ON THIS SPRING DAY
━━━━━ chapter ten
━━━━━ HE NEVER COULD describe what exactly happened afterward. Not even to himself, really.
It was like an explosion, but it wasn't at the same time. Maybe something of a tidal wave, just with no ocean or current to save his neck. Something like a whirlwind of power that simultaneously caught him up and blasted him downwards into the lava. Fire and water collided, superheated steam, and he shot up from the heart of the volcano in a huge explosion, just one piece of flotsam thrown free by a million pounds of pressure. The last thing he remember before losing consciousness was flying, flying so high Zeus would never have forgiven the son of Poseidon, and then beginning to fall, smoke and fire and water streaming from his own body.
He was a comet. And he was hurtling straight towards the earth. No amount of water could save him this time.
Maybe if Percy prayed to the right gods, just maybe he could get out alive. But he always had a hard time praying to the gods.
🌷
He woke up feeling like he was still on fire. His skin stung. His throat felt as dry as sand. If he tried to breathe through his mouth, it felt like he was trying to swallow knives.
Somehow, he managed to peel open his eyes.
A blue sky stared back down at him, and trees swayed softly in the wind, the wind whistling nicely and softly. In the distance, he heard a fountain gurgling, the sweet smells of flowers wafting closer. He heard waves, too, gently lapping on a rocky shore.
For a moment, Percy thought he had finally died. But the other part of his brain knew he hadn't. He'd been to the Land of the Dead, and there was no blue sky.
He tried to sit up. His muscles felt like they were melting.
"Stay still," a girl's voice said. The voice was smooth and calm, and Percy felt compelled to listen. ( Snap out of it, he thought. Charmspeak. She has to be using charmspeak to sound that nice. ) "You're too weak to rise."
The girl laid a cool cloth across his forehead. A bronze spoon hovered over him and a liquid was dribbled into his mouth. The drink soothed Percy's aching throat and left a warm chocolatey aftertaste—he thought that it'd taste like if he blended a batch of his mom's blue cookies. Nectar of the gods.
Then the girl's face appeared above him.
She was pretty, in fairness to her. Her hair looked like the color of caramel, oddly enough, braided over one shoulder neatly. Her eyes were kind and serene, framed by freckles dotted over her face delicately—elegantly, almost. For a moment, her eyes reminded Percy of Violet's—though Violet's glinted with amusement and were a much darker brown. The girl looked around fifteen or sixteen, he had trouble deciding. Her face just seemed timeless.
She didn't say anything else before she started to sing. Percy tensed for a moment, brain working in overdrive. His muscles were screaming to relax, but his mind was telling him to run. His muscles won.
His pain dissolved. She was working magic. He knew it. And he knew this could end horribly for him. He could feel the music sinking into his skin, healing and repairing his burns. And the relief spreading throughout was much more enticing than anything else at the moment.
"Who?" he croaked.
"Shh, brave one," she said. "Rest and heal. No harm will come to you here. I am Calypso."
🌷
The next thing Percy knew was that he was dreaming of a girl.
In the darkness, she looked menacing. But with the silver glow of the moon and the golden gleam of a bow slung across her back, he could see the girl's face just enough—
It was Violet. And she looked more troubled than Percy had ever seen her. She didn't look desperate, not the way she had when Bianca died. She didn't look determined, not the way she had when she took the sky. And she didn't look heartbroken, not the way she had as they watched Zoë Nightshade take her last breaths.
Here, she just looked tired. Troubled. Upset. Maybe even scared. It was unusual, and it really irked Percy—a lot more than he ever cared to admit ( or knew how to express ). Last winter, he admitted when first meeting her in Cabin Eleven ( which had been super embarrassing ): when he tripped in line to the dining pavilion on his first night at Camp where she helped him up and showed him the ropes to dining for the gods.
To twelve-year-old Percy, Violet was some kind of beacon. She hadn't been like Annabeth, who sneered at him back then because he didn't miraculously have all the answers ( especially when he didn't understand what the hell was going on ). And he didn't have any guilty feelings towards her, not the way he did for Grover when he nearly got the satyr's searcher's license revoked. And it wasn't the teacher/student relationship the way it had been for Luke.
