mastermind - percy jackson

xix. growing up

"it's okay to be a kid sometimes"

There were too many goodbyes.

It was hard to watch camp burial shrouds used on bodies again. It brought back tons of horrible memories.

Lee Fletcher from the Apollo cabin was among the dead. He had been downed by a giant's club, and was wrapped in a golden shroud without any decoration.

Next was Castor, one of the twins from the Dionysus cabin, had gone down fighting an enemy half-blood. He was wrapped in a deep purple shroud, embroidered with grapevines. His bother, Pollux, tried to say a few words, but he choked up and just took the torch. He lit the funeral pyre in the middle of the amphitheater, and within seconds the row of shrouds was engulfed in flames, sending smoke and sparks up to the stars.

They spent the next day treating the wounded, which was almost everyone. The satyrs and dryads worked to repair the damage to the woods.

At noon, the Council of Cloven Elders held an emergency meeting in their sacred grove. The three senior satyrs were there, along with Chiron, who was in wheelchair form. His broken horse leg was still mending, so he would be confined to the chair for a few months, until the leg was strong enough to take his weight. The grove was filled with satyrs and dryads an naiads up from the water—hundreds of them, anxious to hear what would happen. Juniper, Annabeth, Percy, and Cassandra stood by Grover's side.

Silenus wanted to exile Grover immediately, but Chiron persuaded him to at least hear evidence first, so they told everyone what happened in the crystal cavern, and what Pan had said. Then several eyewitnesses from the battle described the weird sound Grover had made, which drove the Titan's army back underground.

"It was panic" insisted Juniper. "Grover summoned the power of the wild god."

"Panic?" Percy asked.

"Percy" Chiron explained, "during the first war of the gods and Titans, Lord Pan let forth a horrible cry that scare away the enemy armies. It is—it was his greatest power—a massive wave of fear that helped the gods win the day. The word panic is name after Pan, you see. And Grover used that power, calling it forth from within himself."

"Preposterous!" Silenus bellowed. "Sacrilege! Perhaps the wild god favored us with a blessing. Or perhaps Grover's music was so awful it scared the enemy away!"

"That wasn't it, sir" Grover said, sounding way calmer that Cassandra would have been. "He let his spirit pass into all of us. We must act. Each of us must work to renew the wild, to protect what's left of it. We must spread the word. Pan is dead. There is no one but us."

"After two thousand years of searching, this is what you would have us believe?" Silenus cried. "Never! We must continue the search! Exile the traitor!"

Some of the older satyrs muttered assent.

"A vote!" Silenus demanded. "Who would believe this ridiculous young satyr, anyway?"

"I would" Said a familiar voice.

Everyone turned. Striding into the grove was Dionysus. He wore a formal black suit, his eyes were bloodshot as usual, and his face was flushed, but it looked like he was suffering from grief more than wine-withdrawal.

The satyrs all stood respectfully and bowed as he approached. Dionysus waved his hand, and a new chair grew out of the ground next to Silenus's—a throne made of grapevines.

Dionysus sat down and crossed his legs. He snapped his fingers and satyrs hurried forward with a plate of cheese and crackers and a Diet Coke.

The god of wine looked around at the assembled crowd. "Miss me?"