crow's calling - Percy Jackson (2)

chapter four

It was absolutely not a good plan. In fact, it wasn't even a mediocre plan. Wren was positive that she'd been given a pamphlet of death warrants and that she'd signed off on each and every single one of theme before they even reached the edge of the cliff.

Fire. Tartarus. River of Flames.

There was a reason that Wren Kelley had never been in charge of making the official plans for any of the quests she'd ever been on, and it was because most of her ideas played out rather horribly. And given that she and Percy were now overlooking an eighty foot cliff, she definitely had the examples to back it up.

Slithering along the bottom of the canyon beneath them was a jagged river of flames, the glowing red snake of fire that was the source of the ominous shadows that littered the world around them. She could feel the heat already (a terrible sign, surely), eliminating the chill of the Cocytus and inevitably gracing her face with what felt like a sunburn.

When she finished explaining her plan, Percy looked about ready to hurl, "Please tell me you don't actually want us to go down there."

"Uh-huh."

"You said it was a good plan."

"No I did not." Wren was quick to disagree, "I said it was a plan. As in neutral."

"This is neutral?"

The Kelley girl huffed, aggravating her already aching ribs in the process. "Okay, so maybe it's a bad plan."

For her own sake Percy did not explicitly say that the plan was terrible (which it was), but a look of uncertainty was scribbled across his face as he looked down the edge of the cliff. There was the smallest of ledges that ran all the way down to the bottom of the chasm, barely big enough for even one of their feet to fit but far better than the other option of jumping. Or staying up where Arachne had seemingly disappeared into thin air.

"It'll be fine." Percy almost managed to sound hopeful, "It's just like the lava wall at camp... probably even a little easier without Clarisse trying to throw me off."

"Right. Right, lava wall." Wren nodded. She normally would have laughed at the notion of Clarisse throwing Percy off the camp wall, but she was caught up trying to psych herself up for the descent. Looking down almost made her nauseous, and every breath felt like her lungs were filling with those styrofoam peanuts and left her feeling lightheaded. They were both blistered and bruised, bleeding more rather than less, and Wren was sure that her ribs were only breaking further with each step they took. And now they had to climb down an eighty-foot cliff and it was a terrible idea, a horrible plan, and she was absolutely going to get them killed, "Totally. Super easy."

"I'll go first." Percy volunteered, watching the way the apprehension paled across the girl's sunburnt face.

He was slow to lower himself down, hands grasping the edge as he toed for ledge beneath and Wren repeated a thousand times for him to be careful.

"Alright." Percy nodded as he lowered himself a little more, "You're good."

Sweat dripped down her hairline, smudging into her eyes and blurring her focus but she had no choice but to follow. The ripped off sleeves from her T-shirt were wrapped around her torn up palms as Wren began to descend after Percy, every breath short and slow as if a change in breathing pace would be what sent her tumbling down.

"So, this fire river, what's it called?" Percy called up, grunting each time he found another handhold on the glassy rock.

"Uh - it's-" River of Flames. River of Fire. River of Healing. Fire... something with a 'ph'. What the fuck had Annabeth called it? "The... The Phlegethon."