Falling Roses || Apollo [1]

☆꧁Chapter 27꧂☆

APOLLO

I apologize
For pretty much everything
Wow, I'm a good guy

"WAKE," SAID A VOICE.
I opened my eyes and saw a ghost—his face just as precious to me as Daphne's. I knew his copper
skin, his kind smile, the dark curls of his hair, and those eyes as purple as senatorial robes.
"Hyacinthus," I sobbed. "I'm so sorry..."
He turned his face toward the sunlight, revealing the ugly dent above his left ear where the discus
had struck him. My own wounded face throbbed in sympathy.
"Seek the caverns," he said. "Near the springs of blue. Oh, Apollo...your sanity will be taken
away, but do not..."
His image faded and began to retreat. I rose from my sickbed. I rushed after him and grabbed his
shoulders. "Do not what? Please don't leave me again!"
"Why?" A voice said from behind me. I whirled around. Acacia? Why was I dreaming of her
again? Who really are you? I wanted to scream, but I knew that it would accomplish nothing.
"Why did you do this to me? Why?" She sounded truly heartbroken- the same way I did as I
witnessed myself lose hold of Daphne. Her hair was pitch-black, her eyes darkened.
"But..." Acacia became quiet. "Maybe this is for the best." I wanted so badly to reach out and
ask what was wrong. But then I realized something.
I caused this.
My vision cleared. I found myself by the window in Cabin Seven, holding a ceramic pot of hyacinths
and roses. Nearby, looking very concerned, Will and Nico stood as if ready to catch me.
"He's talking to the flowers," Nico noted. "Is that normal?"
"Apollo," Will said, "you had a concussion. I healed you, but—"
"These flowers," I demanded. "Have they always been here?"
Will frowned. "Honestly, I don't know where they came from, but..." He took the flowerpot from
my hands and set it back on the windowsill. "Let's worry about you, okay?"
Usually that would've been excellent advice, but now I could only stare at the hyacinths and roses and
wonder if they were some sort of message. How cruel to see them—the flowers that I had created to
honor my fallen lovers, with their plumes stained red like his blood or hued violet like his eyes. With the
same raw betrayal that I saw in her eyes- her pain put into thorns. They bloomed so cheerfully in the window,
reminding me of the joy I had lost due to my own actions.
Nico rested his hand on Will's shoulder. "Apollo, we were worried. Will was especially."
Seeing them together, supporting each other, made my heart feel even heavier. During my
delirium, both of my great loves had visited me. Now, once again, I was devastatingly alone.
Still, I had a task to complete. A friend needed my help.
"Meg is in trouble," I said. "How long was I unconscious?"
Will and Nico glanced at each other.
"It's about noon now," Will said. "You showed up on the green around six this morning. When
Meg didn't return with you, we wanted to search the woods for her, but Chiron wouldn't let us."
"Chiron was absolutely correct," I said. "I won't allow any others to put themselves at risk. But I
must hurry. Meg has until tonight at the latest."
"Then what happens?" Nico asked.
I couldn't say it. I couldn't even think about it without losing my nerve. I looked down. Aside from
Paolo's Brazilian-flag bandana and my ukulele-string necklace, I was wearing only my boxer shorts.
My offensive flabbiness was on display for everyone to see, but I no longer cared about that. (Well,
not much, anyway.) "I have to get dressed."
I staggered back to my cot. I fumbled through my meager supplies and found Percy Jackson's Led
Zeppelin T-shirt. I tugged it on. It seemed more appropriate than ever.
Will hovered nearby. "Look, Apollo, I don't think you're back to a hundred percent."
"I'll be fine." I pulled on my jeans. "I have to save Meg."
"Let us help you," Nico said. "Tell us where she is and I can shadow-travel—"
"No!" I snapped. "No, you have to stay here and protect the camp."
Will's expression reminded me very much of his mother, Naomi—that look of trepidation she got
just before she went onstage. "Protect the camp from what?"
"I—I'm not sure. You must tell Chiron the emperors have returned. Or rather, they never went
away. They've been plotting, building their resources for centuries."
