This Dark Night ― Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase¹

―viii. percy takes a dangerous swim

EVERYTHING HURT. As soon as Percy stepped into the river, his muscles turned to jelly and he fell face-first into the current, the pain instantly too much to bear.

He submerged completely. For the first time in his life, he couldn't breathe underwater. He finally understood the panic of drowning. Every nerve in his body burned. He was dissolving in the water. He saw faces—Rachel, Grover, Tyson, his mother—but they faded as soon as they appeared.

"Percy," his mother said. "I give you my blessing."

"Be safe, brother!" Tyson pleaded.

"Enchiladas!" Grover said. Percy wasn't sure where that came from, but it didn't seem to help much.

He was losing the fight. The pain was unbearable. His hands and feet were melting into the water, his soul being ripped from his body.

He couldn't remember who he was. The pain of Kronos's scythe had been nothing compared to this.

The cord, a familiar voice said somewhere in a world that seemed separate from his own.

Another voice: Remember your lifeline, dummy!

Suddenly there was a tug in Percy's lower back. The current pulled at him, but it wasn't carrying him away anymore. He imagined the string in his back, keeping him tied to the shore.

"Hold on, Seaweed Brain." There was Annabeth's voice, much clearer now. "You're not getting away from us that easily."

The cord strengthened.

Percy could see Annabeth now—standing barefoot above him on the canoe-lake pier. Naomi was beside her, seeming to laugh at something.

He'd fallen out of his canoe. That was it. Annabeth and Naomi were reaching out their hands to haul him up. They wore their orange camp t-shirts and jeans. Annabeth's hair was tucked up in her Yankees cap, which was strange, because that should have made her invisible. Naomi's hair was braided, woven with wildflowers. She'd never worn it like that. It looked nice.

"And you say I'm the clumsy one." Naomi smiled. "Come on. We'll help you up."

Memories came flooding back to him—sharper and more colorful. He stopped dissolving.

My name is Percy Jackson.

He reached up and took Annabeth's and Naomi's hands.

Suddenly he burst out of the river, collapsing on the sand.

"Percy!" Naomi—the real Naomi—gasped.

"Are you okay?" Nico stammered. "Your skin. Oh, gods. You're hurt!"

Percy's arms were bright red. He felt like every inch of his body had been broiled over a slow flame.

He looked around for Annabeth, though he knew she wouldn't be there. It had seemed so real—her and Naomi, right there with him, just like they always were.

"I'm fine... I think." The color of his skin turned back to normal. The pain subsided. Mrs. O'Leary came up and sniffed him with concern as Naomi's frantic hands and eyes checked him for injuries.

"Do you feel stronger?" Nico asked.

Before Percy could decide what he felt, a voice boomed, "THERE!"

An army of the dead marched toward them. A hundred skeletal Roman legionnaires led the way with shields and spears. Behind them came an equal number of British redcoats with bayonets fixed. In the middle of the host, Hades himself rode a black-and-gold chariot pulled by nightmare horses, their eyes and manes smoldering with fire.