𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓! [pjo]

XXVIII; the cliches of death

━━━the cliches of death

.・゜゜・───・゜゜・

The wind sliced at Cal's face, warm because of Arion, and she loved it. It felt so freeing, like flying, and she couldn't help but grin. Her teeth chattered inside her mouth, eyes watering.

    They raced through icy straits, past blue fjords and cliffs with waterfalls spilling into the sea. Arion jumped over a breaching humpback whale and kept galloping, startling a pack of seals off an iceberg. It seemed like only minutes before they zipped into a narrow bay. The water turned the consistency of shaved ice in blue sticky syrup. Arion came to a halt on a frozen turquoise slab. A half a mile away stood Hubbard Glacier.

Callahan couldn't process what she was looking at. Purple snow-capped mountains marched off in either direction, with clouds floating around their middles like fluffy belts. In a massive valley between two of the largest peaks, a ragged wall of ice rose out of the sea, filling the entire gorge. The glacier was blue and white with streaks of black so that it looked like a hedge of dirty snow left behind on a sidewalk after a snowplow had gone by, only four million times as large. As soon as Arion stopped, the temperature. All that ice was sending off waves of cold, turning the bay into the world's largest refrigerator. The eeriest thing was a sound like thunder that rolled across the water.

"What is that?" Frank gazed at the clouds above the glacier. "A storm?"

"No," Hazel said. "Ice cracking and shifting. Millions of tons of ice."

"You mean that thing is breaking up?" Frank asked. As if on cue, a sheet of ice silently calved off the side of the glacier and crashed into the sea, spraying water and frozen shrapnel several stories high. A millisecond later the sound hit them—a BOOM almost as jarring as Arion hitting the sound barrier.

"We can't get close to that thing!" Frank said.

"We have to," Percy said. "The giant is at the top."

Arion nickered. "Jeez, Hazel," Percy said, "tell your horse to watch his language."

Hazel tried not to laugh. "What did he say?"

"With the cussing removed? He said he can get us to the top."

Frank looked incredulous. "I thought the horse couldn't fly!"

Arion whinnied angrily, and Callahan snorted. "Hey!" Percy told the horse, "Say that one more time, dude! I swear to the gods, I will kill you." Arion whinnied again, "Hazel, he promises you'll see what he can do as soon as you give the word."

"Um, hold on, then, you guys," Hazel said nervously. "Arion, giddyup!"

Arion shot toward the glacier like a runaway rocket, barreling straight across the slush like he wanted to play chicken with the mountain of ice. The air grew colder. The crackling of the ice grew louder. As Arion closed the distance, the glacier loomed so large, Vertigo ensued. The side was riddled with crevices and caves, spiked with jagged ridges like ax blades. Pieces were constantly crumbling off—some no larger than snowballs, some the size of houses.

When they were about fifty yards from the base, a thunderclap rattled Hazel's bones, and a curtain of ice that would have covered Camp Jupiter calved away and fell toward them.

Frank's yell got lost in the wind.

In a burst of speed, Arion zigzagged through the debris, leaping over chunks of ice and clambering up the face of the glacier. Somehow, they managed not to fall off as Arion scaled the cliffs, jumping from foothold to foothold with impossible speed and agility. It was like falling down a mountain in reverse. Then it was over. Arion stood proudly at the top of a ridge of ice that loomed over the void. The sea was now three hundred feet below them.

Arion whinnied a challenge that echoed off the mountains. Then he turned and ran inland across the top of the glacier, leaping a chasm fifty feet across.

"There!" Percy pointed.

Ahead of them stood a roman camp made entirely of ice, cold and glinting under the harsh sun. The thing was eerily beautiful, with structures made out of ice and trenches full of ice spikes. Hanging from the guard towers were glistening frozen blue cloth.

The fortress was empty. There were no signs of life, no sentries walked the walls. None of the chatter or bustle from thousands of people. Cal shifted, an uneasy feeling settling in her gut. The place felt like it was trying to consume everything as if the earth were trying to wake up—as if the mountains on either side wanted to crush them and the entire glacier to pieces.

Arion trotted skittishly.

"Hey, guys," Percy said, "why don't we go on foot from here?"

Frank released a sigh of relief, "Thought you'd never ask"

They dismounted and took tentative steps. Beneath their feet, the ice felt solid and covered in enough snow so that wasn't slippery. The three of them flanked Hazel as they entered, weapons ready. Cal's knuckles were white around the handles of her blades. Her eyes danced over everything, searching for snares, trip wires, traps of any kind, and enemies, but it was empty. Completely empty. Nothing stood in their way as they approached the middle of the fortress, nothing but eerie silence and howling wind.

At the crossroads, in front of a snow brick building, a tall, dark-robed figure stood, bound in icy chains.

"Thanatos," Hazel muttered. She slumped forward in her seat, and almost fell of if not for Frank, who grabbed her and held her close. He muttered something to her, something Cal couldn't hear. Her eyes never left Thanatos.

"I'm all right," Hazel muttered.

Percy, who was standing next to Cal, looked around. "No defenders? No giant? This has to be a trap."

"Obviously." Frank said, "But we have no choice."

Callahan hummed low in her throat in reply.

They kept walking through the frozen city.

Ten feet in front of them, the robed figure loomed. Cal supposed he was terrifying, but she found something oddly comforting in the cliche-ness of his appearance. The hooded robe was expected, normal.

"Hello?" Hazel's voice rang out, "Mr.Death?"

The hooded figure's head rose, and the camp jumped awake. Figures in Roman armor emerged from the barracks, the Principia, the armory, and the canteen, but they weren't human. They were shades—the chattering ghosts Hazel had lived with for decades in the Fields of Asphodel. Their bodies weren't much more than wisps of black vapor, but they managed to hold together sets of scale armor, greaves, and helmets. Frost-covered swords were strapped to their waists. Pila and dented shields floated in their smoky hands. The plumes on the centurions' helmets were frozen and ragged. Most of the shades were on foot, but two soldiers burst out of the stables in a golden chariot pulled by ghostly black steeds.

When Arion saw the horses, he stamped the ground in outrage.

Frank clenched his bow, "Yep. Here's the trap."

━━━the cliches of death

.・゜゜・───・゜゜・

A//N: Hola, my lovies. Here is another birthday present from me to you.