Nico's eyes glinted warily. "When you say emperors—"
"I mean the Roman ones."
Will stepped back. "You're saying the emperors of ancient Rome are alive? How? The Doors of
Death?"
"No." I could barely speak through the taste of bile. "The emperors made themselves gods. They
had their own temples and altars. They encouraged the people to worship them."
"But that was just propaganda," Nico said. "They weren't really divine."
I laughed mirthlessly. "Gods are sustained by worship, son of Hades. They continue to exist
because of the collective memories of a culture. It's true for the Olympians; it's also true for the
emperors. Somehow, the most powerful of them have survived. All these centuries, they have clung to
half-life, hiding, waiting to reclaim their power."
Will shook his head. "That's impossible. How—?"
"I don't know!" I tried to steady my breathing. "Tell Rachel the men behind Triumvirate Holdings
are former emperors of Rome. They've been plotting against us all this time, and we gods have been
blind. Blind."
I pulled on my coat. The ambrosia Nico had given me yesterday was still in the left pocket. In the
right pocket, Rhea's wind chimes clanked, though I had no idea how they'd gotten there.
"The Beast is planning some sort of attack on the camp," I said. "I don't know what, and I don't
know when, but tell Chiron you must be prepared. I have to go."
"Wait!" Will said as I reached the door. "Who is the Beast? Which emperor are we dealing with?"
"The worst of my descendants." My fingers dug into the doorframe. "The Christians called him
the Beast because he burned them alive. Our enemy is Emperor Nero."
They must have been too stunned to follow me.
I ran toward the armory. Several campers gave me strange looks. Some called after me, offering
help, but I ignored them. I could only think about Meg alone in the myrmekes' lair, and the visions I'd
had of Daphne, Rhea, and Hyacinthus, even Acacia, who was right here with me—all of them urging me
onward, telling me to do the impossible in this inadequate mortal form.
When I reached the armory, I scanned the rack of bows. My hand trembling, I picked out the
weapon Meg had tried to give me the day before. It was carved from mountain laurel wood. The bitter
irony appealed to me.
I had sworn not to use a bow until I was a god again. But I had also sworn not to play music, and I
had already broken that part of the oath in the most egregious, Neil-Diamondy way possible.
The curse of the River Styx could kill me in its slow cancerous way, or Zeus could strike me
down. But my oath to save Meg McCaffrey had to come first.
I turned my face to the sky. "If you want to punish me, Father, be my guest, but have the courage to
hurt me directly, not my mortal companion. BE A MAN!"
To my surprise, the skies remained silent. Lightning did not vaporize me. Perhaps Zeus was too
taken aback to react, but I knew he would never overlook such an insult.
To Tartarus with him. I had work to do.
I grabbed a quiver and stuffed it with all the extra arrows I could find. Then I ran for the woods,
Meg's two rings jangling on my makeshift necklace. Too late, I realized I had forgotten my combat
ukulele, but I had no time to turn back. My singing voice would have to be enough.
I'm not sure how I found the nest.
Perhaps the forest simply allowed me to reach it, knowing that I was marching to my death. I've
found that when one is searching for danger, it's never hard to find.
Soon I was crouched behind a fallen tree, studying the myrmekes' lair in the clearing ahead. To
call the place an anthill would be like calling Versailles Palace a single-family home. Earthen
ramparts rose almost to the tops of the surrounding trees—a hundred feet at least. The circumference
could have accommodated a Roman hippodrome. A steady stream of soldiers and drones swarmed in
and out of the mound. Some carried fallen trees. One, inexplicably, was dragging a 1967 Chevy
Impala.
How many ants would I be facing? I had no idea. After you reach the number impossible, there's
no point in counting.
I nocked an arrow and stepped into the clearing.
"Where in Tartarus do you think you're going, Phoebus Apollo?" I jumped and turned around. Nobody
has used that name in centuries. The last time was when I forgot to make Leto cookies for Valentine's
day. What? I'm a good son.
