The Song and the Shadows

  Percy led Annabeth toward a three-masted ship, Edward Teach’s pirate vessel, which normally required several crew members to control. Even so, he was confident he could handle it himself, alongside Annabeth.

  “How did you manage to make him give you his so-called legendary ship?” Annabeth asked as she looked at the massive pirate vessel before them.

  “He spent many years trapped as a guinea pig. A man’s desire for revenge is far greater than you think. Especially the kind who still hold old beliefs, where being defeated by a woman is considered a disgrace,” Percy said with an amused smile.

  Percy stood at the center of the ship and looked around for a moment, as if sensing some invisible connection. Then he raised a hand lightly and shouted:

  “Mizzenmast!”

  Annabeth stared at him as if he had completely lost his mind.

  But immediately, the ropes and masts seemed to tremble for an instant. The sails snapped open. The helm turned on its own. Everything began adjusting automatically while Percy only had to move one arm for the ship to obey each of his commands.

  “Wow. What an incredible ship,” Percy said with a grin as he pointed forward and shouted, “Forward!”

  The anchor lifted by itself and the ship quickly pulled away from the dock, cutting through the waves with complete ease.

  They were heading toward the island of the Sirens, which they had to sail past in order to leave that place. Something that would normally be difficult. But thanks to the jar of beeswax Percy had taken from Circe’s office, it did not seem so complicated.

  Except that, when Percy opened the jar, he realized there was only enough for one person.

  Annabeth, standing beside him, seemed to notice the same thing. They looked at each other.

  Then, suddenly, the jar in Percy’s hand exploded, shattering completely as the wax scattered in every direction. Even Percy himself did not seem to sense the attack in time.

  He turned and looked toward Circe’s island. Though he could not see her from that distance, he understood that it had been a final strike from the sorceress, surely in retaliation.

  “Damn witch. Looks like the poison has already worn off,” Percy said in a genuinely irritated tone.

  Meanwhile, in Circe’s office, the woman stood with her face twisted in hatred. The men who had attacked her earlier now lay on the ground, being strangled by vines that seemed to rise from the floor itself. She stared out the window of her office, from where the ship could be seen cutting across the water in the distance.

  With one hand raised, her skin steadily returning to its normal color, a blue flame floated softly in her palm. It did not appear particularly large, yet the heat it radiated, making the air ripple, proved it was far more than a simple colored flame.

  “Damned brat. No one leaves my island without my permission,” she said, as if about to hurl the flame directly at the ship.

  “Before you attack my disciple, tell me where this address is.”

  A voice spoke suddenly behind her.

  Circe halted her attack and turned around quickly, startled.

  There, standing in a spectral state, a man watched her with complete superiority, waiting for answers.

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  “Who are you?” Circe said when she saw Miraak, confusion in her eyes as she noticed his body seemed like some kind of specter or illusion. In his hand, he held something resembling a stone inscribed with the same language as Percy’s tattoos.

  “I asked you a question, woman. Tell me where ###### is,” Miraak’s spectral form said, staring at her as if he expected only the answer he had demanded.

  But Circe seemed unable to understand the last words clearly. She looked at him in confusion before growing irritated at having an arrogant man speak to her that way.

  “I do not know who the hell you are, but you should be careful who you are speaking to,” she said as she hurled the blue flame directly at him. It flew at great speed toward Miraak’s chest.

  He merely glanced downward and raised one hand slightly.

  A sphere of pure darkness appeared instantly and devoured the fire with complete ease.

  Leaving Circe stunned.

  “Granting reality to a simple illusion. The magic of this plane has always struck me as… amusing,” Miraak said as the shadows around him began to take shape, like ink-black tendrils crawling across the room. His gaze turned cold, and an overwhelming bloodlust emanated from him.

  “I will ask you one last question before your soul is sent to the most tragic place you could have ever known. Perhaps even defiled by the most fitting masters, if you are lucky enough for it to be only that. Or perhaps you will have the fortune of becoming a toy for some Daedric Prince. Tell me where ###### is,” he said, looking at her as if this were her final chance.

  Circe remained in shock, watching the shadows around her as she felt her own shadow had betrayed her, gripping her legs with such force it seemed ready to tear them away.

  Irritated, she raised both hands as the surroundings appeared to try to shift in shape to defend her.

  But that was the last thing she saw.

  Suddenly, all the shadows in the room rose like starving creatures and hurled themselves at her, attempting to devour her as darkness engulfed her completely in an instant, with nothing more than a snap of the spectral man’s fingers before her.

  As Miraak’s spectral clone watched her sink into the shadows, writhing, his gaze remained utterly cold. Then he looked again at the stone in his hand. It was identical to the one he had received long ago, bearing a word that should not exist in this plane, except if he himself had written it… or one of his disciples.

  It had been delivered by a man who had come to the camp specifically to find him.

  Miraak, standing at the camp, studying that stone, glanced at the brats around him before his gaze shifted toward where his spectral clone stood. He looked at Percy for a moment.

  “Keep searching,” he told his clone before slipping the stone into his bag with faint irritation.

  …

  “And now what do we do? Great. Perfect. We’re lost,” Percy shouted in genuine panic, a sharp contrast to the cold composure he had maintained during their escape from Circe’s island.

  “Calm down, idiot. We’re not completely lost yet,” Annabeth said firmly as she scanned their surroundings.

  She noticed a bundle of ropes in one corner of the ship.

  “There’s no other choice,” she said, looking at Percy seriously.

  Percy looked at the rope for a moment, then at Annabeth.

  A few moments later.

  “Fine. It’s ready,” Annabeth said as she looked at Percy tied against one of the masts. He wore a dry expression, letting out a slow sigh.

  “Do you really think this is the best idea?” he asked, looking at her seriously.

  “Percy, you’re the stronger of the two of us, even if I don’t like admitting it. If you lost control and tried to jump off the ship at all costs, do you think I could stop you?” she said, holding his gaze.

  “And you?” Percy asked her.

  “I still have my tiara. Now clean of the poison. If you were able to withstand Circe’s enchantment with it, maybe it will work against the Sirens’ song too,” she said, though she did not seem entirely convinced as she placed the tiara on her head.

  Percy noticed how Annabeth’s expression grew more serious, more thoughtful, colder. As if her emotions were being set aside, leaving only her analytical side in control. That was one of the tiara’s greatest functions.

  But at the same time, her brow began to tighten slightly.

  “What is it?” Percy asked, watching her carefully.

  Annabeth looked at him but did not answer immediately. She seemed to be calculating multiple scenarios in her mind as the ship drew closer and closer to the island of the Sirens.

  “Annabeth, what is it? Will you be able to withstand the song or not?” Percy shouted, knowing that with that tiara she could probably calculate whether it was possible. Just as he had when he wore it, analyzing things he had never been able to think through before.

  Annabeth looked at him again without speaking for a moment longer. It seemed the final calculations were passing through her mind.

  Then, at last, she spoke.

  Just as the soft lullaby began to drift from the edge of the nearby island.

  “No,” Annabeth said.

  The song reached her ears and her intelligent eyes seemed to lose focus. Slowly, she lifted her hand, removed the tiara, and let it fall to the deck.

  She turned directly toward the edge of the ship.

  And jumped into the sea.

  “Annabeth!” Percy shouted at the sight of her sudden movement, immediately beginning to struggle against the ropes binding him.