The House of Hades (Heroes of Olympus Book 4) (33 page)

S
O IT WAS A
STORM
DAY.
Auster, the Roman version of the South Wind, was holding court.

The two previous days, Jason had dealt with
Notus
. While the god’s Greek version was fiery and quick to anger, at least he was
quick
. Auster … well, not so much.

White and red marble columns lined the throne room. The rough sandstone floor smoked under Jason’s shoes. Steam hung in the air, like the bathhouse back at Camp Jupiter, except bathhouses usually didn’t have thunderstorms crackling across the ceiling, lighting the room in disorienting flashes.

Southern
venti
swirled through the hall in clouds of red dust and superheated air. Jason was careful to stay away from them. On his first day here, he’d accidentally brushed his hand through one. He’d got so many blisters his fingers looked like tentacles.

At the end of the room was the strangest throne Jason had
ever seen – made of equal parts fire and water. The dais was a bonfire. Flames and smoke curled up to form a seat. The back of the chair was a churning storm cloud. The armrests sizzled where moisture met fire. It didn’t look very comfortable, but the god Auster lounged on it like he was ready for an easy afternoon of watching football.

Standing up, he would have been about ten feet tall. A crown of steam wreathed his shaggy white hair. His beard was made of clouds, constantly popping with lightning and raining down on the god’s chest, soaking his sand-coloured toga. Jason wondered if you could shave a thundercloud beard. He thought it might be annoying to rain on yourself all the time, but Auster didn’t seem to care. He reminded Jason of a soggy Santa Claus, but more lazy than jolly.

‘So …’ The god’s voice rumbled like an oncoming front. ‘The son of Jupiter returns.’

Auster made it sound like Jason was late. Jason was tempted to remind the stupid wind god that he had spent hours outside every day waiting to be called, but he just bowed.

‘My lord,’ he said. ‘Have you received any news of my friend?’

‘Friend?’

‘Leo Valdez.’ Jason tried to stay patient. ‘The one who was taken by the winds.’

‘Oh … yes. Or rather, no. We have had no word. He was not taken by
my
winds. No doubt this was the work of Boreas or his spawn.’

‘Uh, yes. We knew that.’

‘That is the only reason I took you in, of course.’ Auster’s
eyebrows rose into his wreath of steam. ‘Boreas must be opposed! The north winds must be driven back!’

‘Yes, my lord. But to oppose Boreas we really need to get our ship out of the harbour.’

‘Ship in the harbour!’ The god leaned back and chuckled, rain pouring out of his beard. ‘You know the
last
time mortal ships came into my harbour? A king of Libya … Psyollos was his name. He blamed
me
for the scorching winds that burned his crops. Can you believe it?’

Jason gritted his teeth. He’d learned that Auster couldn’t be rushed. In his rainy form, he was sluggish and warm and random.

‘And did you burn those crops, my lord?’

‘Of course!’ Auster smiled good-naturedly. ‘But what did Psyollos expect, planting crops at the edge of the Sahara? The fool launched his entire fleet against me. He intended to destroy my stronghold so the south wind could never blow again. I destroyed his fleet, of course.’

‘Of course.’

Auster narrowed his eyes. ‘You aren’t with Psyollos, are you?’

‘No, Lord Auster. I’m Jason Grace, son of –’

‘Jupiter! Yes, of course. I like sons of Jupiter. But why are you still in my harbour?’

Jason suppressed a sigh. ‘We don’t have your permission to leave, my lord. Also, our ship is damaged. We need our mechanic, Leo Valdez, to repair the engine, unless you know of another way.’

‘Hmm.’ Auster held up his fingers and let a dust devil
swirl between them like a baton. ‘You know, people accuse me of being fickle. Some days I am the scorching wind, the destroyer of crops, the sirocco from Africa! Other days I am gentle, heralding the warm summer rains and cooling fogs of the southern Mediterranean. And in the off-season I have a lovely place in Cancun! At any rate, in ancient times, mortals both feared me and loved me. For a god, unpredictability can be a strength.’

