𝓟𝓻𝓪𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓪 - (𝓟.𝓙𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓸𝓷)

07.

vol i
➵ chapter seven ➵

Percy Jackson wakes to strong, steady hands shaking him. He bolts upright in his hammock. "Ah!"
Helia stares down at him. "You were having a nightmare. You need to get up."
"Wh—what is it?" He rubs his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Land," Annabeth says grimly beside her. "We're approaching the island of the Sirens."

The island is barely visible ahead—just a dark spot in the mist.
"I want you to do me a favour," Annabeth says. "The Sirens.. we'll be in range of their singing soon."
"No problem," Percy assures. "We can just stop up our ears. There's a big tub of candle wax below deck—"
"I want to hear them." Helia scowls.
Percy blinks. "Why?"
"They say the Sirens sing the truth about what you desire. They tell you things about yourself you didn't even realise. That's what's so enchanting. If you survive...you become wiser. I want to hear them. How often will I get that chance?" Annabeth explains.

Helia huffs angrily. "Believe me, we've already had strong words about this. But she won't relent, no matter how stupid this idea is."
The daughter of Athena relays her plan, and her two companions begrudgingly help her get ready.

As soon as the rocky coastline of the island comes into view, Percy orders one of the ropes to wrap around Annabeth's waist, tying her to the foremast.
"Don't untie me," she says, "no matter what happens or how much I plead. I'll want to go straight over the edge and drown myself."
"Are you trying to tempt me?"
"Ha-Ha."

Percy takes two large wads of candle wax, handing them to Helia, who kneads them into earplugs and stuffs them into her ears. He follows suit.
The two turn to the pilot's wheel. The silence is eerie. Nothing is legible bar the rush of blood in their heads. As they approach the island, jagged rocks peek out of the fog. Percy wills the Queen Anne's Revenge to skirt around them.

They turn to glance back at Annabeth, who slowly gets a puzzled look on her face, her eyes widening.
She strains against the ropes. She calls Helia's name, then Percy's.
Her expression was clear. She had to get out. This was life or death. She seems so miserable that it's hard not to cut her free.

Helia forces herself and Percy to look away, the boy urging the Queen Anne's Revenge to go faster.
Much of the island is still not visible—just mist and rocks—but floating in the water are pieces of wood and fibreglass, the wreckage of old ships, and even some flotation cushions from airplanes.

The sirens' voices vibrated in the timbers of the ship. Annabeth was pleading. Tears stream down her cheeks. She stands against the ropes, as if they were holding her back from everything she cared about.

Helia has completely turned her body away, her own face distraught at her best friend's screams. Percy glares at the misty island, trying not to look at Annabeth. He manages for five minutes.
That's their mistake.

When he can't stand it any longer, he looks back and finds... a heap of cut ropes. An empty mast. Annabeth's knife lying on the deck. Somehow, the girl had been able to wriggle it into her hand. They'd completely forgotten to disarm her.

Percy grabs Helia, who immediately notices the missing girl. They rush to the side of the boat and see Annabeth paddling madly for the island, the waves carrying her straight towards the jagged rocks.

Without even thinking, Helia immediately moves to launch herself over the side.
"Helia!" Percy shouts, jumping to grab her. He holds her tight, and she thrashes in his arms. "Let me go! I need to help her."
"You can't. I'll get her back." Terrified gold eyes stare at him. "Helia. I promise." She nods, resistance dwindling.