Daughter of Light

Maxima

Four hours. 

That's how long it takes the fastest horse on the planet to get from Alaska to San Francisco Bay, heading straight over the water down the Northwest coast. 

It gives me enough time to make a decision. A decision for what I want to do, if we survive this coming battle. A decision that affects my future, giving me a future I never thought I'd be okay with. Still, if the legion is going to grow and prosper, I want it to grow and prosper my way. I want to have a say. I want to be a part of the future of Rome. I grip the eagle standard tighter. I think I want to be praetor.

Sure, I want to see what the Greeks have to offer. I want to see how I'd feel at the Greek camp. But I could be a mediator, right? If I'm both Greek and Roman, maybe as praetor, I can mediate between the camps. That could be cool. 

One thing is for sure: I'm tired of other people being in charge of me and what I do. 

Still, before I'm able to actually be a praetor, I need to get through this Prophecy of Eight. According to Alcyoneus, the real war will happen far away, in the homeland of the gods. The giants intend to attack the original Mount Olympus and destroy the gods forever. 

Sure, it's terrifying. It's absolutely awe-inspiringly horrifyingly scary. But, it does involve the Greeks and Romans working together. Which gives me an opening to see how the Greeks do their thing. Maybe I could be a praetor for Greeks and Romans. The first of my kind. I'd be a legend. I'd be the greatest. 

The thought gives me goosebumps. But first, we have to save Camp Jupiter.

The coastline begins to look familiar. We race past the Mendocino lighthouse. Shortly afterward, Mount Tam and the Marin headlands loom out of the fog. Arion shoots straight under the Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco Bay.

We tear through Berkeley and into the Oakland Hills. When we reach the hilltop above the Caldecott Tunnel, Arion shudders like a broken car and comes to a stop, his chest heaving.

Hazel pats his sides lovingly. "You did great, Arion."

Percy, Frank, and I jump off the chariot. I wish there'd been comfortable seats or an in-flight meal. My legs are wobbly. My joints are so stiff, I can barely walk. If I go into battle like this, the enemy will call me Old Lady De Luca.

Frank and Percy don't look much better. Frank hobbles to the top of the hill and peers down at the camp. "Guys...you need to see this."

When Percy, Hazel, and I join him, my heart sinks. The battle has begun, and it isn't going well. The Twelfth Legion is arrayed on the Field of Mars, trying to protect the city. 

Scorpions fire into the ranks of the Earthborn. Hannibal the elephant plows down monsters right and left, but the defenders are badly outnumbered.

On her pegasus Scipio, Reyna flies around the giant Polybotes, trying to keep him occupied. The Lares have formed shimmering purple lines against a mob of black, vaporous shades in ancient armor. Veteran demigods from the city have joined the battle, and are pushing their shield wall against an onslaught of wild centaurs. Giant eagles circle the battlefield, doing aerial combat with two snake-haired ladies in green Bargain Mart vests. I recognize one from my dream as Stheno.

The legion itself is taking the brunt of the attack, but their formation is breaking. Each cohort is an island in a sea of enemies. The Cyclopes' siege tower shoots glowing green cannonballs into the city, blasting craters in the forum, reducing houses to ruins. As I watch, a cannonball hits the Senate House and the dome partially collapses. With a wave of nausea, I recognize the hole. All it's missing is the Greek fire.

"We're too late," Hazel says.

"No," Percy says. "They're still fighting. We can do this."

"Where's Lupa?" Frank asks, desperation creeping into his voice. "She and the wolves...they should be here."

I think about my time with the wolf goddess. I came to respect her teachings, but I also learned that wolves have limits. They aren't front-line fighters. They only attack when they have vastly superior numbers, and usually under the cover of darkness. Besides, Lupa's first rule is self-sufficiency. She'll help her children as much as she can, train them to fight—but in the end, they're either predator or prey. Romans have to fight for themselves. They have to prove their worth or die. That's Lupa's way.

"She did what she could," Percy says. "She slowed down the army on its way south. Now it's up to us. We've got to get the gold eagle and these weapons to the legion."

"But Arion is out of steam!" Hazel says. "We can't haul this stuff ourselves."

