.” Clovis fumbled for a cup of hot chocolate on the side table. “Uh, before you go, do you have a second?”

“Clovis, this is a dream,” Nico reminded him. “Time is fluid.”

Even as he said it, Nico worried about what was happening in the real world. His physical self might be plummeting to his death, or surrounded by monsters. Still, he couldn’t force himself to wake up—not after the amount of energy he’d expended on shadow-travel.

Clovis nodded. “Right...I was thinking you should probably see what happened today at the council of war. I slept through some of it, but—”

“Show me,” Nico said.

The scene changed. Nico found himself in the rec room of the Big House, all the senior camp leaders gathered around the Ping-Pong table.

At one end sat Chiron the centaur, his equine posterior collapsed into his magic wheelchair so he looked like a regular human. His curly brown hair and beard had more gray streaks than a few months ago. Deep lines etched his face.

“—things we can’t control,” he was saying. “Now let’s review our defenses. Where do we stand?”

Clarisse from the Ares cabin sat forward. She was the only one in full armor, which was typical. Clarisse probably slept in her combat gear. As she spoke, she gestured with her dagger, which made the other counselors lean away from her.

“Our defensive line is mostly solid,” she said. “The campers are as ready to fight as they’ll ever be. We control the beach. Our triremes are unchallenged on Long Island Sound, but those stupid giant eagles dominate our airspace. Inland, in all three directions, the barbarians have us completely cut off.”

“They’re Romans,” said Rachel Dare, doodling with a marker on the knee of her jeans. “Not barbarians.”

Clarisse pointed her dagger at Rachel. “What about their allies, huh? Did you see that tribe of two-headed men that arrived yesterday? Or the glowing red dog-headed guys with the big poleaxes? They look pretty barbaric to me. It would’ve been nice if you’d foreseen any of that, if your Oracle power didn’t break down when we needed it most!”


[This goes on for a while, it's just an expository scene at Camp Half-Blood, nothing relevant...]


Rachel set down her marking pen. “Annabeth knows what she’s doing. We have to try for peace. Unless we can unite the Greeks and Romans, the gods won’t be healed. Unless the gods are healed, there’s no way we can kill the giants. And unless we kill the giants—”

“Gaea wakes,” Connor said. “Game over. Look, Clarisse, Annabeth sent me a message from Tartarus. From fricking Tartarus. Anybody who can do that...hey, I listen to them.”

Clarisse opened her mouth to reply, but when she spoke it was Coach Hedge’s voice: “Nico, wake up. We’ve got problems.”


[...]


NICO SAT UP SO QUICKLY he head-butted the satyr in the nose.

“OW! Jeez, kid, you got a hard noggin!”

“S-sorry, Coach.” Nico blinked, trying to get his bearings. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t see any immediate threat. They were camped on a sunny lawn in the middle of a public square. Beds of orange marigolds bloomed all around them. Reyna was sleeping curled up, with her two metal dogs at her feet. A stone’s throw away, little kids played tag around a white marble fountain. At a nearby sidewalk café, half a dozen people sipped coffee in the shade of patio umbrellas. A few delivery vans were parked along the edges of the square, but there was no traffic. The only pedestrians were a few families, probably locals, enjoying a warm afternoon.

The square itself was cobblestone pavement, edged with white stucco buildings and lemon trees. In the center stood the well-preserved shell of a Roman temple. Its square base stretched maybe fifty feet wide and ten feet tall, with an intact facade of Corinthian columns rising another twenty-five feet. And at the top of the colonnade...

Nico’s mouth went dry. “Oh, Styx.”

The Athena Parthenos lay sideways along the tops of the columns like a nightclub singer sprawled across a piano. Lengthwise, she fit almost perfectly, but with Nike in her extended hand she was a bit too wide. She looked like she might topple forward at any moment.

“What is she doing up there?” Nico asked.

“You tell me.” Hedge rubbed his bruised nose. “That’s where we appeared. Almost fell to our deaths, but luckily I’ve got nimble hooves. You were unconscious, hanging in your harness like a tangled paratrooper until we managed to get you down.”


- The Blood of Olympus, Chapters 13-14