the_blood_of_olympus_-_rick_riordan

ventus in the storm.
He lassoed a nasty patch of storm cloud and pulled it in. ‘You’re serving me today.’
Howling in protest, the ventus encircled him. The storm above the ship seemed to lessen just a bit,
as if the other venti were thinking, Oh, crud. That guy means business.
Jason levitated off the deck, encased in his own miniature tornado. Spinning like a corkscrew, he
plunged into the water.
Jason assumed things would be calmer underwater.
Not so much.
Of course, that could’ve been due to his mode of travel. Riding a cyclone to the bottom of the ocean
definitely gave him some unexpected turbulence. He dropped and swerved with no apparent logic, his
ears popping, his stomach pressed against his ribs.
Finally he drifted to a stop next to Percy, who stood on a ledge jutting over a deeper abyss.
‘Hey,’ Percy said.
Jason could hear him perfectly, though he wasn’t sure how. ‘What’s going on?’
In his ventus air cocoon, his own voice sounded like he was talking through a vacuum cleaner.
Percy pointed into the void. ‘Wait for it.’
Three seconds later, a shaft of green light swept through the darkness like a spotlight, then
disappeared.
‘Something’s down there,’ Percy said, ‘stirring up this storm.’ He turned and sized up Jason’s
tornado. ‘Nice outfit. Can you hold it together if we go deeper?’
‘I have no idea how I’m doing this,’ Jason said.
‘Okay,’ Percy said. ‘Well, just don’t get knocked unconscious.’
‘Shut up, Jackson.’
Percy grinned. ‘Let’s see what’s down there.’
They sank so deep that Jason couldn’t see anything except Percy swimming next to him in the dim
light of their gold and bronze blades.
Every so often the green searchlight shot upward. Percy swam straight towards it. Jason’s ventus
crackled and roared, straining to escape. The smell of ozone made him lightheaded, but he kept his
shell of air intact.
At last, the darkness lessened below them. Soft white luminous patches, like schools of jellyfish,
floated before Jason’s eyes. As he approached the seafloor, he realized the patches were glowing
fields of algae surrounding the ruins of a palace. Silt swirled through empty courtyards with abalone
floors. Barnacle-covered Greek columns marched into the gloom. In the centre of the complex rose a
citadel larger than Grand Central Station, its walls encrusted with pearls, its domed golden roof
cracked open like an egg.
‘Atlantis?’ Jason asked.
‘That’s a myth,’ Percy said.
‘Uh … don’t we deal in myths?’
‘No, I mean it’s a made-up myth. Not, like, an actual true myth.’