The Moon's Shine (PJO)

Chapter 46

Let's give up," Percy said.

"WHAT?" Annabeth went quiet as a patrol of giants passed their hiding spot, then hissed in a whisper. "We can't quit now! We're in the middle of the enemy camp!"

Percy sighed. "It wasn't supposed to be an enemy camp in the first place."

When you think of the Garden of Hesperides, you probably think it was an over-glorified garden.

And it was.

The place kinda reminded Percy of his mother's garden back in New York. Except this one was atop a plateau halfway up a mountain, where dozens of rare mythological herbs grew. And a thousand feet up was the prison that held Atlas, the chained Titan holding the up sky.

Basically, The Garden of Hesperides was a garden only in name.

Because the place was crawling with monsters.

"I didn't expect to visit Tartarus when I needed some golden apples," Percy said sarcastically. He nodded to the center of the garden, and Annabeth peered from behind a flower bed full of moonlace.

The garden was usually free of monsters (how else would Ladon get his demigod beef without interception?), but monsters now roamed everywhere as if they owned the place. Percy wondered how he and Annabeth hadn't gotten caught yet.

There, in the middle, stood an ancient apple tree with dry and gnarly roots, a tree whose fruits could turn even a regular mortal into a domain-less immortal—protected by a ninety-nine-headed dragon.

However, what caught their attention weren't the shining and tantalizing golden apples just out of reach for a normal human, but their guardian. Ladon lay curled up, encircling the tree as a cobra would do to its prey.  Percy's eyes wandered to a charred stump—black, crumbly, and with a thin film surrounding the site, the testament of a past hundredth head, cut off by Hercules.

"He isn't supposed to be restrained," Annabeth noted.

Black chains wrapped around each of his hundred necks, narrowing down to one solid link that followed along the tree. Each link was so dark that Percy almost mistook them for shadows. The fierce dragon looked unusually tired. He lay sleeping as fifteen cynocephali stood on guard nearby.

"If there are so many monsters near Atlas, the gods would definitely take notice," Annabeth mused, eyes swirling with curiosity.

They wouldn't care for something like this, Percy thought dismissively, unless they were a direct danger to Olympus.

"Maybe . . . they're gathering up for an occasion?"

Percy straightened up, remembering Wolf Head's words. "A harvest!"

"What?"

Before he could explain, Percy heard footsteps and armor clanking behind them. Without thinking, he dove into the moonlace bed. Annabeth followed suit.

The footsteps stopped right in front of them. Percy held his breath. A colossal hand the size of a laptop screen reached out for Percy's hidden neck—

"Boss? What's wrong?" The telekhine sounded confused.

The hand froze, and the owner responded in a deep, gravelly voice. "I thought I saw something . . ."

"Boss must be very hungry," another telekhine suggested. "He's been fasting for a fortnight for the harvest."

"That must be it," Boss agreed. "My senses have been on high alert since this morning. Let's go! Let us finish the feast before Apollo disappears!"

The telekhines cheered, and the party proceeded towards the tree. Once Boss was far enough, Percy extracted himself from his spot, breathing heavily. Annabeth seemed to match him. The emotions running through him couldn't constitute any semblance of happiness. If the telekhines call him boss, it can only be one person . . .