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Percy Jackson 7
[We just have English edition now ,who can
understand it ?]
one
PERCY
THE SNAKE-HAIRED LADIES WERE starting to annoy Percy.
They should have died three days ago when he dropped
a crate of bowling balls on them at the Napa Bargain Mart.
They should have died two days ago when he ran over
them with a police car in Martinez. They definitely should
have died this morning when he cut off their heads in Tilden
Park.
No matter how many times Percy killed them and
watched them crumble to powder, they just kept re-forming
like large evil dust bunnies. He couldn’t even seem to
outrun them.
He reached the top of the hill and caught his breath. How
long since he’d last killed them? Maybe two hours. They
never seemed to stay dead longer than that.
The past few days, he’d hardly slept. He’d eaten
whatever he could scrounge – vending machine gummi
bears, stale bagels, even a Jack in the Crack burrito, which
was a new personal low. His clothes were torn, burnt and
splattered with monster slime.
He’d only survived this long because the two snakehaired
ladies – gorgons, they called themselves – couldn’t
seem to kill him either. Their claws didn’t cut his skin. Their
teeth broke whenever they tried to bite him. But Percy
couldn’t keep going much longer. Soon he’d collapse from
exhaustion, and then, as hard as he was to kill, he was
pretty sure the gorgons would find a way.
Where to run?
He scanned his surroundings. Under different
circumstances, he might’ve enjoyed the view. To his left,
golden hills rolled inland, dotted with lakes, woods and a
few herds of cows. To his right, the flatlands of Berkeley
and Oakland marched west – a vast chequerboard of
neighbourhoods, with several million people who probably
did not want their morning interrupted by two monsters and
a filthy demigod.
Further west, San Francisco Bay glittered under a silvery
haze. Past that, a wall of fog had swallowed most of San
Francisco, leaving just the tops of skyscrapers and the
towers of the Golden Gate Bridge.
A vague sadness weighed on Percy’s chest. Something
told him he’d been to San Francisco before. The city had
some connection to Annabeth – the only person he could
remember from his past. His memory of her was
frustratingly dim. The wolf had promised he would see her
again and regain his memory – if he succeeded in his
journey.
Should he try to cross the bay?
It was tempting. He could feel the power of the ocean just
over the horizon. Water always revived him. Salt water was
the best. He’d discovered that two days ago when he had
strangled a sea monster in the Carquinez Strait. If he could
reach the bay, he might be able to make a last stand.
Maybe he could even drown the gorgons. But the shore
was at least two miles away. He’d have to cross an entire
city. He hesitated for another reason. The she-wolf Lupa had
[We just have English edition now ,who can
understand it ?]
one
PERCY
THE SNAKE-HAIRED LADIES WERE starting to annoy Percy.
They should have died three days ago when he dropped
a crate of bowling balls on them at the Napa Bargain Mart.
They should have died two days ago when he ran over
them with a police car in Martinez. They definitely should
have died this morning when he cut off their heads in Tilden
Park.
No matter how many times Percy killed them and
watched them crumble to powder, they just kept re-forming
like large evil dust bunnies. He couldn’t even seem to
outrun them.
He reached the top of the hill and caught his breath. How
long since he’d last killed them? Maybe two hours. They
never seemed to stay dead longer than that.
The past few days, he’d hardly slept. He’d eaten
whatever he could scrounge – vending machine gummi
bears, stale bagels, even a Jack in the Crack burrito, which
was a new personal low. His clothes were torn, burnt and
splattered with monster slime.
He’d only survived this long because the two snakehaired
ladies – gorgons, they called themselves – couldn’t
seem to kill him either. Their claws didn’t cut his skin. Their
teeth broke whenever they tried to bite him. But Percy
couldn’t keep going much longer. Soon he’d collapse from
exhaustion, and then, as hard as he was to kill, he was
pretty sure the gorgons would find a way.
Where to run?
He scanned his surroundings. Under different
circumstances, he might’ve enjoyed the view. To his left,
golden hills rolled inland, dotted with lakes, woods and a
few herds of cows. To his right, the flatlands of Berkeley
and Oakland marched west – a vast chequerboard of
neighbourhoods, with several million people who probably
did not want their morning interrupted by two monsters and
a filthy demigod.
Further west, San Francisco Bay glittered under a silvery
haze. Past that, a wall of fog had swallowed most of San
Francisco, leaving just the tops of skyscrapers and the
towers of the Golden Gate Bridge.
A vague sadness weighed on Percy’s chest. Something
told him he’d been to San Francisco before. The city had
some connection to Annabeth – the only person he could
remember from his past. His memory of her was
frustratingly dim. The wolf had promised he would see her
again and regain his memory – if he succeeded in his
journey.
Should he try to cross the bay?
It was tempting. He could feel the power of the ocean just
over the horizon. Water always revived him. Salt water was
the best. He’d discovered that two days ago when he had
strangled a sea monster in the Carquinez Strait. If he could
reach the bay, he might be able to make a last stand.