Violet was just another half-blood. And it was nice. She didn't ask about his past, and he didn't ask about hers. She probably didn't have to ask considering the rate gossip goes around Camp, but it was still nice she didn't pry. For a short moment, he could pretend all the gloomy things weren't hanging over his head, ready to pounce at any moment.
Naïvely ( and stupidly ), Percy thought she was a daughter of Apollo just ... staying in the wrong cabin. Cut him some slack; he really didn't understand how things worked back then. And, in his brain, it made sense. Apollo, God of the Sun, so wouldn't his children be sunny? Violet was sunny, she was bubbly, cracked jokes, and smiled all the time. It all made sense in Percy's mind, even more so when she beat everyone's ass the next day in archery practice. It solidified even more in Percy's mind, then. Luckily, he hadn't said anything to her about it before Luke corrected Percy.
( "Percy, she's a daughter of Eros," he said, giving the boy an odd look.
"What?" Percy asked. "But she's good at archery!"
The blond stared. "What is Eros's weapon?"
Percy stared back. "Do you really think I know that?" )
It was a good thing Luke corrected Percy. ( It was the only good thing Luke ever did. ) But stupidly, Percy admitted to Violet last winter what he originally thought of her. It was a miracle she hadn't strangled him considering Eros and Apollo's animosity for each other. But maybe he only escaped with his life for the fact Violet was more worried about Annabeth being in danger than what he had to think of her.
Anyways, here Violette looked tired. She looked at a dark sword in her hands, frowning heavily. The weapon was bent in half like someone stepped on it like it was a twig. Where she got that, Percy didn't know. But he finally got a clear image of where she stood—the front porch of the Big House. Larkspur gleamed brightly against the outside walls, painting Violet and a smaller, thinner figure in gold.
Nico. That was Nico, and he was with Violet.
"Elain Nevitt," the girl murmured, reading the tag attached to the hilt. "Daughter of—" She took a shuddered breath.
It was like she was reading her own obituary.
🌷
Percy woke in a cave. That sounded pretty bad, but all things considered, this was one of the nicer caves he'd stayed in.
The ceiling glittered with different-color crystal formations—white and purple and green, like he was inside one of those cut geodes you see in souvenir shops. He was lying on a comfortable bed with feather pillows and white cotton sheets. The cave was divided into sections by white silk curtains. Against one wall stood a large loom and a harp. Against the other wall were shelves neatly stacked with jars of fruit preserves. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling: rosemary, thyme, and a bunch of other stuff. His mother could've named them all. Violet could've, too. He supposed that came with the territory of your mom owning a floral shop—you know plants.
There was a fireplace built into the cave wall, and a pot bubbling over the flames. Whatever was cooking smelled great.
He sat up, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head. he looked at his arms, sure that they would be hideously scarred, but they seemed fine. A little pinker than usual, but not bad. Percy was wearing a white cotton T-shirt and cotton drawstring trousers that weren't his. He had no shoes on, either. It wasn't an outfit choice he thought he would ever wear. He knew Violet would make some joke about it—
Riptide.
In a moment of panic, he began frantically patting down his body, reaching the pant pockets, and felt the familiar comfort of the ballpoint pen. In his pant pockets, right where it always reappeared. Not only that but the Stygian-ice dog whistle was back in his pocket, too. Somehow it had followed him ... to wherever here is. That didn't exactly reassure him. He wasn't sure if that was good or not.
With difficulty, Percy stood. The stone floor was freezing under his feet. He turned, hoping to find an exit, but found himself staring into a polished bronze mirror.
"Holy Poseidon," he muttered under his breath. He looked skinny—starved skinny. He had always been a bit scrawny, but now, it was much worse than ever. How long had it taken him to fall into the ocean?
Violet would cry at my hair, he thought suddenly, poking at the rat's nest on top of his head. And not in a good way. The ends of his hair were singed like Hephaestus's beard. Whatever happened back at St. Helens gave him an unwanted—and shitty—haircut.
