After surviving a second trial, Annabeth was tired, her mind overloaded, and her spirit exhausted. Still, she knew now wasn't the time to rest not while she was so close to the end, and not while her friends were waiting for her, so she shrugged off the growing desire to rest and continued down the passage before her, replacing the dying torch in her hand with a new one from the wall.
She didn't know how long she had been walking before the passage opened into a chamber, but unlike the previous ones, she couldn't tell how large it was because something was obstructing her view of the room.
Webs.
Everywhere.
They hung from the ceiling in thick cords like vines, clinging to the walls in vast sheets hiding the stone from sight, draped in loose swathes across the uneven ground. In some places, they were so dense they seemed to form solid walls; some were even swaying faintly as if disturbed by a draft.
She was drawn to the center where a statue was held above a dark pit. The Parthenos. It was a forty-foot-tall statue of Athena carved from ivory, wearing a gold toga, and holding a golden statue of the goddess Nike in her palm; the statue's other hand held a shield, with a snake emerging from behind it. Even after being trapped down here for centuries, the gold still shone, and the ivory wasn't dulled. It seemed this truly was the Parthenos.
Annabeth caught her breath, suppressing her excitement as the statue stood before her, waiting to be freed from the silk chains that bound it. However, Annabeth didn't move to retrieve it.
While she had been consciously ignoring it, her fears grew too powerful for her to ignore it any longer; she cursed herself for being too smart for her own good. If only she could delude herself that it was that simple, but no, Annabeth couldn't fool herself.
The webs.
Only one type of creature made webs like these. The kind she and all her siblings held great fear towards.
Spiders.
And for one to make webs this large and this tough, she thought of only one monster who could do such a thing.
Her chest tightened, and her throat started to feel dry as the answer echoed in her mind, and her fears soon came true.
A faint click echoed from somewhere behind her, followed by another; mandibles clacking together.
The sound drew closer, followed by the soft scrape of many legs shifting over stone. Annabeth's pulse spiked, and she turned slowly, both out of caution and fear, scanning the shadows where the sound came from. Shape shifted behind the layers of silk, drawing her attention, then through the webs she spotted a flash of glistening, inhuman eyes. But in a blink, they had gone.
A voice came, female, but wrong, layered, vibrating, each word buzzing in her ears as though more than one voice spoke at once.
"Child of Athena..." It was drawn out, almost as if the owner was savoring the words. They were spoken of as both an insult and a prize.
Annabeth forced herself to breathe evenly, responding, "Arachne."
A faint rustle answered her, the webs trembling overhead as something moved through the nest. "You know me."
"Your work is hard to miss." Her voice was steady, but her hands itched to grip her dagger, believing it would help give her some courage. However, she knew that if she attempted to reach for her weapon, a fight would break out, and she had no confidence facing her worst fear.
A slow, deliberate scrape circled the chamber, playing with her, the voice followed, drifting between positions: Sometimes behind, sometimes to her left, sometimes above.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Arachne called, mockery laced in her words. "I found this little chamber after clawing my way out of Tartarus; though the fates must have blessed me to discover what came next."
Turning around to where the pit was, Annabeth understood where it led, why the previous chamber puzzle filled her with such despair; the pit led to Tartarus.
Arachne continued her little speech, enjoying having someone to talk to after so long, even if she intended to kill them soon. Besides, the story was one she always enjoyed telling children of Athena, telling them of their own disgrace.
"Athena's own children, hiding her statue from her out of revenge for her and Olympus' hypocrisy, who would have thought, her own children betrayed them, siding with the enemy to not only ransack their home but to steal their symbol. I just couldn't help myself."
Annabeth's eyes followed the sound, her body turning slowly to keep the voice in her periphery. She could feel her skin crawling as the scraping of multiple legs circled her.
"I decided to take the statue for myself, though they did seal the door, trapping me here with the statue, but I wasn't bothered, for they soon sent themselves to my door to entertain me. You see, these demigods never intended to permanently hide the statue, only wanting to send a message in hopes of some stupid negotiation with Olympus, but I stopped that silly little idea."
"They trapped me here for that," Arachne continued her mockery. "Built their little tests so that only a child of Athena could pass in hopes the best of them could kill me, a form of redemption for their failed plan; idiots, Olympus never forgives, and Athena is the worst of all, she hides her cruelty behind her wisdom, they were destined to die regardless."
Annabeth swallowed. "That's not true."
The clicking stopped, the tone of voice changed to one with false pity, dripping in sarcasm, "And why is that?"
Annabeth fought her fear, building up her courage. "Athena isn't what you say she is. She is kind, yes, she may seem too rational and cold at times, but she isn't as cruel as you make her seem."
For a long moment, there was no movement or sound but the faint creak of strained silk overhead. Then laughter, "Oh, that's hilarious, you actually believe that? You can name me, surely that means you know how I came to be, right?"
Annabeth sensed a presence creeping up above her. As she saw a growing shadow beneath her feet, she spoke before she could lose her nerve.
"You bested Athena in a weaving contest, showing how a mortal could surpass a goddess, your village was destroyed soon after, and you hung yourself with your winning weave out of guilt."
A voice encouraged her to continue, hissing slightly above her head, "That isn't the complete story, child, tell me the complete story."
Annabeth felt a faint breeze as something brushed past her hair.
Annabeth closed her eyes, forcing back the constant voice inside that said to reach for her dagger.
"You bested Athena in a weaving contest. That's true, but Athena accepted the loss, it wasn't her who destroyed the village, but her father."
Time seemed to pause; there was no more movement or sound above her, so Ananbeth looked down, seeing the shadow that was enveloping her disappear. Arachne had moved, and from where the voice came from, it must be behind her.
When the voice came again, it had changed. Still alien, still buzzing in layered tones, but quieter. Curious. "Go on."
While Arachne wanted to believe the child was lying, there was a strange feeling in her heart, telling her the child spoke with some truth, so she allowed her to continue the story, temporarily holding back her desire to kill the demigod.
Annabeth breathed a sigh of relief, knowing her gamble to avoid conflict and rationalize her way to survival had paid off. So she continued her story.
"When he saw what you wove, depicting the gods as fools, and that you bested his favorite child, you did far too much damage to Olympus' reputation; it was he who struck down your village with his lightning. Athena found you soon after, having killed yourself, she felt guilty for what happened to you, so she turned you into a spider." Having said the word, Annabeth shivered but continued, "She turned you not as a punishment, but so you could spend eternity following your passion of weaving, an apology from her."
The voice shifted location, circling again.
"Interesting....And why should I believe you, child? How can I be sure you aren't making up a story in hopes I spare you?"
Annabeth smiled, "If you didn't believe me, you wouldn't question it, you would have just killed me."
Arachne made a sound that might have been a laugh, the tones twisting uncomfortably in Annabeth's ears.
Arachne indeed lost her desire to kill the girl, for, from her years of living, she could tell the girl was telling the truth. It did make more sense for Zeus to kill her than for Athena, for she remembered Athena held no animosity for losing, it was only when she disappeared back to Olympus that the storm came As such she was willing to trust the story, so she would spare the girl, for now, but her hatred merely moved from daughter to father.
The webs above quivered. Something massive moved away from the pit. The path forward revealed itself, strands shifting to uncover the statue.
Annabeth didn't move immediately. She kept her eyes on the shifting silk, listening to the receding clicks of mandibles. Only when the sound faded did she breathe. It seemed the knowledge she gained from Lucas after revealing her phobia in Charleston came in handy, allowing Arachne to show her some mercy, and transferring the anger from Athena to Zeus.
The problem now was how to bring the statue out of the chamber and how they would leave Rome with it.