Maybe he could even drown the gorgons. But the shore
was at least two miles away. He’d have to cross an entire
city. He hesitated for another reason. The she-wolf Lupa had
this. I don’t even remember killing Medusa. I don’t
remember anything! Can’t we just call a truce and talk
about your weekly specials?’
Stheno gave her sister a pouty look, which was hard to
do with giant bronze tusks. ‘Can we?’
‘No!’ Euryale’s red eyes bored into Percy. ‘I don’t care
what you remember, son of the sea god. I can smell
Medusa’s blood on you. It’s faint, yes, several years old, but
you were the last one to defeat her. She still has not
returned from Tartarus. It’s your fault!’
Percy didn’t really get that. The whole ‘dying then
returning from Tartarus’ concept gave him a headache. Of
course, so did the idea that a ballpoint pen could turn into a
sword, or that monsters could disguise themselves with
something called the Mist, or that Percy was the son of a
barnacle-encrusted god from five thousand years ago. But
he did believe it. Even though his memory was erased, he
knew he was a demigod the same way he knew his name
was Percy Jackson. From his very first conversation with
Lupa the wolf, he’d accepted that this crazy messed-up
world of gods and monsters was his reality. Which pretty
much sucked.
‘How about we call it a draw?’ he said. ‘I can’t kill you.
You can’t kill me. If you’re Medusa’s sisters – like the
Medusa who turned people to stone – shouldn’t I be
petrified by now?’
‘Heroes!’ Euryale said with disgust. ‘They always bring
that up, just like our mother! “Why can’t you turn people to
stone? Your sister can turn people to stone.” Well, I’m sorry
to disappoint you, boy! That was Medusa’s curse alone.
She was the most hideous one in the family. She got all the
luck!’
Stheno looked hurt. ‘Mother said I was the most
hideous.’
‘Quiet!’ Euryale snapped. ‘As for you, Percy Jackson, it’s
true you bear the mark of Achilles. That makes you a little
tougher to kill. But don’t worry. We’ll find a way.’
‘The mark of what?’
‘Achilles,’ Stheno said cheerfully. ‘Oh, he was gorgeous!
Dipped in the River Styx as a child, you know, so he was
invulnerable except for a tiny spot on his ankle. That’s what
happened to you, dear. Someone must’ve dumped you in
the Styx and made your skin like iron. But not to worry.
Heroes like you always have a weak spot. We just have to
find it, and then we can kill you. Won’t that be lovely? Have
a Cheese ’n’ Wiener!’
Percy tried to think. He didn’t remember any dip in the
Styx. Then again, he didn’t remember much of anything. His
skin didn’t feel like iron, but it would explain how he’d held
out so long against the gorgons.
Maybe if he just fell down the mountain … would he
survive? He didn’t want to risk it – not without something to
slow the fall, or a sled, or …
He looked at Stheno’s large silver platter of free
samples.
Hmm …
‘Reconsidering?’ Stheno asked. ‘Very wise, dear. I
added some gorgon’s blood to these, so your death will be
remember anything! Can’t we just call a truce and talk
about your weekly specials?’
Stheno gave her sister a pouty look, which was hard to
do with giant bronze tusks. ‘Can we?’
‘No!’ Euryale’s red eyes bored into Percy. ‘I don’t care
what you remember, son of the sea god. I can smell
Medusa’s blood on you. It’s faint, yes, several years old, but
you were the last one to defeat her. She still has not
returned from Tartarus. It’s your fault!’
Percy didn’t really get that. The whole ‘dying then
returning from Tartarus’ concept gave him a headache. Of
course, so did the idea that a ballpoint pen could turn into a
sword, or that monsters could disguise themselves with
something called the Mist, or that Percy was the son of a
barnacle-encrusted god from five thousand years ago. But
he did believe it. Even though his memory was erased, he
knew he was a demigod the same way he knew his name
was Percy Jackson. From his very first conversation with
Lupa the wolf, he’d accepted that this crazy messed-up
world of gods and monsters was his reality. Which pretty
much sucked.
‘How about we call it a draw?’ he said. ‘I can’t kill you.
You can’t kill me. If you’re Medusa’s sisters – like the
Medusa who turned people to stone – shouldn’t I be
petrified by now?’
‘Heroes!’ Euryale said with disgust. ‘They always bring
that up, just like our mother! “Why can’t you turn people to
stone? Your sister can turn people to stone.” Well, I’m sorry
to disappoint you, boy! That was Medusa’s curse alone.
She was the most hideous one in the family. She got all the
luck!’
Stheno looked hurt. ‘Mother said I was the most
hideous.’
‘Quiet!’ Euryale snapped. ‘As for you, Percy Jackson, it’s
true you bear the mark of Achilles. That makes you a little
tougher to kill. But don’t worry. We’ll find a way.’
‘The mark of what?’
‘Achilles,’ Stheno said cheerfully. ‘Oh, he was gorgeous!
Dipped in the River Styx as a child, you know, so he was
invulnerable except for a tiny spot on his ankle. That’s what
happened to you, dear. Someone must’ve dumped you in
the Styx and made your skin like iron. But not to worry.