Annabeth would tell me to shower immediately, that I stink really bad and look horrible. Grover would try and convince it wasn't that bad. Tyson would probably love it. Percy flinched to himself, thinking about his friends. He tried not to let his mind wander anymore, but his brain couldn't help but add, Maybe if you had paid attention to what Violet was telling you about hair care instead of just staring, you would know how to fix it.
( It was a fair statement, but it was still rude to call out. )
After staring at his reflection for a bit too long, Percy turned away. The cave entrance was to his left, and he headed towards the daylight.
The cave opened onto a green meadow. On the left was a grove of cedar trees and on the right was a huge flower garden. Four fountains gurgled in the meadow, each shooting water from the pipes of stone satyrs. Straight ahead, the grass sloped down to a rocky beach. The waves of a lake lapped against the stones.
He actually didn't know why he knew it was a lake, but he just did. Something to do with Poseidon? He could tell it was fresh water, not salt water. The sun sparkled on the water, and the sky was pure blue.
It seemed like a paradise, which immediately made Percy nervous.
After a couple of years dealing with the whole 'you're a demigod' situation, paradise starts to become suspicious. Most times, it was a trap.
The girl with the braided caramel hair, the one who'd called herself Calypso, was standing at the beach, talking to someone. Perch couldn't see the other person very well in the shimmer from the sunlight off the water, but they appeared to be arguing.
Percy tried to remember what he knew about Calypso from the old myths. He'd heard the name before, but ... he couldn't remember. Was she a monster? Did she trap heroes and kill them? But if she were evil, why was he still alive?
He walked towards Calypso slowly because his legs were still sore. When the grass changed to gravel, he looked down to keep his balance, and when he looked up again, the girl was alone. She wore a white sleeveless Greek dress with a circular neckline trimmed in gold. She brushed her eyes like she'd just been crying.
"Well," she said, trying for a smile, "the sleeper finally awakes."
Percy couldn't help but ask, "Who were you talking to?" His voice sounded like a frog that had spent time in a microwave. He cringed but she didn't seem to mind.
"Oh ... just a messenger," she replied. "How do you feel?"
Not too great.
"How long have I been out?"
She looked at him funny. "Time," she mused. "Time is always difficult here. I honestly don't know, Percy."
His guard started to build again when Calypso said his name. "You know my name?"
"You talk in your sleep."
He winced. "Yeah. I've been ... uh, told that before."
"Yes. Who is Violet?"
"Uh, a friend." Could he call her a friend anymore? He kissed her, that wasn't a very friendly activity. "Yeah. A good friend."
"And ... Nico?"
That, Percy was sure about. "I know him. He, uh, doesn't exactly like me."
Calypso hummed. "Is he an enemy?"
"... I hope not." Percy shrugged, wanting to change the topic. "How did I get here? And, um, where is here?"
Calypso reached up and ran her fingers through his mangled hair. Percy stepped back nervously.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, taking back her hand. "I've just grown used to caring for you. As to how you got here, you fell from the sky. You landed in the water, just there." She pointed across the beach. "I do not know how you survived. The water seemed to cushion your fall. As to where you are, you are in Ogygia."
Percy wasn't great at geography, and so he asked, "Is that near Mount St. Helens?"
Calypso laughed. It was a small, restrained laugh, like she found him really funny but didn't want to embarrass him. "It isn't near anything," she said. "Ogygia is my phantom island. It exists by itself, anywhere and nowhere. You can heal here in safety. Never fear."
He frowned. "But my friends—"
"Violet. Annabeth," she answered. "And Grover and Tyson?"
"Yes!" Percy said. "I have to get back to them. They're in danger."
Though they seemed to have gotten back to Camp okay, he thought. Violet and Nico were on the front porch of the Big House. That was a good sign.
He hoped, at least.
She watched him sadly. "Rest first. You are no good to your friends until you heal."
As soon as she said it, Percy realized how tired he was.
"You're not ... you're not an evil sorceress, are you?"
( He had to ask, alright? )
Calypso smiled coyly. "Why would you think that?"