‘Then you are truly strong,’ Jason said.

‘Thank you! Yes! But the same is not true of demigods.’ Auster leaned forward, close enough so that Jason could smell rain-soaked fields and hot sandy beaches. ‘You remind me of my own children, Jason Grace. You have blown from place to place. You are undecided. You change day to day. If you could turn the wind sock, which way would it blow?’

Sweat trickled between Jason’s shoulder blades. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You say you need a navigator. You need my permission. I say you need neither. It is time to choose a direction. A wind that blows aimlessly is of no use to anyone.’

‘I don’t … I don’t understand.’

Even as he said it, he
did
understand. Nico had talked about not belonging anywhere. At least Nico was free of attachments. He could go wherever he chose.

For months, Jason had been wrestling with the question of where he belonged. He’d always chafed against the traditions of Camp Jupiter, the power plays, the infighting. But Reyna was a good person. She needed his help. If he turned his back on her … someone like Octavian could take over and ruin
everything Jason
did
love about New Rome. Could he be so selfish as to leave? The very idea crushed him with guilt.

But in his heart he
wanted
to be at Camp Half-Blood. The months he’d spent there with Piper and Leo had felt more satisfying, more
right
than all his years at Camp Jupiter. Besides, at Camp Half-Blood, there was at least a
chance
he might meet his father some day. The gods hardly ever stopped by Camp Jupiter to say hello.

Jason took a shaky breath. ‘Yes. I know the direction I want to take.’

‘Good! And?’

‘Uh, we still need a way to fix the ship. Is there –?’

Auster raised an index finger. ‘Still expecting guidance from the wind lords? A son of Jupiter should know better.’

Jason hesitated. ‘We’re leaving, Lord Auster. Today.’

The wind god grinned and spread his hands. ‘At last, you announce your purpose! Then you have my permission to go, though you do not need it. And how will you sail without your engineer, without your engines fixed?’

Jason felt the south winds zipping around him, whinnying in challenge like headstrong mustangs, testing his will.

All week he had been waiting, hoping Auster would decide to help. For months he had worried about his obligations to Camp Jupiter, hoping his path would become clear. Now, he realized, he simply had to take what he wanted. He had to control the winds, not the other way around.

‘You’re going to help us,’ Jason said. ‘Your
venti
can take the form of horses. You’ll give us a team to pull the
Argo II
. They’ll lead us to wherever Leo is.’

‘Wonderful!’ Auster beamed, his beard flashing with electricity. ‘Now … can you make good on those bold words? Can you control what you ask for, or will you be torn apart?’

The god clapped his hands. Winds swirled around his throne and took the form of horses. These weren’t dark and cold like Jason’s friend
Tempest
. The South Wind horses were made of fire, sand and hot thunderstorm. Four of them raced past, their heat singeing the hair off Jason’s arms. They galloped around the marble columns, spitting flames, neighing with a sound like sandblasters. The more they ran, they wilder they became. They started to eye Jason.

Auster stroked his rainy beard. ‘Do you know why the
venti
can appear as horses, my boy? Every so often, we wind gods travel the earth in equine form. On occasion, we’ve been known to sire the fastest of all horses.’

‘Thanks,’ Jason muttered, though his teeth were chattering with fear. ‘Too much information.’

One of the
venti
charged at Jason. He ducked aside, his clothes smoking from the close call.

‘Sometimes,’ Auster continued cheerfully, ‘mortals recognize our divine blood. They will say,
That horse runs like the wind.
And for good reason. Like the fastest stallions, the
venti
are our children!’

The wind horses began to circle Jason.

‘Like my friend Tempest,’ he ventured.

‘Oh, well …’ Auster scowled. ‘I fear that one is a child of Boreas. How you tamed him, I will never know. These are my own offspring, a fine team of southern winds. Control them, Jason Grace, and they will pull your ship from the harbour.’

Control them, Jason thought. Yeah, right.

