Maelstrom

Six

[lex talionis]

Mark had never seen a darker night sky upon Camp Half-Blood in all his years, but he supposed that anything lighter would have been an insult. As he stood amid the crowd of demigods all shrouded in black, staring up at the unlit stack of wood, he noted how there were no stars and no moon to illuminate the night. There were no crickets chirping in the grass, no monsters rumbling in the forest. Camp Half-Blood was as silent as death, honoring those who had been claimed by it.

The debriefing of the battle had been exactly that—brief—but Mark had gathered the important bits. It was hard to avoid them when their effects were looming right before his face, written on those of the demigods around him. The battle had been bloody, but there had been only one casualty—Sierra Hanson, daughter of Apollo.

Mark didn't know Sierra very well, but knew that she was a good hero. Aside from Reese, she was Camp's greatest archer. She'd helped Mark's friends rescue him and the other turned demigods from the Regiment all those years ago, and yet even with her sheer will and stubborn attitude, had succumbed to death.

Sierra's shroud was solid gold, as was typical for children of Apollo. In the firelight, the material seemed to flicker like magma, on the verge of erupting. The members of Cabin Seven fanned out around the pyre, all wearing matching expressions of sorrow and rage. Reese, Sierra's shroud in his arms, approached the pyre, his face a stony mask. He set Sierra's shroud atop the firewood and backed away, addressing the crowd.

"Sierra Hanson had been at camp longer than most of us," Reese's voice echoed through the silent valley. "She had a quick wit, sharp skills, and zero tolerance for the forces that try to claim our lives the way they claimed hers. She did not give her life. Her life was taken from her."

The crowd began to murmur, whispering blessings for Sierra's soul and curses to those that took it. The flames of the fire began to grow, the ends a vibrant red.

"Menoetious and his forces think that they can defeat us. I think different. I think that they made a big mistake by attacking us, by murdering Sierra as if it were a move on their chessboard. I think that they'll pay for what they've done."

The whispers of the crowd grew like a breeze turning into a gale. The fire turned scarlet, embers sparking and flames spitting from the pit.

"In less than two weeks, war will be upon us," Reese's blue eyes seemed to blaze in the darkness with the force of his words. "And then, we'll make them pay for everyone that they've taken from us. Who's with me?"

The overwhelming outcries of revenge shattered the spell of silence upon Camp Half-Blood, making each demigod idle no more. Mark watched in astonishment as Sierra's fire grew taller and taller, until it became a wall of scarlet flame because of the Greeks' bloodlust.

Upon sight of the red fire, a dizzy feeling washed over Mark, and suddenly, he wasn't standing at Sierra's funeral. He was standing on the streets of New York City, surrounded by bloodied corpses. Overturned cars strewn upon the abandoned streets made a grotesque obstacle course among the shattered glass and debris. The sky was as red as blood, with slate gray clouds and pillars of obsidian smoke reaching up to the heavens. And in Mark's hand was his cursed katana, blood dripping from the tip—

"Mark?"

Feeling like he'd just woken up from a nightmare, Mark whirled around to face Dale, her golden eyes glittering in the darkness. She watched him with concern, knitting her eyebrows together.