Capvt XVI:The Way of the Gods
THE first few lessons are always the hardest ones; they are the ones where everyone just . . gives up: they were the testing point, not because it was hard, exactly, but because it was unfamiliar. And anything unfamiliar meant it was difficult, which is why most people give up, because they want it to come quick and easy.
And nothing's ever easy or quick; or, at least, not the stuff that mean something.
However, all things become familiar with time and practice. Learning is a curious process. The level of difficulty grows higher after every lesson, and yet, at the same time . . . it grows easier too. You can understand the material, and in some ways, it is easier. You learn the teacher's style.
And when you master it, you realize all that labor meant you did something meaningful; and you realize, you can do anything yourself. You don't need other people to tell you what to do.
Curious indeed.
~...~
Annabeth hauled herself over the last ledge, her breathing coming out in ragged gasps. Her arms felt numb and there was an awful stich that burned in her side, but she had made it. She had made it to the roof of the armary, despite her fear of heights.
"Well done," Percy said, smiling at her as he pulled himself onto the roof as well. She wondered how he did it so easily even though he was still recovering from his injuries; perhaps he was superhuman or something? Shaking the errant thought from her mind, she flopped down against the flat roof, crossing one arm over her eye. "You're getting better."
"Doesn't feel like it from my perspective," she grumbled, but that was a half-hearted lie at best, and she only said it to keep form. She knew she was getting stronger; she could feel her muscles developing and she didn't get tired as quickly as she used to. She probably lost some weight too. She felt good.
"Think positively," he poked her side, and she shuffled away from him, stiffling the shriek that rose in her throat. "Maybe I'll be able to begin teaching you how to wield a weapon. Well, only if it's not a bow. I'm rubbish at archary."
"You are?"
"You can't be good at everything," he told her wryly.
They lasped into a comfortable silence. It was one of the pleasant nights, when it wasn't so cold that she wanted to wear six or seven layers, or so hot and humid she thought she was going to drown in her own sweat. The trees seemed to sigh in the wind, and the stars shone above her head. Her eyes were drawn to Andromeda, like the constellation was a Syrine's song.
"That's what it is . . ." He said softly, almost sounding surprised. She turned her head and looked up at him, but his eyes were fixated on the stars.
"What is?" She asked. He looked down at her then glanced away. His hand cupped the back of his neck.
"Your eyes; they're like stars."
Her cheeks felt warm, but her limbs lost their tautness at the same time. "You're really someone I can't understand easily, Percy. One moment harsh and strict, the next . . ." she shook her head. "I don't know; it's not exactly nice. Maybe someday I will be able to understand, just like fathoming constellations."
"Fathom?" He sounded confused. "What does that mean?"
"You don't know?" He shook his head, and his lips twitched— like he was getting ready to say something awfully sarcastic, or thinking it. She felt warm though as she pushed herself up. "Fathoming is like . . . thinking. No, more like, understanding. Understanding something difficult after thinking a lot about it. That's the best way I can describe it."
"Huh. Fathom then. I think I like that word." His eyes sparkled as he turned his head to look in her direction. "Congratulations, you knew something I didn't."
She rolled her eyes. "I doubt it'll happen often."
"Don't sell yourself short. You're smarter than you realize; most uneducated people don't have enough raw wits to banter, especially against someone like me."
"Modest, aren't we? To be honest, I heard some of the sailors when we were coming over here talking about how deep the water is, and I asked Nico." She said, trying to stiffle the smile that wanted to go on her face.
"How are things between you and Nico? Has he started talking to you yet?"
She shook her head. "No, not really. He just keeps giving me these looks." She felt a pang in her chest and she wrung her hands. She wanted to just be able to talk to him again like normal. He was her closest friend; almost like a brother.
"I'm sure he'll come around eventually. People don't forgive and forget easily."
"Yeah . . ." She agreed.
"I'll marry my soulmate when I get old enough!"
"Don't be stupid Annabeth; your pater'll probably marry you off to some prince for some peace treaty."
"I can dream, can't I?"
She had almost forgotten about that memory; they had been fourteen at the time, and she had been even more naive, with thoughts of princes taking her from Athens into the sunset.
She still believed in soul mates . . .
"What're you thinking about?
"Soul mates. What do you think a soul mate is?"
He went rigid, the light mood between the two of them shifting into one filled with tension immeadiately. It was funny how that could happen, like a pin dropping.
"What?" His lips twisted back into a sneer and his tone was practically dripping with acid. She managed to stop herself from cringing away from him; she had never seen him look so angry before. "Don't be ridiculous. They're not real."
"Fine," she muttered, ignoring the sting in her chest his words caused. "If you did believe in soul mates, then what would you think they are?"
He tilted his head, his eyes dark and unreadable again as his mood changed to calm. Annabeth lifted her chin, very deliberately not looking at the ground that was so . . . so far down. She could imagine how painful death by falling five fathoms* would be; she could hit the wall and smash there, or she could land on a ledge, break her ankle and then fall anyway, or she could splatter on concrete or—
"I—" he stopped, then his eyes fell to his hands. She frowned, and wondered just why he was so uncomfortable with this topic. If ge truly believed soul mates weren't real, then wouldn't he be unbothered by this? There was no logical explanation for his sudden shift in behavior.
