The Battle of the Labyrinth

The Elders will never believe it! They’ll be overjoyed! You can save the wild!”
    Pan placed his hand on Grover’s head and ruffled his curly hair. “You are so young, Grover. So good and true. I think I chose well.”
    “Chose?” Grover said. “I—I don’t understand.”
    Pan’s image flickered, momentarily turning to smoke. The giant guinea pig scuttled under the bed with a terrified squeal. The wooly mammoth grunted nervously. Dede stuck her head under her wing. Then Pan re-formed.
    “I have slept many eons,” the god said forlornly. “My dreams have been dark. I wake fitfully, and each time my waking is shorter. Now we are near the end.”
    “What?” Grover cried. “But no! You’re right here!”
    “My dear satyr,” Pan said. “I tried to tell the world, two thousand years ago. I announced it to Lysas, a satyr very much like you. He lived in Ephesos, and he tried to spread the word.”
    Annabeth’s eyes widened. “The old story. A sailor passing by the coast of Ephesos heard a voice crying from the shore, ‘Tell them the great god Pan is dead.’”
    “But that wasn’t true!” Grover said.
    “Your kind never believed it,” Pan said. “You sweet, stubborn satyrs refused to accept my passing. And I love you for that, but you only delayed the inevitable. You only prolonged my long, painful passing, my dark twilight sleep. It must end.”
    “No!” Grover’s voice trembled.
    “Dear Grover,” Pan said. “You must accept the truth. Your companion, Nico, he understands.”
    Nico nodded slowly. “He’s dying. He should have died long ago. This . . . this is more like a memory.”
    “But gods can’t die,” Grover said.
    “They can fade,” Pan said, “when everything they stood for is gone. When they cease to have power, and their sacred places disappear. The wild, my dear Grover, is so small now, so shattered, that no god can save it. My realm is gone. That is why I need you to carry a message. You must go back to the council. You must tell the satyrs, and the dryads, and the other spirits of nature, that the great god Pan is dead. Tell them of my passing. Because they must stop waiting for me to save them. I cannot. The only salvation you must make yourself. Each of you must—”
    He stopped and frowned at the dodo bird, who had started humming again.
    “Dede, what are you doing?” Pan demanded. “Are you singing Kumbaya again?”
    Dede looked up innocently and blinked her yellow eyes.
    Pan sighed. “Everybody’s a cynic. But as I was saying, my dear Grover, each of you must take up my calling.”
    “But . . . no!” Grover whimpered.
    “Be strong,” Pan said. “You have found me. And now you must release me. You must carry on my spirit. It can no longer be carried by a god. It must be taken up by all of you.”
    Pan looked straight at me with his clear blue eyes, and I realized he wasn’t just talking about the satyrs. He meant half-bloods, too, and humans. Everyone.
    “Percy Jackson,” the god said. “I know what you have seen today. I know your doubts. But I give you this news: when the time comes, you will not be ruled by fear.”
    He turned to Annabeth. “Daughter of Athena, your time is coming. You will play a great role, though it may not be the role you imagined.”
    Then he looked at Tyson. “Master Cyclops, do not despair. Heroes rarely live up to our expectations. But you, Tyson—your name shall live among the Cyclopes for generations. And Miss Rachel Dare . . .”
    Rachel flinched when he said her name. She backed up like she was guilty of something, but Pan only smiled. He raised his hand in a blessing.
    “I know you believe you cannot make amends,” he said. “But you are just as important as your father.”
    “I—” Rachel faltered. A tear traced her cheek.
    “I know you don’t believe this now,” Pan said. “But look for opportunities. They will come.”
    Finally he turned back toward Grover. “My dear satyr,” Pan said kindly, “will you carry my message?”
    “I—I can’t.”
    “You can,” Pan said. “You are the strongest and bravest. Your heart is true. You have believed in me more than anyone ever has, which is why you must bring the message, and why you must be the first to release me.”
    “I don’t want to.”
    “I know,” the god said. “But my name, Pan . . . originally it meant rustic . Did you know that? But over the years it has come to mean all . The spirit of the wild must pass to all of you now. You must