"Maybe we don't have to." Percy scans the hilltops. 

Percy whistles incredibly loud—a good New York cab whistle that would be heard all the way from Times Square to Central Park.

Shadows ripple in the trees. A huge black shape bounds out of nowhere—a mastiff the size of an SUV, with a familiar Cyclops and a familiar harpy on her back.

"Hellhound!" Frank scrambles backward.

"It's okay!" Percy grins. "These are friends."

"Brother!" The Cyclops climbs off and runs toward Percy. Percy tries to brace himself, but it's no good. Tyson slams into him and smothers him in a hug. 

"You are not dead!" The Cyclops says. "I like it when you are not dead!"

Ella flutters to the ground and begins preening her feathers. "Ella found a dog," she announces. "A large dog. And a Cyclops."

Is she blushing? Before I can decide, the black mastiff pounces on Percy, knocking him to the ground and barking so loudly that even Arion backs up.

"Hey, Mrs. O'Leary," Percy says. "Yeah, I love you too, girl. Good dog."

Hazel makes a squeaking sound. "You have a hellhound named Mrs. O'Leary?"

"Long story." Percy manages to get to his feet and wipe off the dog slobber. "You can ask your brother..."

His voice wavers when he sees Hazel's expression. Clearly, that was a big bomb to drop. Also, Nico is missing.

Hazel told us what Thanatos said about searching for the Doors of Death in Rome. Meanwhile, Mrs. O'Leary decides I'm her new best friend. She nudges against me affectionately, begging to be pet. 

"Sorry," Percy says. "But yeah, this is my dog, Mrs. O'Leary. Tyson—these are my friends, Frank, Max, and Hazel."

I turn to Ella, who's counting all the barbs in one of her feathers.

"Are you okay?" I ask. "We were worried about you."

"Ella is not strong," she says. "Cyclopes are strong. Tyson found Ella. Tyson took care of Ella."

Percy raises his eyebrows. Ella is blushing.

"Tyson," he says, "you big charmer, you."

Tyson turns the same color as Ella's plumage. "Um...No." He leans down and whispers nervously, loud enough for all of us to hear: "She is pretty."

Frank taps his head like he's afraid his brain has short-circuited. "Anyway, there's this battle happening."

"Right," Percy agrees. "Tyson, where's Annabeth? Is any other help coming?"

Tyson pouts. His big brown eye gets misty. "The big ship is not ready. Leo says tomorrow, maybe two days. Then they will come."

My heart skips beat for some reason. In a couple days, Leo and his warship will be on the way. 

"We don't have two minutes," Percy says. "Okay, here's the plan."

As quickly as possible, he points out which are the good guys and the bad guys on the battlefield. Tyson is alarmed to learn that bad Cyclopes and bad centaurs are in the giant's army. "I have to hit pony-men?"

"Just scare them away," Percy promises.

"Um, Percy?" Frank looks at Tyson with trepidation. "I just...don't want our friend here getting hurt. Is Tyson a fighter?"

Percy smiles. "Is he a fighter? Frank, you're looking at General Tyson of the Cyclops army. And by the way, Tyson, Frank is a descendant of Poseidon."

"Brother!" Tyson crushes Frank in a hug.

Percy stifles a laugh. "Actually he's more like a great-great-...Oh, never mind. Yeah, he's your brother."

"Thanks," Frank mumbles through a mouthful of flannel. "But if the legion mistakes Tyson for an enemy—"

"I've got it!" Hazel runs to the chariot and digs out the biggest Roman helmet she can find, plus an old Roman banner embroidered with SPQR.

She hands them to Tyson. "Put those on, big guy. Then our friends will know you're on our team."

"Yay!" Tyson says. "I'm on your team!"

The helmet is ridiculously small, and he puts the cape on backward, like a SPQR baby bib.

"It'll do," I say. "Ella, just stay here. Stay safe."

"Safe," Ella repeats. "Ella likes being safe. Safety in numbers. Safety deposit boxes. Ella will go with Tyson."

"What?" Percy says. "Oh...fine. Whatever. Just don't get hurt. And Mrs. O'Leary—"

"ROOOF!"

"How do you feel about pulling a chariot?"