The Tyrant’s Tomb by Rick Riordan

Reluctant arrow

Grant me this boon: permission

To skedaddleth

I HAD THE FIELDof Mars all to myself.

Since no war games were scheduled that evening, I could frolic through the wasteland to my heart’s content, admiring the wreckage of chariots, broken battlements, smoldering pits, and trenches filled with sharpened spikes. Another romantic sunset stroll wasted because I had no one to share it with.

I climbed an old siege tower and sat facing the northern hills. With a deep breath, I reached into my quiver and pulled out the Arrow of Dodona. I’d gone several days without talking to my annoying far-sighted projectile weapon, which I considered a victory, but now, gods help me, I could think of no one else to turn to.

“I need help,” I told it.

The arrow remained silent, perhaps stunned by my admission. Or perhaps I’d pulled out the wrong arrow and I was talking to an inanimate object.

Finally, the shaft rattled in my hand. Its voice resonated in my mind like a thespian tuning fork: THY WORDS ARE TRUE. BUT IN WHAT SENSE MEANEST THOU?

Its tone sounded less derisive than usual. That scared me.

“I…I am supposed to show strength,” I said. “According to Lupa, I’m supposed to save the day somehow, or the pack—New Rome—will die. But how do I do that?”

I told the arrow all that had happened in the last few days: my encounter with the eurynomoi, my dreams about the emperors and Tarquin, my conversation with Lupa, our quest from the Roman senate. To my surprise, it felt good to pour out my troubles. Considering the arrow didn’t have ears, it was a good listener. It never looked bored, shocked, or disgusted, because it had no face.

“I crossed the Tiber alive,” I summed up, “just like the prophecy said. Now, how do I ‘start to jive’? Does this mortal body have a reset switch?”

The arrow buzzed: I SHALL THINK UPON THIS.

“That’s it? No advice? No snarky comments?”

GIVE ME TIME TO CONSIDER, O IMPATIENT LESTER.

“But I don’t have time! We’re leaving for Tarquin’s tomb, like”—I glanced to the west, where the sun was beginning to sink behind the hills—“basically now!”

THE JOURNEY INTO THE TOMB WILL NOT BE THY FINAL CHALLENGE. UNLESS THOU SUCKEST MOST WOEFULLY.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

FIGHT NOT THE KING,said the arrow. HEAREST THOU WHAT THOU NEEDEST, AND SKEDADDLETH.

“Did you just use the term skedaddleth?”

I TRY TO SPEAK PLAINLY TO THEE, TO GRANT THEE A BOON, AND STILL THOU COMPLAINEST.

“I appreciate a good boon as much as the next person. But if I’m going to contribute to this quest and not just cower in the corner, I need to know how”—my voice cracked—“how to be me again.”

The vibration of the arrow felt almost like a cat purring, trying to soothe an ill human. ART THOU SURE THAT IS THY WISH?

“What do you mean?” I demanded. “That’s the whole point! Everything I’m doing is so—”

“Are you talking to that arrow?” said a voice below me.

At the base of the siege tower stood Frank Zhang. Next to him was Hannibal the Elephant, impatiently pawing the mud.

I’d been so distracted, I’d let an elephant get the drop on me.

“Hi,” I squeaked, my voice still ragged with emotion. “I was just…This arrow gives prophetic advice. It talks. In my head.”

Bless him, Frank managed to maintain a poker face. “Okay. I can leave if—”

“No, no.” I slipped the arrow back in my quiver. “It needs time to process. What brings you out here?”

“Walking the elephant.” Frank pointed to Hannibal, in case I might be wondering which elephant. “He gets stir-crazy when we don’t have war games. Bobby used to be our elephant handler, but…”

Frank shrugged helplessly. I got his meaning: Bobby had been another casualty of the battle. Killed…or maybe worse.

Hannibal grunted deep in his chest. He wrapped his trunk around a broken battering ram, picked it up, and started pounding it into the ground like a pestle.

I remembered my elephant friend Livia back at the Waystation in Indianapolis. She, too, had been grief-stricken, having lost her mate to Commodus’s brutal games. If we survived this upcoming battle, perhaps I should try to introduce Livia and Hannibal. They’d make a cute couple.

I mentally slapped myself. What was I thinking? I had enough to worry about without playing matchmaker to pachyderms.

I climbed down from my perch, careful to protect my bandaged gut.

Frank studied me, perhaps worried by how stiffly I was moving.

“You ready for your quest?” he asked.

“Is the answer to that question ever yes?”

“Good point.”

“And what will you do while we’re gone?”

Frank ran a hand across his buzz cut. “Everything we can. Shore up the valley’s defenses. Keep Ella and Tyson working on the Sibylline Books. Send eagles to scout the coast. Keep the legion drilling so they don’t have time to worry about what’s coming. Mostly, though? It’s about being with the troops, assuring them that everything is going to be okay.”

Lying to them, in other words,I thought, though that was bitter and uncharitable.

Hannibal stuck his battering ram upright in a sinkhole. He patted the old tree trunk as if to say, There you go, little fella. Now you can start growing again.

Even the elephant was hopelessly optimistic.

“I don’t know how you do it,” I admitted. “Staying positive after all that’s happened.”

Frank kicked a piece of stone. “What’s the alternative?”

“A nervous breakdown?” I suggested. “Running away? But I’m new to this being mortal business.”

