Like the others they had faced, this one wore a simple white tunic over skin as rough and dark as basalt.
Whatever you called them, they were nasty.
Standing at the summit was a mountain god-one of the numina montanum, Jason had called them. The clouds parted just long enough to reveal the top of the mountain below them: a spearhead of black rock jutting from mossy green slopes. Hazel peeked over more carefully this time. She helped him up, and they stumbled to the bow. “I’m fine,” Nico muttered, kicking folds of canvas off his legs. “Nico!” Hazel scrambled over to him as Leo brought the ship level. The boulder, roughly the size of a pickup truck, tumbled off into the fog like it had important business elsewhere. The foremast collapsed-sail, spars, and Nico all crashing to the deck. The huge rock passed so close overhead it blew her hair out of her face. She thought: Why is the moon coming at us? Then she yelped and hit the deck. A dark spherical shape hurtled toward her. Hazel made the mistake of looking over the rail. The Argo II veered left, its aerial oars slashing through the clouds like rows of knives. “Hard to port!” Nico yelled from the foremast of the flying ship.īack at the helm, Leo yanked the wheel. She was peering into the fog, wondering how it could be so difficult to fly across one stupid mountain range, when the ship’s alarm bells sounded. DURING THE THIRD ATTACK, Hazel almost ate a boulder.
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