The Last Olympian (Percy Jackson and the Olympians, #5)

by Rick Riordan

‘So,’ Beckendorf said. ‘I’m guessing you don’t want me to mention that little scene to Annabeth.’ ‘Oh, gods,’ I muttered. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

A blade was supposed to reap my soul. As a general rule, I preferred not to have my soul reaped.

‘Like Theseus,’ Paul suggested. ‘He was supposed to raise white sails when he came home to Athens.’ ‘Except he forgot,’ Nico muttered. ‘And his father jumped off the palace roof in despair. But other than that it was a great idea.’

‘Please, man,’ I said. ‘It would mean a lot. For old times’ sake?’ He whimpered. ‘As I recall, in the old times we almost died a lot. But, okay, here goes nothing.’

The daughter of Zeus grinned. ‘The Hunters of Artemis, reporting for duty.’

‘You cannot imprison me!’ he bellowed. ‘I am Hyperion! I am –’ The bark closed over his face. Grover took his pipes from his mouth. ‘You are a very nice maple tree.’

Now I knew what she meant, and I knew who had led the Ares cabin into battle. I looked down at the dying face of Silena Beauregard.

I thought about May Castellan, alone in her kitchen, baking cookies and making sandwiches for a son who would never come home.

I remembered my promise to my mother. Zeus didn’t even blink an eye when I told him my strange request. He snapped his fingers and informed me that the top of the Empire State Building was now lit up blue. Most mortals would just have to wonder what it meant, but my mom would know: I had survived. Olympus was saved.

‘Miss much?’ she whispered. ‘Nobody’s planning to kill us, so far,’ I whispered back. ‘First time today.’

‘And, of course,’ Zeus continued, though he looked like his pants were smouldering, ‘we must … um … thank Poseidon.’ ‘I’m sorry, brother,’ Poseidon said. ‘What was that?’ ‘We must thank Poseidon,’ Zeus growled. ‘Without whom … it would’ve been difficult –’ ‘Difficult?’ Poseidon asked innocently. ‘Impossible,’ Zeus said. ‘Impossible to defeat Typhon.’

‘Amazing,’ Hermes murmured. He turned towards me. ‘Three thousand years, and I will never get over the power of the Mist … and mortal ignorance.’

‘Seven half-bloods shall answer the call, To storm or fire the world must fall. An oath to keep with a final breath, And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death.

He grinned. ‘You’re doing well with those new cabins, by the way. I suppose this means I can claim all those other sons and daughters of mine and send you some siblings next summer.’