“Yeah, well. I can’t say those ideas haven’t crossed my mind, but you can’t really do that when you’re a praetor.” He frowned. “Though I’m worried about Reyna. She’s been carrying the burden a lot longer than I have. Years longer. The strain of that…I dunno. I just wish I could help her more.”

I recalled Venus’s warning: You will not stick your ugly, unworthy godly face anywhere near her. I wasn’t sure which idea was more terrifying: that I might make Reyna’s life worse, or that I might be responsible for making her life better.

Frank apparently misinterpreted my look of concern. “Hey, you’ll be fine. Hazel will keep you safe. She’s one powerful demigod.”

I nodded, trying to swallow the bitter taste in my mouth. I was tired of others keeping me safe. The whole point of consulting the arrow had been to figure out how I could get back to the business of keeping others safe. That used to be so easy with my godlike powers.

Was it, though?another part of my brain asked. Did you keep the Sibyl safe? Or Hyacinthus or Daphne? Or your own son Asclepius? Should I go on?

Shut up, me,I thought back.

“Hazel seems more worried about you,” I ventured. “She mentioned some crazy stunts in the last battle?”

Frank squirmed as if trying to shake an ice cube out of his shirt. “It wasn’t like that. I just did what I had to.”

“And your piece of tinder?” I pointed to the pouch hanging from his belt. “You’re not worried about what Ella said…? Something about fires and bridges?”

Frank gave me a dry little smile. “What, me worry?”

He reached into the pouch and casually pulled out his life stick: a chunk of charred wood the size of a TV remote control. He flipped it and caught it, which almost gave me a panic attack. He might as well have pulled out his beating heart and started juggling it.

Even Hannibal looked uncomfortable. The elephant shifted from foot to foot, shaking his massive head.

“Shouldn’t that stick be locked in the principia’s vault?” I asked. “Or coated in magical flame retardant at least?”

“The pouch is flameproof,” Frank said. “Compliments of Leo. Hazel carried it for me for a while. We talked about other ways to keep it safe. But honestly, I’ve kind of learned to accept the danger. I prefer having the firewood with me. You know how it is with prophecies. The harder you try to avoid them, the harder you fail.”

I couldn’t argue with that. Still, there was a fine line between accepting one’s fate and tempting it. “I’m guessing Hazel thinks you’re too reckless.”

“That’s an ongoing conversation.” He slipped the firewood back in its pouch. “I promise you, I don’t have a death wish. It’s just…I can’t let fear hold me back. Every time I lead the legion into battle, I have to put everything on the line, commit to the battle one hundred percent. We all do. It’s the only way to win.”

“That’s a very Mars thing to say,” I noted. “Despite my many disagreements with Mars, I mean that as a compliment.”

Frank nodded. “You know, I was standing right about here when Mars appeared on the battlefield last year, told me I was his son. Seems like so long ago.” He gave me a quick scan. “I can’t believe I used to think—”

“That I was your father? But we look so much alike.”

He laughed. “Just take care of yourself, okay? I don’t think I could handle a world with no Apollo in it.”

His tone was so genuine it made me tear up. I’d started to accept that no one wanted Apollo back—not my fellow gods, not the demigods, perhaps not even my talking arrow. Yet Frank Zhang still believed in me.

Before I could do anything embarrassing—like hug him, or cry, or start believing I was a worthwhile individual—I spotted my three quest partners trudging toward us.

Lavinia wore a purple camp T-shirt and ratty jeans over a silver leotard. Her sneakers sported glittery pink laces that matched her hair and no doubt helped her with her stealthy moves. Her manubalista clunked against her shoulder.

Hazel looked slightly more ninja-esque in her black jeans and black zip-front cardigan, her oversize cavalry sword strapped to her belt. I recalled that she favored the spatha because she sometimes fought on horseback while riding the immortal steed Arion. Alas, I doubted Hazel would summon Arion for our quest today. A magical horse wouldn’t be much use for sneaking around an underground tomb.

As for Meg, she looked like Meg. Her red high-tops and yellow leggings clashed epically with her new unicorn T-shirt, which she seemed determined to wear until it fell to pieces. She had applied adhesive bandages across her cheekbones, like warriors or footballers might do. Perhaps she thought they made her look “commando,” despite the fact that the bandages were decorated with pictures of Dora the Explorer.

“What are those for?” I demanded.

“They keep the light out of my eyes.”

“It’ll be nighttime soon. We’re going underground.”

“They make me look scary.”

“Not even remotely.”

“Shut up,” she ordered, so of course, I had to.

Hazel touched Frank’s elbow. “Can I talk with you for a sec?”

It wasn’t really a question. She led him out of earshot, followed by Hannibal, who apparently decided their private conversation required an elephant.

“Oy.” Lavinia turned to Meg and me. “We may be here awhile. When those two start mother-henning…I swear, if they could encase each other in Styrofoam peanuts, they would.”

She sounded part judgmental, part wistful, as if she wished she had an overprotective girlfriend who would encase her in Styrofoam peanuts. I could very much relate.

Hazel and Frank had an anxious exchange. I couldn’t hear their words, but I imagined the conversation went something like:

I’m worried about you.

No, I’m worried aboutyou.

But I’mmore worried.

No,I’m more worried.

Meanwhile, Hannibal stomped and grunted like he was enjoying himself.

Finally, Hazel rested her fingers on Frank’s arm, as if she were afraid he might dissolve into smoke. Then she marched back to us.

“All right,” she announced, her expression dour. “Let’s go find this tomb before I change my mind.”