They ran back and forth, working up a frenzy. Like their master the South Wind, they were conflicted – half hot, dry sirocco, half stormy thunderhead.

I need speed, Jason thought. I need purpose.

He envisioned Notus, the Greek version of the South Wind – blistering hot, but very fast.

In that moment, he
chose
Greek. He threw in his lot with Camp Half-Blood – and the horses changed. The storm clouds inside burned away, leaving nothing but red dust and shimmering heat, like mirages on the Sahara.

‘Well done,’ said the god.

On the throne now sat Notus – a bronze-skinned old man in a fiery Greek
chiton
, his head crowned with a wreath of withered, smoking barley.

‘What are you waiting for?’ the god prompted.

Jason turned towards the fiery wind steeds. Suddenly he wasn’t afraid of them.

He thrust out his hand. A swirl of dust shot towards the nearest horse. A lasso – a rope of wind, more tightly wound than any tornado – wrapped around the horse’s neck. The wind formed a halter and brought the beast to a stop.

Jason summoned another wind rope. He lashed a second horse, binding it to his will. In less than a minute, he had tethered all four
venti
. He reined them in, still whinnying and bucking, but they couldn’t break Jason’s ropes. It felt like flying four kites in a strong wind – hard, yes, but not impossible.

‘Very good, Jason Grace,’ Notus said. ‘You are a son of
Jupiter, yet you have chosen your own path – as all the greatest demigods have done before you. You cannot control your parentage, but you
can
choose your legacy. Now, go. Lash your team to the prow and direct them towards Malta.’

‘Malta?’ Jason tried to focus, but the heat from the horses was making him light-headed. He knew nothing about Malta, except for some vague story about a Maltese falcon. Were malts invented there?

‘Once you arrive in the city of Valletta,’ Notus said, ‘you will no longer need these horses.’

‘You mean … we’ll find Leo there?’

The god shimmered, slowly fading into waves of heat. ‘Your destiny grows clearer, Jason Grace. When the choice comes again – storm or fire – remember me. And do not despair.’

The doors of the throne room burst open. The horses, smelling freedom, bolted for the exit.

A
T SIXTEEN, MOST KIDS WOULD STRESS
about parallel parking tests, getting a driver’s licence and affording a car.

Jason stressed about controlling a team of fiery horses with wind ropes.

After making sure his friends were aboard and safely below deck, he lashed the
venti
to the prow of the
Argo II
(which Festus was
not
happy about), straddled the figurehead and yelled, ‘Giddyup!’

The
venti
tore across the waves. They weren’t quite as fast as Hazel’s horse, Arion, but they had a lot more heat. They kicked up a rooster tail of steam that made it almost impossible for Jason to see where they were going. The ship shot out of the bay. In no time Africa was a hazy line on the horizon behind them.

Maintaining the wind ropes took all of Jason’s concentration. The horses strained to break free. Only his willpower kept them in check.

Malta
, he ordered.
Straight to Malta.

By the time land finally appeared in the distance – a hilly island carpeted with low stone buildings – Jason was soaked in sweat. His arms felt rubbery, like he’d been holding a barbell straight out in front of him.

He hoped they’d reached the right place, because he couldn’t keep the horses together any longer. He released the wind reins. The
venti
scattered into particles of sand and steam.

Exhausted, Jason climbed down from the prow. He leaned against Festus’s neck. The dragon turned and gave him a chin hug.

‘Thanks, man,’ Jason said. ‘Rough day, huh?’

Behind him, the deck boards creaked.

‘Jason?’ Piper called. ‘Oh, gods, your arms …’

He hadn’t noticed, but his skin was dotted with blisters.

Piper unwrapped a square of ambrosia. ‘Eat this.’

He chewed. His mouth was filled with the taste of fresh brownies – his favourite treat from the bakeries in New Rome. The blisters faded on his arms. His strength returned, but the brownie ambrosia tasted more bitter than usual, as if it somehow knew that Jason was turning his back on Camp Jupiter. This was no longer the taste of home.