'Well, I met Circe once, and she had a pretty nice island, too. Except she liked to turn men into guinea pigs. Was gonna give me to a classroom to be a pet." He shuddered at the thought.
Calypso laughed again. "I promise I will not turn you into a guinea pig."
"Or anything else?"
"I am no evil sorceress," she promised. "And I am not your enemy, brave one. Now rest. Your eyes are already closing."
"That's what evil sorceresses always say ..." he murmured, feeling the heavy weight of sleep setting in.
"Sleep," she ordered.
Percy's knees buckled beneath him. He would've landed face-first into the gravel if Calypso hadn't caught him. She walked him back to the cushioned bench by the fountain and helped him lie down.
"Rest," she ordered. And Percy fell asleep to the sound of the fountains and the smell of cinnamon and juniper. For some odd reason, he really missed the scent of lily of the valley—what Violet always smelled like.
🌷
He wasn't sure how long he slept, and he wasn't sure how the dream started, but he knew it didn't spell out anything good. ( Even him, with dyslexia, could tell that. )
The dream was picturesque—in a dark way. The air was cool and damp, making his skin prickle from the cold. Walls of flowers grew around him, luminous and able to grow even in such a dark place. Some plants were able to grow in the dark—subterranean trees glowed sickly greens and noisy blues, and orange blossoms that glowed neon in the dark. White birch trees grew high into the air like frozen ghosts, hanging over menacingly. Along the ground were poisonous scrubs and multi-colored mushrooms.
A brook led further into the garden, telling Percy which way to walk, and he listened. It wasn't all normal flowers, which were already pretty unusual, as he walked he spotted compensation for the lack of floral diversity—precious jewels, like raw diamonds, and piles of rubies were strewn about. He nearly grabbed a crystal from a tree nearby, and flower beds overflowed with golden plants and gemstones.
Mom could buy a mansion with this stuff, Percy thought to himself, knowing he couldn't take any of it with him.
The lights from the glowing plants reflected with the gems and crystals, creating a depressing version of strobe lights. Medusa's garden statues of petrified children, satyrs, and centaurs were placed here and there, smiling down at Percy grotesquely. Skeletal trees grew from marble bases, and flowers bloomed blood-red and ghost-white.
He passed a dark veranda as he followed the brook further inside. The veranda overlooked the garden, with a silver throne, a table, and a shadow fountain in the corner. And not much further was a sight that made Percy's heart drop even further.
He had reached the very center of the garden, and an orchard of pomegranate trees stood tall into the sky. Even in his dream, Percy could smell the overwhelmingly sweet tart of the fruit that grew abundantly down here.
Even years later, he could still recognize the place he only glimpsed—Persephone's Garden. On his first quest, when they finally reached the Underworld, they had to briefly walk through the garden, and even that made Grover nearly grab and take a bit of a pomegranate—which would mean he could've never left the Land of the Dead.
It made him wonder how Violet and Nico were withstanding the urge, standing over one very large tree.
They were talking in hushed whispers, talking furiously to one another. That dark sword hung at Violet's hip now, no longer bent in half, and looking pristine. It glinted like nighttime, so similar to Nico's own sword.
Violet stared at one spot, jaw tight. "I can't believe it ..."
Nico glanced at her nervously. "What can we do?"
The daughter of Eros's jaw ticked. "Nothing. And for all I care—he can rot there."
He frowned. "You don't mean that."
She looked over quickly. "You hate him, why do you care what I mean?"
Nico didn't seem to have an answer. "So ... what now?"
"We ..." Violet placed her hand on the hilt of the sword—Elain Nevitt's sword. "I don't know."
"We have to tell someone," he insisted.
"I know," she agreed with a sigh. "But ... maybe just not yet."
Suddenly, they both looked in Percy's direction. But they weren't looking at Percy, they were looking straight through him. The air grew colder and thinner, and Violet cringed and bowed, nudging Nico, who followed her lead.
"Lord Hades," she greeted.