"Saving Meg?" It came out more of as a question than a statement.
"Without me?" She demanded.
"...Yeah...?"
Acacia grinned. "Well then, continue. I'm right behind you, Pol."
I froze.
"I love you, Pol." She reached up slightly to touch my cheek.
"Me too." I whispered back to her.
"Apollo? Are you alright?" Acacia snapped me out of my trance, waving a hand in front of my face
playfully. "Yoohoo! Is it really the best time to be daydreaming?" I ignored her.
"You called me 'Pol'." I stared at her.
It was her turn to stop. "I- uh- it's just that- do you not like it?" I fought the urge to smirk. It was
honestly hilarious to watch Acacia stumble over her words. She seemed like the calm and collected
type of person.
"Of course I do!" I amended quickly, not wanting to offend her. You never know girls. One second
they're giggling alongside you, the next, they're holding a knife and you're dead. I know, maybe a
bit overthinking on my part, but still... who knows what might happen?
"It just that... I had a dream..."
Acacia paled further, if that was possible. "W-what was it about?"
I swallowed. Curse me and my big mouth. "I saw someone. They- they looked like you."
I left out the super awkward I love you parts. Not good for conversation.
"Maybe it was one of my sisters." She said immediately, noticing what I was hinting. "We go all
around the world. Perhaps it was just a coincidence."
It was definitely not a coincidence, no matter what it was.
"It doesn't matter. We have to save Meg." Acacia abruptly changed the subject. "I'll create a diversion-
lead them away from you. You go in and grab Meg."
It sounded so easy coming from her, I should've known that something would go wrong.
Everything started out perfectly.
Acacia made a distraction- harmless water flooding into the hole. Myrmekes scrambled out, quicker
than lightning, trying to find the problem. (That, I know what it's like. You don't want to be on the wrong
side of Zeus' thunderbolt.) They saw Acacia, and immediately began following her. She took off toward the
trees, the giant ants trailing behind her, hissing angrily at the mess that she had caused.
I slowly snuck in the mound, making splashing sounds louder that I would have liked. I've learned that if you
act like you are supposed to be somewhere, most people (or ants) will not confront you. Normally, acting confident
isn't a problem for me. Gods are allowed to be anywhere. It was a bit tougher for Lester Papadopoulos, dork teen
extraordinaire, but I made it all the way to the nest without being challenged.
I plunged inside and began to sing.
This time I needed no ukulele. I needed no muse for my inspiration. I remembered Daphne's face
in the trees. I remembered Hyacinthus turning away, his death wound glistening on his scalp. I remembered the way
her voice cracked as she bid me her final goodbyes. Maybe we'll meet again, she had said, But until then, goodbye. I'm
sorry that I wasn't enough for you.
My voice filled with anguish. I sang of heartbreak. Rather than collapsing under my own despair, I
projected it outward.
The tunnels amplified my voice, carrying it through the nest, making the entire hill my musical
instrument.
Each time I passed an ant, it curled its legs and touched its forehead to the floor, its antennae
quivering from the vibrations of my voice.
Had I been a god, the song would have been stronger, but this was enough. I was impressed by
how much sorrow a human voice could convey.
I wandered deeper into the hill. I had no idea where I was going until I spotted a geranium
blooming from the tunnel floor.
My song faltered.
Meg. She must have regained consciousness. She had dropped one of her emergency seeds to
leave me a trail. The geranium's purple flowers all faced a smaller tunnel leading off to the left.
"Clever girl," I said, choosing that tunnel.
A clattering sound alerted me to the approaching myrmeke.
I turned and raised my bow. Freed from the enchantment of my voice, the insect charged, its
mouth foaming with acid. I drew and fired. The arrow embedded itself up to the fletching in the ant's
forehead.
The creature dropped, its back legs twitching in death throes. I tried to retrieve my arrow, but the
shaft snapped in my hand, the broken end covered in steaming corrosive goo. So much for reusing
ammunition.
I called, "MEG!"