Heroes like you always have a weak spot. We just have to
find it, and then we can kill you. Won’t that be lovely? Have
a Cheese ’n’ Wiener!’
Percy tried to think. He didn’t remember any dip in the
Styx. Then again, he didn’t remember much of anything. His
skin didn’t feel like iron, but it would explain how he’d held
out so long against the gorgons.
Maybe if he just fell down the mountain … would he
survive? He didn’t want to risk it – not without something to
slow the fall, or a sled, or …
He looked at Stheno’s large silver platter of free
samples.
Hmm …
‘Reconsidering?’ Stheno asked. ‘Very wise, dear. I
added some gorgon’s blood to these, so your death will be
quick and painless.’
Percy’s throat constricted. ‘You added your blood to the
Cheese ’n’ Wieners?’
‘Just a little.’ Stheno smiled. ‘A tiny nick on my arm, but
you’re sweet to be concerned. Blood from our right side
can cure anything, you know, but blood from our left side is
deadly –’
‘You dimwit!’ Euryale screeched. ‘You’re not supposed to
tell him that! He won’t eat the wieners if you tell him they’re
poisoned!’
Stheno looked stunned. ‘He won’t? But I said it would be
quick and painless.’
‘Never mind!’ Euryale’s fingernails grew into claws. ‘We’ll
kill him the hard way – just keep slashing until we find the
weak spot. Once we defeat Percy Jackson, we’ll be more
famous than Medusa! Our patron will reward us greatly!’
Percy gripped his sword. He’d have to time his move
perfectly – a few seconds of confusion, grab the platter with
his left hand …
Keep them talking, he thought.
‘Before you slash me to bits,’ he said, ‘who’s this patron
you mentioned?’
Euryale sneered. ‘The goddess Gaia, of course! The one
who brought us back from oblivion! You won’t live long
enough to meet her, but your friends below will soon face
her wrath. Even now, her armies are marching south. At the
Feast of Fortune, she’ll awaken, and the demigods will be
cut down like – like –’
‘Like our low prices at Bargain Mart!’ Stheno suggested.
‘Gah!’ Euryale stormed towards her sister. Percy took
the opening. He grabbed Stheno’s platter, scattering
poisoned Cheese ’n’ Wieners, and slashed Riptide across
Euryale’s waist, cutting her in half.
He raised the platter, and Stheno found herself facing her
own greasy reflection.
‘Medusa!’ she screamed.
Her sister Euryale had crumbled to dust, but she was
already starting to re-form, like a snowman un-melting.
‘Stheno, you fool!’ she gurgled as her half-made face
rose from the mound of dust. ‘That’s just your own
reflection! Get him!’
Percy slammed the metal tray on top of Stheno’s head,
and she passed out cold.
He put the platter behind his butt, said a silent prayer to
whatever Roman god oversaw stupid sledding tricks and
jumped off the side of the hill.
Percy’s throat constricted. ‘You added your blood to the
Cheese ’n’ Wieners?’
‘Just a little.’ Stheno smiled. ‘A tiny nick on my arm, but
you’re sweet to be concerned. Blood from our right side
can cure anything, you know, but blood from our left side is
deadly –’
‘You dimwit!’ Euryale screeched. ‘You’re not supposed to
tell him that! He won’t eat the wieners if you tell him they’re
poisoned!’
Stheno looked stunned. ‘He won’t? But I said it would be
quick and painless.’
‘Never mind!’ Euryale’s fingernails grew into claws. ‘We’ll
kill him the hard way – just keep slashing until we find the
weak spot. Once we defeat Percy Jackson, we’ll be more
famous than Medusa! Our patron will reward us greatly!’
Percy gripped his sword. He’d have to time his move
perfectly – a few seconds of confusion, grab the platter with
his left hand …
Keep them talking, he thought.
‘Before you slash me to bits,’ he said, ‘who’s this patron
you mentioned?’
Euryale sneered. ‘The goddess Gaia, of course! The one
who brought us back from oblivion! You won’t live long
enough to meet her, but your friends below will soon face
her wrath. Even now, her armies are marching south. At the
Feast of Fortune, she’ll awaken, and the demigods will be
cut down like – like –’
‘Like our low prices at Bargain Mart!’ Stheno suggested.
‘Gah!’ Euryale stormed towards her sister. Percy took
the opening. He grabbed Stheno’s platter, scattering
poisoned Cheese ’n’ Wieners, and slashed Riptide across
Euryale’s waist, cutting her in half.
He raised the platter, and Stheno found herself facing her
own greasy reflection.
‘Medusa!’ she screamed.
Her sister Euryale had crumbled to dust, but she was
already starting to re-form, like a snowman un-melting.
‘Stheno, you fool!’ she gurgled as her half-made face
rose from the mound of dust. ‘That’s just your own
reflection! Get him!’
Percy slammed the metal tray on top of Stheno’s head,
and she passed out cold.
He put the platter behind his butt, said a silent prayer to
whatever Roman god oversaw stupid sledding tricks and
jumped off the side of the hill.
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