Reaching For The Stars

Chapter 8

Artume

It wasn't right. She could see what Annabeth was trying to do. It was up to her to figure out and deal with it, not Annabeth's or anyone else's problem; just her own. She must face it alone, to move past it, to let go. Her father was right about her life. It was cruel.

Artume looked up at Grover, who gestured to them while pointing to the horizon. For some reason, Annabeth didn't move away from her, even after trying to threaten her to leave it alone. One thing she would admit: if someone ever figured out what to do or forced her to accept help, she wouldn't mind it being Annabeth.

"We're almost there!" Grover announced, his face slightly brighter as he pointed to the camp.

It was truly something out of the Greek world, Artume mused, standing next to the others. An amphitheater, she could remember from the past, the plays that were acted out. An arena for gladiatorial games, not her first choice for entertainment, unlike her brother Maris, who enjoyed it the most.

Artume took a deep breath, letting herself reach out to what she felt. Unlike her own realm, this one felt vibrant, full of energy and life. At times chaotic, yet in a controlled way that gave life. There was no doubt she could merge with this web of energies full of possibilities. There was even a sensation that was familiar to her own realm but then again, it wasn't. Perhaps her own past haunted her more than she thought it would.

"Well done, satyr," Artume said, smiling faintly as she observed the camp.

"Sure, no problem," Grover glanced at her with a raised brow but said nothing of it.

There was another sensation, one that came from deep beneath the earth, an air of intense anger that could not be mistaken by Artume. Grover turned pale, sensing it as well, looking toward the assembly of terrifying creatures on the nearby hills.

It was an army filled with the dead. An army Artume could have summoned in the past, during the height of her power and had control over all her domains. No longer was she seen as the Goddess of the Dead, let alone the night. What caught her attention the most were three flying women, each grey with eyes like smoldering lava. They were powerful and leading the charge toward them, swiftly cutting off their entry to camp.

"Hades," Artume said without a doubt in her voice. "These come from her realm... But who are the three muscular grey-skinned women?"

"The F-Furies!" Grover bleated with a quivering voice. "This isn't good..."

"Of course, Goat Boy," Thalia deadpanned, gripping her spear tightly. "They seem to want us dead. Blocking our way into camp makes it pretty obvious they have come for us."

"We need to push through them," Luke said, not relishing the prospect of going through. It surprised Artume slightly, as she thought he would be willing to engage them. The boy seemed determined to prove something. Still, she agreed with him. There was no other way.

"If we want to enter, yes, we need to cut through them. I will be honest, this will not be easy. Someone could be easily killed," Artume said, flexing her own fingers, tapping into the remaining spirit. While she could dispose of the undead with more ease, those three Furies were a problem. It might just be beyond her to deal with them.

"What if I distract them? Make an opening for you?" Thalia suggested, hardly leaving room for objections. Admirable in every way, worthy of any hero, Artume would say. But this would result only in her death without help.