"You're getting pretty worked up for someone who doesn't believe in soul mates," she pointed out, being deliberately blunt. His eyes cut into hers. She tilted her head. "It makes me wonder if you were truthful about—"
"Humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces." He interjected. "Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate beings, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves." His tone was hard, but there was a strange gleam in his eyes as he leaned back against the windowsill and looked out, crossing his arms. The wind whipped against her face, making her eyes burn. Well, she assumed that was the wind.
"That's awful."
He leaned back and closed his eyes. "That's the way of the gods. There's no escaping from it. We're barely insects in their eyes, or maybe a pawn, if they have an interest in us. It makes me sick to my stomach, just thinking about how they use demigods in their power plays up at Olympus."
Goosebumps formed on her skin at his words. "Champion of Olympus . . ." "You've hit the nail spot on with that," she said, running her hand through her hair. Her mother couldn't care any less about her— that much was obvious. In Athena's eyes, she was expendable; why else would she be named as Champion of Olympus? As if that were a great honor, as she said. She was little more than a slave fighting in the Gladiators. She was fated to die a premature death at the hands of an enemy.
"What?"
She shook her head. "Never mind. I'm just talking to myself." She pulled her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on them. She met his eyes, trying to ignore the way blood was pounding between her skull.
"What would you do if you knew when you're going to die?" She asked, and she was honestly curious about his answer. So far, the only predictability in him was the fact that he was unpredictable. Sometimes, it was maddening with her sense of cold rationality, but it was also . . . well, she didn't know how to explain it. It was interesting. It made her feel alive, trying to guess what mood he would swing into next.
"Me?" he pointed at himself, and she nodded. His eyebrows furrowed together into a frown and he leaned forward. "Huh. Well, I don't know really. I suppose it depends on how. I'd like to grow so old that my hair turns gray, even though that doesn't happen very often, but if I were honest with myself, I'll probably die from either some battle wound, poison, or illness—"
"Wait, I mean, you're facing Death. As in, Death is inevitable, and you know it'll happen soon. What would you do? Try to run away? Or stand tall and face it straight on?" She clarified.
"Oh." He interlocked his fingers and rested his chin on his knuckles, eyes darkening in thought. "I suppose I would try to run away." Wait, what? His lips twisted into the semblance of a smile. "Don't look so surprised. I'm not brave, Annabeth. Or, at least, not that brave. Besides, my self-preservation instinct has been so developed, it's no use trying to deny it. I think the only time I would die willingly is to save you, Jason or Reyna. Maybe pater too." He sighed. She wasn't sure what to feel, since she had been included in that list. Happy? Worried? Annoyed? "I wonder what Roma would think of their prince if they knew this." He tacked the last bit on, almost like an afterthought.
"Well, they say that the truth is the hardest thing to face, or admit." She said with a tiny shrug. She had never imagined him being scared of anything: even his own death. He always struck her as a bit of a high wire. "I guess that makes you braver than most."
His eyebrow shot up. "Aren't you supposed to be telling me about how a hero's supposed to be afraid of nothing or perfect or something?"
She wondered who told him that. If she ever found out, she'd probably strangle them.
"Why would I tell you that? You're not a hero; you're only a man; a human being. We're imperfect creatures." She smiled. "Besides, not everyone has to be heroes. I'm quite content with staying in the shadows and helping. Bravery is not ever being afraid; it's being able to continue on into the dark despite that fear." She touched his hand, and he smiled at her a little.
"Thanks, Annabeth."
The air was warm and humid again, the back of her neck already sticky from sweat. He and Roma were similiar like that for some reason; just as unpredictable as the other.
"What about you? What do you think of soul mates?"
She looked at him, but his eyes trained on the stars again, and wondered how most of their conversations went around in circles. They started with one thing, then one of them got off track, and somehow they went back to the topic they began with eventually. She shifted her body until her leg brushed against his.
"I think a soul mate is . . . not someone who comes into your life peacefully." She said. She pulled her gaze away from the side of his head and looked up at Pegasus. "It's someone who changes your version of reality, makes you question what is right and what is wrong. It's someone who marks a before and after in your life. It's not the perfect human being everyone has idealized, but an ordinary person, who manages to revolutionize your world in a heartbeat."
She must be spending too much time with Piper again.
"People don't change in a heartbeat."
She smirked. "Percy, our lives are the blink of an eye to a god or goddess." She leaned against him, her eyes slipping shut of their own volition. "I wonder what's it like to die."
"I'm not sure." His voice seemed to be all around her, even though that wasn't possible. Something warm and heavy draped across her shoulders and she heard him laugh. "Don't go to sleep yet. We've still got to go down." She opened her eyes. "I think we need to work a better schedule out. You're exhausted, and I'm still recovering."
"Yeah," she said and stood. Hopefully, getting down would be easier than going up— and if she fell, it was his fault this time. "Later. Let's get down though. Now."
"Yes, regina."
"Shut up, Hero."
"Your wish is my command, my queen!"
"I'll push you off."
"No you won't."
"Try me."
"Ah, maybe some other day then."
"Coward."
"Wise Girl."
"Hero."
"That's not an insult!"
"Neither is Wise Girl, Seaweed Brain!"
"What did you just call me?"
"Seaweed Brain."
"...I really, really don't like Poseidon."
She felt a rush of fond exasperation toward him and touched his arm briefly before she dropped herself down on the ledge.
*Five fathoms is the equivalent to 30 feet.