COME WHAT MAY — don't accept curses from strangers
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After a while, Rory's feet felt like Titan mush. She marched along, following Bob, listening to the monotonous slosh of liquid in his cleaning bottle.
Stay alert, she told herself, but it was hard. Her thoughts were as numb as her legs. From time to time, Percy took her hand or made an encouraging comment, but she could tell the dark landscape was getting to him as well. His eyes had a dull sheen — like his spirit was being slowly extinguished.
He fell into Tartarus to be with you, said a voice in her mind. If he dies, it will be your fault.
That made her want to cry. She knocked her fist against her head a few times to clear her thoughts.
Percy frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She tried for a reassuring smile, but she couldn't quite muster one. "This place... it's messing with my mind. Giving me dark thoughts."
The worry lines deepened around Percy's sea green eyes. "Hey, Bob, where exactly are we heading?"
"The lady," Bob said. "Death Mist."
Rory fought down her irritation. "But what does that mean? Who is this lady?"
"Naming her?" Bob glanced back. "Not a good idea."
Rory sighed. He was right. Names had power, and speaking them here in Tartarus was probably very dangerous.
"Can you at least tell us how far?" she asked.
"I do not know," Bob admitted. "I can only feel it. We wait for the darkness to get darker. Then we go sideways."
Rory shuddered. Darkness getting darker. She didn't know what that meant, but she didn't like it. For the first time in her life, Rory was pretty sure she was scared of the dark.
She was tempted to ask for a rest, but she didn't want to stop. Not here in this cold, dark place. The black fog seeped into her body, turning her bones into moist Styrofoam.
She desperately needed something to lift her spirits. A drink of actual water. A moment of sunlight. A warm bed. A kind word from her mother.
Suddenly Bob stopped. He raised his hand: Wait.
"What?" Percy whispered.
"Shh," Bob warned. "Ahead. Something moves."
Rory strained her ears. From somewhere in the fog came a deep thrumming noise, like the idling engine of a large construction vehicle. She could feel the vibrations through her shoes.
"We will surround it," Bob whispered. "Each of you, take a flank."
Rory fiddled with Spectre. She waited to actually draw her dagger for fear that the Stygian iron would attract whatever was ahead of them. Percy went right, his sword ready.
