𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 [Jason Grace]

54

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞, Dante was sure he'd signed their death warrants.

The cliff dropped more than eighty feet. At the bottom stretched a nightmarish version of the Grand Canyon: a river of fire cutting a path through a jagged obsidian crevasse, the glowing red current casting horrible shadows across the cliff faces.

Even from the top of the canyon, the heat was intense. The chill of the River Cocytus hadn't left Dante's bones, but now his face felt raw and sunburned. Every breath took more effort, as if his chest was filled with Styrofoam peanuts. The cuts on his hands bled more rather than less. Dante's chest, which had been almost healed, seemed to be reinjuring itself. Every breath made him wince.

Assuming they could make it down to the fiery river, which he doubted, his plan seemed certifiably insane. Which is why he realized he wasn't the plan maker of the group, Annabeth was.

He was a traveler, a guide, maybe he could guide the two of them out of Tartarus. Or maybe he could lead them right to their own deaths. Fun thoughts.

Jason examined the cliff. "I can get us down there."

"By get us down, you mean whatever that was as we fell?" Dante raised an eyebrow. He didn't mean to sound so accusatory. But it came out as a jab.

"I can't... control all the winds here," Jason said, "It's like they're fighting me."

"Monster court," Dante remembered, "Maybe here demigod powers are dampened?"

Jason grimaced. Dante didn't like the idea either.

"I can still try," Jason said, determined. He held out a hand to Dante.

"My chest is killing me," He put a hand over the part that hurt the most. "Be careful."

As much as he'd rather jump from the cliff than let Jason touch him, Dante stepped closer. Carefully, Jason wrapped an arm around him and Dante felt like he'd taken a dip in the fire river below. He managed to avoid Dante's injury.

Taking control of the winds, Jason lowered them both slowly. It was hard going. Every so often, they fell through the air as Jason struggled to control their fall. Dante's stomach dropped every time. He also tried to have as little contact with Jason as possible which was really hard when they were pushed close together.

They had made it halfway down when Jason struggled to keep them floating, "I'm guessing that's the Phlegethon?"

"Sounds like a marathon for hawking spitballs." Dante chuckled, which sent pain through his chest again.

"Please don't make me laugh," Jason struggled to wipe the smile off his face while also concentrating on getting them down.

"Just trying to keep things light."

"Thanks," he said, free falling a foot before regaining control, "I'll have a smile on my face as we plummet to our deaths."

They kept going, slowly, the dread and pain in Dante's chest growing with every foot they fell. To his amazement, they finally made it to the bottom of the cliff.

When they reached the bottom, Jason stumbled. Dante had to catch him, which wasn't doing his fractured rib any favors.

He was alarmed by how feverish Jason's skin felt. Red boils had erupted on his face, so he looked like a smallpox victim.

Dante's own vision was blurry. His throat felt blistered, and his stomach was clenched tighter than a fist.

We have to hurry, he thought.