𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬'𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 • 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘺 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘰𝘯

Stymphalian Birds

"Then maybe you should design a chariot with him." 

"Maybe I should." 

"Fine!" 

"Fine!"

I stormed away, feeling the tears sting my eyes.

~

The next couple of days, I tried to keep my mind off my problems. I worked out in the arena with Grayson. He practised sword fighting while I practised my archery.

"Y'know," he said one day. "The most impressive thing about you is that after all this time, you're still bone-dead stupid."

I lowered my bow. "What?"

"You like him, Y/n," Grayson said. "You like Percy Jackson. And the fact that you don't admit it, makes me want to rip my hair out."

"Maybe you should," I chuckled.

"Shut up."

"I like Percy..." I said.

"Yes! See I knew it!" he celebrated.

"...As a friend."

Grayson's smile dropped. I laughed so much I started rolling on the floor.

"You should've seen your face!" I chuckled. "You were like - " I made an exaggerated imitation of his face.

Grayson pushed me.

"Oy!" I complained.

He smirked. "You deserved that."

In the evenings, I did border patrol. Even though Tantalus had insisted we forget trying to protect the camp, some of the campers had quietly kept it up, working out a schedule during our free times. 

I sat at the top of Half-Blood Hill and watched the dryads come and go, singing to the dying pine tree. Satyrs brought their reed pipes and played nature magic songs, and for a while, the pine needles seemed to get fuller. The flowers on the hill smelled a little sweeter and the grass looked greener. But as soon as the music stopped, the sickness crept back into the air. The whole hill seemed to be infected, dying from the poison that had sunk into the tree's roots. The longer I sat there, the angrier I got. 

Luke had done this. I remembered his smile, the dragon-claw scar across his face. I remembered all the fun sing-along nights we had and how we first got to camp. He was my friend, and the whole time he'd been Kronos's number-one servant.

On the day of the race, I finished my chariot. I stayed up until one A.M. giving it its finishing touches. It was a silver chariot, Santa Claus style, with two white horses and two silver horses pulling it. It was decorated with paintings of mountains, snowy forests, deer, bears, silver arrows, a wild boar and the constellation of Orion. I checked all the metal parts, so they were well oiled and fed the four horses.

"Enas, Dýo, Tría and Téssera," I told the horses. "You're going to be awesome. Just do as I tell you to do and you will be fine."

The horses neighed in approval. I let out an exhausted yawn and went to bed.

~

The morning of the race was hot and humid. Fog lay low on the ground like sauna steam. Millions of birds were roosting in the trees—fat grey-and-white pigeons, except they didn't coo like regular pigeons. They made this annoying metallic screeching sound that reminded me of submarine radar. 

The racetrack had been built in a grassy field between the archery range and the woods. Hephaestus's cabin had used the bronze bulls, which were completely tame since they'd had their heads smashed in, to plough an oval track in a matter of minutes.