🌷
Percy woke up at night, which seemed like cruel irony after dreaming of the Underworld—where it was always dark. He was in the bed in the cave somehow. He rose and wrapped a robe around himself and padded outside. The stars were brilliant—thousands of them, like you only see way out in the country. He could make out some constellations Annabeth had drilled into his head: Capricorn, Pegasus, Sagittarius. And there, near the southern horizon, was a new constellation: the Huntress, a tribute to a friend. She ran across the night sky, bringing a new light to the dark sky.
"Percy, what do you see?"
He looked back down. "I was just looking at ..." He frowned. "At the stars."
Calypso smiled, but it was almost bitter in some way. "Yes. Beautiful, aren't they? Well, as long as you're up, you can help me plant these."
She handed Percy a plant, which had a clump of earth and roots at the base. The flowers' petals glowed as he held them. Like the flowers in Persephone's Garden, he thought briefly, shaking the thought away before it could fester. Calypso picked up her gardening spade and directed him to the edge of the garden, where she began to dig.
"That's moonlace," Calypso explained. "It can only be planted at night."
He watched the silvery light flicker around the petals. "What does it do?"
"Do?" she mused. "It doesn't really do anything, I suppose. It lives, it gives light, it provides beauty. Does it have to do anything else?"
"I suppose not," he muttered.
She took the plant, placed the moonlace in the hole, and stepped back, surveying her work. "I love my garden."
"It's awesome," Percy agreed. He wasn't the gardening type, but he knew Violet would be gushing about it all. As much as she pretended she only helped her mother with the floral shop because she had to, Percy saw the way her eyes would light up when people mentioned flowers and gardening. It felt like an odd thing—a daughter of Eros to be so infatuated with plants, but it just made sense to Percy. Well—it didn't make sense, but that was how Violet was; she was unexplainable.
Calypso had arbors covered with six different colors of roses, lattices filled with honeysuckle, clusters of clovers placed in circles, clusters of asters and begonias ( he only those because of Violet ), and rows of grapevines bursting with red and purple grapes that would've made Dionysus sit up and beg.
"Back home," he started, "my mom always wanted a garden."
"Why did she not plant one?"
"Well, we live in Manhattan. In an apartment."
"Manhattan? Apartment?"
He stared at Calypso. "You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?"
"I fear not. I haven't left Ogygia in ... a long time."
"Well, Manhattan's a big city, with not much gardening space." Percy gestured back to the garden. "Violet always said she would add more green spaces—or hunt down some developers to do it. She insisted that nature makes people happier."
Calypso watched him. "You talk of Violet a lot. Is she your greatest friend?"
The tips of Percy's ears burned. It was kinda hard to forget her when she keeps popping up in my dreams, he thought, doing gods know what in the Persephone's Garden.
He dodged the question; "You mean best friend?"
"Is that the term used?" she asked. "Well, yes, is Violet your best friend?"
"Well ..." Percy frowned at the dirt below. "I can't say she's my best friend, but she's—" He stopped. He didn't know what to call Violet. You don't just kiss friends, but they weren't exactly ... "I think she's just in danger. I'm worried—about all of my friends."
Calypso hummed, and Percy got the feeling she knew exactly what Percy wasn't saying. ( And he wished she would share because he didn't even know. )
"Anyways," he started quickly, "Manhattan's a huge city. And there isn't much room for gardens like this—or at all. My mom has little flower beds outside our apartment windows, but she can't grow anything like this with those. Violet's mom owns a floral—"
He stopped, looking at Calypso, who raised her eyebrows at him in a Continue manner. "Violet's mom owns a what?" she asked.
Percy was only proving Calypso right, completely unintentionally. He hadn't, or wouldn't have ever, noticed he mentioned Violet so much if Calypso hadn't pointed it out. He shrugged, rubbing his arm. "A floral shop. But it's mainly bouquets and floral arrangements. It's not gardens like this."
Calypso smiled, almost sadly. "That is sad. Hermes visits from time to time. He tells me the world outside has changed greatly. I did not realize it had changed so much you cannot have gardens."
"Why don't you just leave?"
"It is not that simple, Percy." Calypso stared at the greenery, an expression of longing on her face. "I cannot leave. That is my punishment."
