Rick Riordan: The Son of Neptune

Percy wasn’t thrilled to hear that. For some reason, just looking at the ugly red building made him feel angry.

He pointed towards the summit. Clouds swirled over the largest temple, a round pavilion with a ring of white columns supporting a domed roof. ‘I’m guessing that’s Zeus – uh, I mean, Jupiter’s? That’s where we’re heading?’

‘Yeah.’ Hazel sounded edgy. ‘Octavian reads auguries there – the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus.’

Percy had to think about it, but the Latin words clicked into English. ‘Jupiter … the best and the greatest?’

‘Right.’

‘What’s Neptune’s title?’ Percy asked. ‘The coolest and most awesome?’

‘Um, not quite.’ Hazel gestured to a small blue building the size of a toolshed. A cobweb-covered trident was nailed above the door.

Percy peeked inside. On a small altar sat a bowl with three dried-up, mouldy apples.

His heart sank. ‘Popular place.’

‘I’m sorry, Percy,’ Hazel said. ‘It’s just … Romans were always scared of the sea. They only used ships if they had to. Even in modern times, having a child of Neptune around has always been a bad omen. The last time one joined the legion … well, it was 1906, when Camp Jupiter was located across the bay in San Francisco. There was this huge earthquake -’

‘You’re telling me a child of Neptune caused that?’

‘So they say.’ Hazel looked apologetic. ‘Anyway … Romans fear Neptune, but they don’t love him much.’

Percy stared at the cobwebs on the trident.

Great, he thought. Even if he joined the camp, he would never be loved. His best hope was to be scary to his new camp mates. Maybe if he did really well they’d give him some mouldy apples.

Still … standing at Neptune’s altar, he felt something stirring inside him, like waves rippling through his veins.

He reached in his backpack and dug out the last bit of food from his trip – a stale bagel. It wasn’t much, but he set it on the altar.

‘Hey … uh, Dad.’ He felt pretty stupid talking to a bowl of fruit. ‘If you can hear me, help me out, okay? Give me my memory back. Tell me – tell me what to do.’

His voice cracked. He hadn’t meant to get emotional, but he was exhausted and scared, and he’d been lost for so long that he would’ve given anything for some guidance. He wanted to know something about his life for sure, without grabbing for missing memories.

Hazel put her hand on his shoulder. ‘It’ll be okay. You’re here now. You’re one of us.’

He felt awkward, depending on an eighth-grade girl he barely knew for comfort, but he was glad she was there.

Above them, thunder rumbled. Red lightning lit up the hill.

‘Octavian’s almost done,’ Hazel said. ‘Let’s go.’

Compared to Neptune’s toolshed, Jupiter’s temple was definitely optimus and maximus.

The marble floor was etched with fancy mosaics and Latin inscriptions. Sixty feet above, the domed ceiling sparkled gold. The whole temple was open to the wind.

In the centre stood a marble altar, where a kid in a toga was doing some sort of ritual in front of a massive golden statue of the big dude himself: Jupiter the sky god, dressed in a silk XXXL purple toga, holding a lightning bolt.

‘It doesn’t look like that,’ Percy muttered.

‘What?’ Hazel asked.

‘The master bolt,’ Percy said.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I -’ Percy frowned. For a second, he’d thought he remembered something. Now it was gone. ‘Nothing, I guess.’

The kid at the altar raised his hands. More red lightning flashed in the sky, shaking the temple. Then he put his hands down, and the rumbling stopped. The clouds turned from grey to white and broke apart.

A pretty impressive trick, considering the kid didn’t look like much. He was tall and skinny, with straw-coloured hair, oversized jeans, a baggy T-shirt and a drooping toga. He looked like a scarecrow wearing a bedsheet.

‘What’s he doing?’ Percy murmured.

The guy in the toga turned. He had a crooked smile and a slightly crazy look in his eyes, like he’d just been playing an intense video game. In one hand he held a knife. In the other hand was something like a dead animal. That didn’t make him look any less crazy.

‘Percy,’ Hazel said, ‘this is Octavian.’

‘The graecus !’ Octavian announced. ‘How interesting.’

‘Uh, hi,’ Percy said. ‘Are you killing small animals?’

Octavian looked at the fuzzy thing in his hand and laughed. ‘No, no. Once upon a time, yes. We used to read the will of the gods by examining animal guts – chickens, goats, that sort of thing. Nowadays, we use these.’

He tossed the fuzzy thing to Percy. It was a disembowelled teddy bear. Then Percy noticed that there was a whole pile of mutilated stuffed animals at the foot of Jupiter’s statue.

‘Seriously?’ Percy asked.

Octavian stepped off the dais. He was probably about eighteen, but so skinny and sickly pale, he could’ve passed for younger. At first he looked harmless, but as he got closer Percy wasn’t so sure. Octavian’s eyes glittered with harsh curiosity, like he might gut Percy just as easily as a teddy bear if he thought he could learn something from it.

Octavian narrowed his eyes. ‘You seem nervous.’

‘You remind me of someone,’ Percy said. ‘I can’t remember who.’

‘Possibly my namesake, Octavian – Augustus Caesar. Everyone says I bear a remarkable resemblance.’

Percy didn’t think that was it, but he couldn’t pin down the memory. ‘Why did you call me “the Greek”?’

‘I saw it in the auguries.’ Octavian waved his knife at the pile of stuffing on the altar. ‘The message said: The Greek has arrived. Or possibly: The goose has cried. I’m thinking the first interpretation is correct. You seek to join the legion?’

Hazel spoke for him. She told Octavian everything that had happened since they met at the tunnel – the gorgons, the fight at the river, the appearance of Juno, their conversation with Reyna.

When she mentioned Juno, Octavian looked surprised.

‘Juno,’ he mused. ‘We call her Juno Moneta. Juno the Warner. She appears in times of crisis, to counsel Rome about great threats.’

He glanced at Percy, as if to say: like mysterious Greeks, for instance.

‘I hear the Feast of Fortuna is this week,’ Percy said. ‘The gorgons warned there’d be an invasion on that day. Did you see that in your stuffing?’

‘Sadly, no.’ Octavian sighed. ‘The will of the gods is hard to discern. And these days, my vision is even darker.’

‘Don’t you have … I don’t know,’ Percy said, ‘an oracle or something?’

‘An oracle!’ Octavian smiled. ‘What a cute idea. No, I’m afraid we’re fresh out of oracles. Now, if we’d gone questing for the Sibylline books, like I recommended -’

‘The Siba-what?’ Percy asked.

‘Books of prophecy,’ Hazel said, ‘which Octavian is obsessed with. Romans used to consult them when disasters happened. Most people believe they burned up when Rome fell.’

‘ Some people believe that,’ Octavian corrected. ‘Unfortunately our present leadership won’t authorize a quest to look for them -’

‘Because Reyna isn’t stupid,’ Hazel said.

‘- so we have only a few remaining scraps from the books,’ Octavian continued. ‘A few mysterious predictions, like these.’

He nodded to the inscriptions on the marble floor. Percy stared at the lines of words, not really expecting to understand them. He almost choked.

‘That one.’ He pointed, translating as he read aloud: ‘ Seven half-bloods shall answer the call. To storm or fire the world must fall -’