I didn’t drown.
I have gills!
My thoughts jump to Poseidon. I start to shake, as much from shock as from cold. I’d bet my knives this lifesaving magic has something to do with my vigilant, many-times-removed uncle watching over me—although he might have thought about interveningbeforeI fell over a cliff.
Gradually, I get used to the feel of freezing water in my eyes and the idea of breathing underwater. There’s no current, giving the unsettling impression of being shrouded in a cold, dark, weighty cocoon. The silence is eerie and absolute, making the abrasive sound of my own clattering teeth almost deafening. I wrap both burning cloaks tightly around myself to gather their heat. They flare brighter, and their warmth starts seeping into my frigid skin.
I spot my satchel in the cloaks’ dim circle of light. It fell right next to me. Not stopping to look a gift Centaur in the mouth, I pick it up and start toward what I hope is the opposite shore of the lake. Kato sounded like he was somewhere over there. The three-headed beast… Hopefully not.
Walking through water is a slow and arduous process, especially after being thoroughly trounced by a monster and suffering what I suspect is a severe head injury. The heated cloaks chase away the worst of the numbness, leaving me feeling battered again. Anxiety over underwater creatures doesn’t help matters any. What could be down here? This is the Ice Plains, so pretty much anything.
I shut that thought down. Griffin is always trying to get me to be more positive. I’ll be positive for once.Positive. Positive. Positive.
Something slithers between my legs, thumping my ankles. I squeal a mouthful of water as my heart throws itself against my ribs. Spinning in a tight circle, I peer into the murky depths—and see nothing.
Hunching over, I trudge on, worn out and heavy. Intensely nervous. I have no sense of time. Both it and I seem to move incredibly slowly. Colorless fish, some big, some bigger, swim by, ignoring me for the most part. Eels slink past as well, smooth, long, and gray, their beady eyes seeming to track me long after I’ve lost sight of them. I see a flash of teeth every now and then and try to make myself as small as possible. Unfortunately, I still glow. I’m the only light down here, a bright beacon that might as well say “Big fish, chomp here.”
My strange breathing accelerates when the lake floor begins to slope upward. I push myself harder, cupping my hands and pumping my arms through the water. The incline sharpens, but it’s so dark above me I have no idea I’ve reached the shore until my head pops out of the water.
For a moment, my body doesn’t know how to react. The gills stop providing air. My lungs are full of liquid. The lack of vital sustenance is sudden and alarming, and then I double over and spew water from my lungs. Heaving violently, I brace my hands on my thighs and cough until my throat hurts and my head spins again. Finally, I take my first real breaths in I don’t know how long.
Exhausted, weak, and trembling, I collapse on the rocky bank and just breathe. I’m iced through and dripping wet. Despite the fiery cloaks, the sleep of the irretrievably cold is calling to me. Sleeping is a terrible idea, especially when you add a massive blow to the head into the mix. I might not wake up.
I need to keep moving. I’m still trying to convince myself to get up even as I drop my head into my hood, tuck my booted feet up under the blazing folds of the cloaks, and then sink heavily—and maybe irrevocably—into darkness.
I groan. I’m definitely not dead. I hurt too much for that. I have a headache to end all headaches, but I’m not shivering anymore, and my clothes are dry under my gently smoldering cloaks. I must have slept for hours, long enough for the cloaks to dry even my boots.
I touch my neck, my fingers bumping over four raised slashes under each ear. The gills have closed over, leaving the skin on either side of my throat rough and tender.Fabulous. More scars.
A wave of dizziness washes over me when I sit up. One whole side of my body feels bruised—well, more bruised than the rest—and I know I hit the surface of the lake tilted to my left when I fell in.
Pushing my hair back from my face, I feel something that barely resembles a braid anymore. More worrisome is the huge knot on the top of my head. I wince when I hit the sore spot and then take a deep breath, making my ribs ache. A monster tail to the middle will do that.
Needing to get my bearings, I drop my hands and look around, seeing mostly nothing. Considerably higher up, there’s some light.
I sigh. I need food, something to get me going.
Pulling my satchel closer, I pick through the waterlogged offerings until I find a hunk of cheese and strips of cured meat that are still edible, discarding the rest. But I end up battling myself for every bite—as soon as the food gets anywhere near my mouth, my stomach rebels.
Nauseated, I fill my waterskin and then drink. The lake water is so cold it shocks my mouth and clears my head. It even settles my stomach, probably icing it over.
Steadier than before, I spread Kato’s wet clothing out on his smoldering cloak to lighten my load and let it dry while I explore. Pebbles and stones line the bank under my feet. Torches burn high above me. And I mean high. I’m going to have to climb to get back to the level of the tunnels. Unfortunately, I don’t see a way up.
My own cloak burns brightly as I strike out to the right. The torches start lower on that side and then climb upward in a spiral, giving the impression of being inside a cone—or the tip of the needle.
The footing is precarious, and my balance still isn’t right. I fall down twice, first bruising my backside and then opening the skin on one elbow. I don’t bother binding the cut and let my blood drip onto the rocks. Maybe Mother will come looking for me here and never find her way out.
I refuse to wonder if Kato and I will make it out. I have Ariadne’s Thread, which is currently dragging through the water and pulling on my wrist. I have a little food left. I have warmth. I have Griffin to get back to. I have stubbornness a donkey would kill for. I have—
The lyre!
I snort, incensed. There it is, propped up against a rock.
I squat and run my fingers over the strings. The sound they make is beautiful, beyond harmonious—music worthy of the Gods. I reach for the frame.
“Good Gods, that’s heavy.” I wrestle the instrument up against my chest. The lyre appears to be made of solid gold. It definitely feels like it. I’d leave it here if I didn’t think there was a good chance of running into the three-headed beast again. And even then, what am I supposed to do with it? Choose a head to throw it at?
Carrying the lyre awkwardly in front of me, I continue my struggle over the shifting stones, staggering and slipping like a drunkard. Before I can fall down again and break something, probably with the lyre on top of me, likely pinning me forever until I die of starvation, I come to a solid wall of ice.