"So ... how long has this punishment been going on?"
"A millennia or so." She frowned. "I told you. Time is difficult here."
"That's a long time." Percy raised his eyebrows. "What did you do?"
"I? Nothing. But I'm afraid my father did a great deal. His name is Atlas."
The name sent a shiver down Percy's back. He'd met the Titan Atlas last winter, and it had not been a happy time. He'd tried to kill pretty much everyone he cared about.
"... Still," he said hesitantly. "It's not fair to punish you for what your father's done. I knew another daughter of Atlas. Her name was Zoë. She was one of the bravest people I've ever met."
Calypso studied him for a long time. Her eyes were sad.
"What is it?" he asked, frowning.
"Are—are you healed yet? Do you think you'll be ready to leave soon?"
"What?" He frowned. "I don't know." He moved his legs. They were still stiff. I was already getting dizzy from standing up for so long. "You want me to go?"
"I ..." Calypso's voice broke. "I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well."
She ran off towards the beach. Percy was too confused to do anything but watch until she disappeared in the dark.
🌷
Calypso was right. Telling time on Ogygia was difficult. Percy had no idea how many days passed. He knew he should be leaving. At the very least, his friends would be worried. At worst, they could be in serious danger. He didn't even know if Annabeth had made it out of the volcano. Violet and Nico had been in the Underworld somehow, in Persephone's Garden, with Hades suddenly appearing. But he at least knew those two were alive; Percy tried to use his empathy link with Grover several times, but he couldn't make contact.
He hated not knowing if they were all right. Some part of him waited for another dream of Violet and Nico to come to him but—nothing. Nothing at all. He wanted to believe that was a good thing, but the anxious part of his brain kept screaming that it wasn't.
Percy knew he should be leaving, but ... he was still weak. He couldn't stay on his feet for more than a few hours. Whatever he'd done in Mount St. Helens had drained him like nothing else he had ever experienced.
He didn't feel like a prisoner or anything. He remembered the Lotus Hotel and Casino in Vegas, where he, Annabeth, and Grover had been lured into this amazing game world until they almost forgot everything they ever cared for.
But the island of Ogygia wasn't like that at all. He thought about Violet, Annabeth, Grover, and Tyson constantly. He remembered exactly why he needed to leave. He just ... couldn't.
As much as he didn't want to admit it, a huge part that kept him on the island was Calypso. She never talked much about herself, but that made Percy want to know more.
One night they were eating dinner together at the beach. Invisible servants had set up a table with beef stew and apple cider, which may not sound all that exciting, but that's because you haven't tasted it. Percy hadn't even noticed the invisible servants when he first got to the island, but after a while, he became aware of the beds making themselves, meals cooking on their own, and clothes being washed and folded by unseen hands.
He and Calypso were sitting at dinner one night. He was telling her about New York and Camp Half-Blood, and then he started telling her about the time Grover had eaten an apple while he, Annabeth, and the satyr were playing Hacky Sack with it. Calypso laughed, showing off her amazing smile, and their eyes met. As quick as light, her smile dropped and she looked off.
"Why do you do that?" he asked suddenly.
"What?"
"You—pull away." He frowned.
She kept her eyes on her glass of cider. "As I told you, Percy, I have been punished. Cursed, you might say."
"How? Tell me. I want to help."
"Don't say that." Calypso closed her eyes, eyebrows pinched. "Please don't say that."
"Tell me what the punishment is."
She covered her half-finished stew with a napkin, and immediately an invisible servant whisked the bowl away. "Percy, this island, Ogygia, is my home, my birthplace. But it is also my prison. I am under ... house arrest, I guess you would call it. I will never visit this Manhattan of yours. Or anywhere else. I am alone here."
"Because your father was Atlas."
She nodded. "The gods do not trust their enemies. And rightly so. I should not complain. Some of the prisons are not nearly as nice as mine."
"But that's not fair," he protested. "Just because you're related doesn't mean you support him. This other daughter I knew, Zoë Nightshade—she fought against him. She wasn't imprisoned."