The only answer was the clattering of more giant ants moving in my direction. I began to sing
again. Now, though, I had higher hopes of finding Meg, which made it difficult to summon the proper
amount of melancholy. The ants I encountered were no longer catatonic. They moved slowly and
unsteadily, but they still attacked. I was forced to shoot one after another.
I passed a cave filled with glittering treasure, but I was not interested in shiny things at the
moment. I kept moving.
At the next intersection, another geranium sprouted from the floor, all its flowers facing right. I
turned that direction, calling Meg's name again, then returning to my song.
As my spirits lifted, my song became less effective and the ants more aggressive. After a dozen
kills, my quiver was growing dangerously light.
I had to reach deeper into my feelings of despair. I had to get the blues, good and proper.
For the first time in four thousand years, I sang of my own faults.
I poured out my guilt about Daphne's death. My boastfulness, envy, and desire had caused her
destruction. When she ran from me, I should have let her go. Instead, I chased her relentlessly. I
wanted her, and I intended to have her. Because of that, I had left Daphne no choice. To escape me, she
sacrificed her life and turned into a tree, leaving my heart scarred forever....But it was my fault. I
apologized in song. I begged Daphne's forgiveness.
I sang of Hyacinthus, the most handsome of men. The West Wind Zephyros had also loved him,
but I refused to share even a moment of Hyacinthus's time. In my jealousy, I threatened Zephyros. I
dared him, dared him to interfere.
I sang of the day Hyacinthus and I played discus in the fields, and how the West Wind blew my disc
off course—right into the side of Hyacinthus's head.
To keep Hyacinthus in the sunlight where he belonged, I created hyacinth flowers from his blood.
I held Zephyros accountable, but my own petty greed had caused Hyacinthus's death. I poured out my
sorrow. I took all the blame.
I sang of all the hearts I broke, all the times that I thought back to her, but no matter what I did, what I tried,
nothing, nothing, could ever replace her. The times that we exchanged our vows of love, the times that we
spent together, the smiles that she gave me every day, assuring that I was the only one for her. And I left her
behind, with nothing but a broken heart. She was so young and pure, and I left all that behind.
I sang of my failures, my eternal heartbreak and loneliness. I was the worst of the gods, the most
guilt-ridden and unfocused. I couldn't commit myself to one lover. I couldn't even choose what to be
the god of. I kept shifting from one skill to another—distracted and dissatisfied.
My golden life was a sham. My coolness was pretense. My heart was a lump of petrified wood.
All around me, myrmekes collapsed. The nest itself trembled with grief.
I found a third geranium, then a fourth.
Finally, pausing between verses, I heard a small voice up ahead: the sound of a girl crying.
"Meg!" I gave up on my song and ran.
She lay in the middle of a cavernous food larder, just as I had imagined. Around her were stacked
the carcasses of animals—cows, deer, horses—all sheathed in hardened goop and slowly decaying.
The smell hit my nasal passages like an avalanche.
Meg was also enveloped, but she was fighting back with the power of geraniums. Patches of
leaves sprouted from the thinnest parts of her cocoon. A frilly collar of flowers kept the goo away
from her face. She had even managed to free one of her arms, thanks to an explosion of pink
geraniums at her left armpit.
Her eyes were puffy from crying. I assumed she was frightened, possibly in pain, but when I knelt
next to her, her first words were, "I'm so sorry."
I brushed a tear from the tip of her nose. "Why, dear Meg? You did nothing wrong. I failed you."
A sob caught in her throat. "You don't understand. That song you were singing. Oh, gods...
Apollo, if I'd known—"
"Hush, now." My throat was so raw I could barely talk. The song had almost destroyed my voice.
"You're just reacting to the grief in the music. Let's get you free."
I was considering how to do that when Meg's eyes widened. She made a whimpering sound.
The hairs on the nape of my neck came to attention. "There are ants behind me, aren't there?" I
asked.
Meg nodded.
I turned as four of them entered the cavern. I reached for my quiver. I had one arrow left. But that wasn't
even the worst thing.
A scream pierced through the air.
I knew that voice.
Acaica's.