‘Thanks, Pipes,’ he murmured. ‘How long was I –?’

‘About six hours.’

Wow, Jason thought. No wonder he felt sore and hungry. ‘The others?’

‘All fine. Tired of being cooped up. Should I tell them it’s safe to come above deck?’

Jason licked his dry lips. Despite the ambrosia, he felt shaky. He didn’t want to others to see him like this.

‘Give me a second,’ he said. ‘… catch my breath.’

Piper leaned next to him. In her green tank top, her beige shorts and her hiking boots, she looked like she was ready to climb a mountain – and then fight an army at the top. Her dagger was strapped to her belt. Her cornucopia was slung over one shoulder. She’d taken to wearing the jagged bronze sword she’d recovered from Zethes the Boread, which was only slightly less intimidating than an assault rifle.

During their time at Auster’s palace, Jason had watched Piper and Hazel spend hours sword fighting – something Piper had never been interested in before. Since her encounter with Khione, Piper seemed more wired, tensed up inside like a primed catapult, as if she were determined never to be caught off guard again.

Jason understood the feeling, but he worried she was being too hard on herself. Nobody could be ready for anything all the time. He should know. He’d spent the last fight as a freeze-dried throw rug.

He must have been staring, because she gave him a knowing smirk. ‘Hey, I’m fine.
We’re
fine.’

She perched on her tiptoes and kissed him, which felt as good as the ambrosia. Her eyes were flecked with so many colours Jason could’ve stared into them all day, studying the changing patterns, the way people watched the northern lights.

‘I’m lucky to have you,’ he said.

‘Yeah, you are.’ She pushed his chest gently. ‘Now, how do we get this ship to the docks?’

Jason frowned across the water. They were still half a mile from the island. He had no idea whether they could get the engines working, or the sails …

Fortunately, Festus had been listening. He faced front and blew a plume of fire. The ship’s engine clattered and hummed. It sounded like a massive bike with a busted chain – but they lurched forward. Slowly, the
Argo II
headed towards the shore.

‘Good dragon.’ Piper patted Festus’s neck.

The dragon’s ruby eyes glinted as if he was pleased with himself.

‘He seems different since you woke him,’ Jason said. ‘More … alive.’

‘The way he
should
be.’ Piper smiled. ‘I guess once in a while we all need a wake-up call from somebody who loves us.’

Standing next to her, Jason felt so good, he could almost imagine their future together at Camp Half-Blood, once the war was over – assuming they lived, assuming there was still a camp left to return to.

When the choice comes again
,
Notus had said,
storm or fire – remember me. And do not despair.

The closer they got to Greece, the more dread settled in Jason’s chest. He was starting to think Piper was right about the
storm or fire
line in the prophecy – one of them, Jason or Leo, would not come back from this voyage alive.

Which was why they
had
to find Leo. As much as Jason
loved his life, he couldn’t let his friend die for his sake. He could never live with the guilt.

Of course he hoped he was wrong. He hoped they both came out this quest okay. But, if not, Jason had to be prepared. He would protect his friends and stop Gaia – whatever it took.

Do not despair.

Yeah. Easy for an immortal wind god to say.

As the island got closer, Jason saw docks bristling with sails. From the rocky shoreline rose fortress-like seawalls – fifty or sixty feet tall. Above that sprawled a mediaeval-looking city of church spires, domes and tightly wedged buildings, all made of the same golden stone. From where Jason stood, it looked as if the city covered every inch of the island.

He scanned the boats in the harbour. A hundred yards ahead, tied to the end of the longest dock, was a makeshift raft with a simple mast and a square canvas sail. On the back, the rudder was wired to some sort of machine. Even from this distance, Jason could see the glint of Celestial bronze.

Jason grinned. Only one demigod would make a boat like that, and he’d moored it as far out in the harbour as possible, where the
Argo II
couldn’t fail to spot it.

‘Get the others,’ Jason told Piper. ‘Leo is here.’