Chapter 9: Mutiny, Memory Problems, and the Call of the Sirens
Standing on the deck of the CSS Birmingham, drenched in seawater, still buzzing from the thrill of battle, I did the most logical thing possible after fighting a giant sea serpent.
I threw my hands in the air and shouted, "THAT WAS FREAKING AWESOME!"
Clarisse, still gripping her spear, slowly turned to face me, her expression stuck somewhere between disbelief and exasperation. "You are the biggest idiot I've ever met."
I grinned. "And yet, here I am, still alive."
Percy groaned, running a hand through his dripping hair. "Barely."
Annabeth was busy squeezing water out of her already ruined Yankees cap, muttering something about morons and natural selection. Grover, meanwhile, was shivering, hooves clicking nervously against the metal deck.
The storm had mostly passed, but the sea still rolled with the aftershocks. The ghostly oarsmen, who I had expected to just get back to work like good little undead sailors, were not acting like good little undead sailors.
In fact, they were glaring at us.
More specifically—at Clarisse.
One of them, a gaunt specter in a tattered Confederate officer's coat, stepped forward, his voice echoing like a whisper from the grave. "You have led us into disaster, girl."
Clarisse stiffened. "Excuse me?"
Another ghost—this one missing half his face—floated beside him. "First, you bring these outsiders aboard. Then, you let a sea beast attack us. Now, we must decide—should we still follow you?"
Percy muttered, "I told you the undead were a bad idea."
Clarisse, to her credit, did not immediately start punching ghosts. She took a deep breath and clenched her spear. "Listen up, morons. This is my quest. This is my ship. You do not get to question my orders."
The ghosts did not look convinced.
I stepped up beside her, cracking my knuckles. "Hey, fellas. Quick question—do you guys feel pain?"
The half-faced ghost sneered. "We are dead. Pain does not—"
I swung my fist straight into his ghostly gut.
He doubled over, groaning. The other ghosts flinched.
"Huh," I said, shaking my hand. "So you do feel pain. Good to know."
The lead ghost growled. "You dare—"
"I dare," I interrupted, "because I'm not in the mood for some undead mutiny. You want to test Clarisse? Fine. Test mefirst."
I raised my Berserker Gauge just a little, enough to make the air hum with energy.
The ghosts hesitated.
Clarisse saw the opening and stepped forward. "You will follow my command, or I'll send you all back to the Underworld."
The ghosts exchanged looks. Then, begrudgingly, they backed off.
Clarisse sighed, muttering, "Idiots." Then she turned on us. "And you—" She jabbed a finger at Percy and me. "I stilldon't want you here."
Percy crossed his arms. "Not our fault the gods suck at picking quest leaders."
Clarisse's eye twitched. "Say that again, Jackson."
Annabeth, wisely, stepped between them. "Okay! Before we all kill each other, let's focus on not dying at sea, shall we?"
Clarisse glared but didn't argue.
Grover sighed. "Can we just get to land alive? Please?"
As the ship continued through the Sea of Monsters, I leaned against the railing, trying to sort through my memories.
I knew this story. But how well did I really know it?
It was frustrating. I remembered some things clearly—major events, big fights, important players. But the details? The little things that could actually keep me alive? Those were a jumbled mess.
Like a book I had skimmed through but never really studied.
The poison in Thalia's tree? Knew about it. The Golden Fleece? Of course.
The Sirens?
I knew they were coming. I knew they sang a song that made people want to drown themselves.
But how did they actually work? What did they really show?
My memories flickered, giving me bits and pieces. Annabeth had tried listening to them. She had almost drowned. I knew they showed some kind of truth, but I couldn't remember what exactly.
And I had no idea if my plan was actually going to work.
I frowned.
This was bad.
I had been treating my knowledge like a cheat code. Like a safety net. But if I only half-remembered the important parts…
I was going to have to be very careful.
Two days passed before the Sirens found us.
We had been making steady progress—no more surprise sea monsters, no more ghost mutinies. Just calm seas and eerie silence.
Then, just as the sun was setting, the air changed.
It started with a hum. A faint, distant sound carried on the wind.
At first, I thought it was just the ocean playing tricks on me.
Then it grew louder.
A melody—soft, haunting, impossible to ignore.
I snapped my head up.
Oh, crap.
Percy staggered, grabbing his head. "What is that?"
Annabeth's eyes went wide. "The Sirens."
Clarisse gritted her teeth. "Keep your heads down! Block your ears if you have to!"
But it was too late.
The song was already inside my head.
And suddenly—
I saw everything.
I was standing on a battlefield, surrounded by fire and ruin. My body was covered in blood—not my own. My arms were thicker, my skin scarred.
And in my hands?
The Blades of Chaos.
Kratos' weapons.
My weapons.
I turned, and there he was—Kratos himself, staring at me with those dead, unreadable eyes.
"You will never be me," he said.
And then the world shattered.
I gasped, staggering back. The music was still pulling at me, urging me forward.
I knew this was an illusion. I knew it.
But that didn't make it less real.
The truth the Sirens showed—it wasn't just temptation.
It was doubt.
I grit my teeth. "No."
I refused to be controlled.
I reached down and grabbed the rope I had tied around my waist—the one I had prepared for this exact moment. My wrists were bound. My feet were locked. I had made sure I couldn't move.
But that didn't stop my mind.
The battlefield blurred. Kratos loomed closer. The Blades burned in my hands.
"You are not me," he said again.
I snarled. "You're right."
I yanked against the restraints, fighting against my own body.
"I'm not trying to be you," I growled. "I'm trying to be better."
The vision flickered.
Kratos frowned. "We shall see."
Then, just as suddenly as it began—
The music stopped.
I gasped for air, slumping against the railing. The ship was still. The others were stirring, shaking off their own visions.
Annabeth looked the worst. Tears streaked her face, her breathing ragged.
Percy put a hand on her shoulder. "Annabeth?"
She didn't answer.
I exhaled, staring out at the empty sea. The Sirens were gone. The song had faded.
But its echo lingered.
And for the first time since waking up in this world, I wondered—
Was I really on the right path?