This Cold Year ― Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase²

―ix. the fated one

"EREBUS?" Naomi repeated, staring at the giant. "The... what?"

I did think you would realize sooner, her shadow—Erebus, the literal embodiment of shadows—said.

Naomi grit her teeth. "I've been a little busy trying not to die."

I suppose that's fair.

"Erebus?" Annabeth asked. "But he's... he's darkness. How is he talking to Naomi?"

"How does my mother talk to you?" Damasen said. "The Earth and the Dark, they are everywhere—always watching, always listening. As the Earth stirs, her siblings stir with her. Erebus, Tartarus, Nyx—"

The air grew cold again.

"Still bitter?" Damasen asked.

You would be bitter too if your wife got all the glory, Erebus muttered, though he didn't sound as angry as Naomi would expect a primordial with a grudge to be.

"Your wife?" Naomi asked. "But he just said she's your..." She closed her eyes. She'd forgotten that the Greek pantheon's family tree was essentially a wreath. "Nope, never mind. I don't want an explanation."

Probably for the best, Erebus said.

"Okay, fine, so Erebus is... here," Naomi said, shaking her head. "But what was it you called me? Moiraíos? What does that mean?"

"The fated one," Damasen said. "It's what we've always called you."

"Always?" Naomi swallowed. "How long is always?"

"Since the beginning of time," Damasen said.

"What?" Naomi squeaked.

I will explain when the time is right, Erebus promised.

"When the time is right?" Naomi repeated. "When is that? Why are you so—so—"

"Cryptic?" Damasen offered.

"Yes!"

Fate is delicate, Erebus told her. Yours especially. I will tell you all you must know, but it must wait. I am sorry.

Before Naomi could protest, his presence faded, until there was nothing but the darkness that had been there before.

Naomi's shoulders slumped. 

Annabeth put her hand on Naomi's arm, concerned. "What's going on?"

"I don't know." Naomi glared at the darkest corner of the room, as if Erebus could feel it. She hoped he could. "He won't tell me."

"As I said," Damasen mused. "Secrets."

"The defeated ones still hunt us," Bob spoke up. "They will be close behind now."

Damasen spat out his toothpick. "I can obscure your path for a while, long enough for you to rest. I have power in this swamp. But eventually, they will catch you."

"My friends must reach the Doors of Death," Bob said. "That is the way out."

"Impossible," Damasen muttered. "The Doors are too well guarded."

Annabeth sat forward. "But you know where they are?"

"Of course. All of Tartarus flows down to one place: his heart. The Doors of Death are there. But you cannot make it there alive with only Iapetus."

"Then come with us," Annabeth said. "Help us."

"HA!"

Naomi jumped. In the bed, Percy muttered deliriously in his sleep, "Ha, ha, ha."