The Tyrant's Tomb

explain the many months of horrifying experiences that had led to Meg and
me standing here, with the body of our heroic friend?
I looked down at my ukulele.
I thought of Piper McLean aboard Caligula’s yachts—how she’d burst
into singing “Life of Illusion” in the midst of a gang of hardened
mercenaries. She had rendered them helpless, entranced by her serenade
about melancholy and regret.
I wasn’t a charmspeaker like Piper. But I was a musician, and surely
Jason deserved a tribute.
After what had happened with the eurynomoi, I felt skittish of my
ukulele, so I began to sing a cappella.
For the first few bars, my voice quavered. I had no idea what I was
doing. The words simply billowed up from deep inside me like the clouds of
debris from Hazel’s collapsed tunnel.
I sang of my fall from Olympus—how I had landed in New York and
become bound to Meg McCaffrey. I sang of our time at Camp Half-Blood,
where we’d discovered the Triumvirate’s plot to control the great Oracles
and thus the future of the world. I sang of Meg’s childhood, her terrible years
of mental abuse in the household of Nero, and how we’d finally driven that
emperor from the Grove of Dodona. I sang of our battle against Commodus
at the Waystation in Indianapolis, of our harrowing journey into Caligula’s
Burning Maze to free the Sibyl of Erythraea.
After each verse, I sang a refrain about Jason: his final stand on
Caligula’s yacht, courageously facing death so that we could survive and
continue our quest. Everything we had been through led to Jason’s sacrifice.
Everything that might come next, if we were lucky enough to defeat the
Triumvirate and Python at Delphi, would be possible because of him.
The song really wasn’t about me at all. (I know. I could hardly believe it,
either.) It was “The Fall of Jason Grace.” In the last verses, I sang of Jason’s
dream for Temple Hill, his plan to add shrines until every god and goddess,
no matter how obscure, was properly honored.
I took the diorama from Meg, lifted it to show the assembled demigods,
then set it on Jason’s coffin like a soldier’s flag.
I’m not sure how long I sang. When I finished the last line, the sky was
fully dark. My throat felt as hot and dry as a spent bullet cartridge.
The giant eagles had gathered on the nearby rooftops. They stared at me
with something like respect.