Percy In Tartarus

Chapter 11: Making Misery Miserable

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Word count: 5 980 words.

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Chapter 11: Making Misery Miserable

Damasen hummed and wiped his mouth of soup, standing and putting his bowl down. "You're not ready to leave yet. You still need to ... heal. Yes. You need to heal."

"But Damasen, I need to leave!"

"And I said no."

"I've already been down in this hellish pit for three weeks, and I have no idea how that translates to time topside. All I've done is healing. You won't let me do anything dangerous. News flash: all of Tartarus is dangerous. I've done enough healing, I fought off the arai again, and I can travel the swamp alone. I'm fine now. I need to get to the Doors of Death before Gaea rises."

"And I'm saying I don't want you to go -"

"Then come with me!"

Damasen stopped. "There is no way for me to leave."

"There must be a way." Percy stood. "You can't keep me here forever."

Damasen sighed and placed his face in his hands. He wiped at his eyes, and Percy was surprised to see them watering. He sat back down. "Perhaps I have been selfish, little demigod. I worry about you, and do not wish to see you leave. I've let that blind me from your own needs, from your own wants. I just fear the future for you."

"I've told you, I have a plan," Percy said. "I need to find the Death Mist. It can help disguise me from monsters, so I can make it to the Doors of Death unharmed." Percy neglected to tell Damasen that a random spirit in a Poseidon shrine had told him all this.

"The Death Mist is where Akhlys is. It's dangerous. Akhlys trusts and helps no one."

Percy wanted to argue, but he knew Damasen meant well. He bit his tongue. "Is there another way?"

"No," he said, "the Death Mist ... that is the best plan -"

"You just said it was dangerous!"

"Unfortunately, it is a terrible plan."

Percy felt like he was hanging over the Pit again, unable to pull himself up, and unable to maintain his grip - left with no good options. The panic of having stayed stagnant for almost three weeks, making no progress, gripped him tight. "But isn't it worth trying?" Percy pleaded with the giant. "You could come with me - I want you to come with me. You could return to the mortal world."

Damasen's eyes were like the sockets of the drakon's skull, dark and hollow. He flicked a broken bone into the fire and rose to his full height - a massive red warrior in sheepskin and drakon leather, with dried flowers and herbs in his hair. Percy could see how he was the anti-Ares. Ares was the worst god, blustery and violent. Over the past two weeks, Percy had learned that Damasen was the best giant, kind and helpful. And for that, he had been cursed to eternal torment.

"I will prepare supplies for your journey. I am sorry, but I cannot do more."

Percy wanted to argue, wanted to yell, and scream and throw things, but he didn't do that. He couldn't do that, not after all Damasen had done for him already.

Damasen had given Percy a safe place to sleep, had fed Percy, and had even become a sort of father figure. And now he was going to give Percy more supplies to continue his hopeless journey. Percy couldn't possibly ask for more.

"Get some sleep," Damasen said. He turned away. "A nap will do you some good."

Even though it was the middle of the day - or what counted as a day in Tartarus - as soon as Damasen said the word "sleep," Percy's body betrayed him. His body was full. The fire made a pleasant crackling sound. The herbs in the air reminded Percy of the hills around Camp Half-Blood in the summer when satyrs and naiads gathered wild plants in the lazy afternoons. And most of all, it reminded him of home.