"But, Percy," Calypso said gently, "I did support him in the first war. He is my father."
"What? But the Titans are evil!"
"Are they? All of them? All the time?" She pursed her lips. "Tell me, Percy. I have no wish to argue with you. But do you support the gods because they are good, or because they are your family?"
Percy didn't answer. Calypso had a point. Last winter, after they had saved Olympus, the gods had a debate about whether or not they should kill Percy and Thalia simply for being children of the Big Three. It was eye-opening, for sure. But, still, he felt like he supported them because Poseidon was his dad, not because he had actual loyalties to the Olympians.
"Perhaps I was wrong in the war," she mused sadly. "And, in fairness, the gods have treated me well. They visit me from time to time. They bring me word of the outside world. But they can leave. But I cannot."
"You don't have any friends?" he asked. "I mean ... wouldn't anyone else live here with you? It's a nice place."
That question seemed to touch a nerve. She took a shuddering breath. "I ... I promised myself I wouldn't speak of this. But—"
She was interrupted by a rumbling somewhere out on the lake. A glow appeared on the horizon. It got brighter and brighter, until Percy could see a column of fire moving across the surface of the water, coming towards the two.
Percy stood and reached for Riptide. "What is that?"
Calypso sighed. "A visitor."
As the column of fire reached the beach, Calypso stood and bowed to it formally. The flames dissipated, and standing before us was a tall man in grey overalls and a metal leg brace, his beard and hair smoldering with fire.
"Lord Hephaestus," Calypso said. "This is a rare honor."
The fire god grunted. "Calypso. Beautiful as always. Would you excuse us, please, my dear? I need to have a word with our young Percy Jackson."
🌷
Hephaestus sat down clumsily at the dinner table and ordered a Pepsi. The invisible servant brought him one, opened it too suddenly, and sprayed soda all over the god's work clothes. Hephaestus roared and spat a few curses and swatted the can away.
"Stupid servants," he muttered. "Good automatons are what she needs. They never act up!"
"Hephaestus," Percy said, "what's going on? Is everybody—"
"They're fine. I suppose," he said, waving his hand. "Athena's daughter—resourceful one, she is. Found her way back, told me the whole story. She's worried sick, you know."
That pit that had been eating away at Percy since he arrived suddenly gave out like a sinkhole. "And—Violet?"
The god gave him a careful look. "She never arrived back. Athena's girl was alone."
"But Violet is—"
"No word," Hephaestus grumbled. "Suppose the Labyrinth still has her."
"That's not—" Percy sat forward, going pale. "I know she's not in the Labyrinth, er, Lord Hephaestus. Not that I doubt you, it's just—I saw her at Camp, in my—"
Percy couldn't just say in my dreams. That would sound stupid. And he had no way to prove it to Hephaestus, who believed Violet was still lost in the Labyrinth, all by herself. The thought made Percy suddenly sick.
"You need something for your nerves, boy." Hephaestus snapped his finger and an invisible servant flew over with a can of Pepsi.
"I—" He gave the god a bewildered look. "Um, thank you."
"You're welcome," he grumbled in reply. "Now—the reason I came here."
"Wait!" Percy blurted. "Did you at least tell Annabeth that I was alright?"
"That's not for me to say," Hephaestus admitted. "Everyone thinks you're dead. I had to be sure you were coming back before I started telling everyone where you were."
"What do you mean?" Percy frowned. "Of course I'm coming back!"
Hephaestus studied the boy skeptically. He fished something out of his pocket—a metal disc the size of an iPod. He clicked a button and it expanded into a miniature bronze TV. On the screen was news footage of Mount St. Helens, a huge plume of fire and ash trailing into the sky.
"Still uncertain about further eruptions," the newscaster was saying, "authorities have ordered the evacuation of almost half a million people as a precaution. Meanwhile, ash has fallen as far away as Lake Tahoe and Vancouver, and the entire Mount St. Helens area is closed to traffic within a hundred-mile radius. While no deaths have been reported, minor injuries and illnesses include—"
Hephaestus switched it off. "You caused quite an explosion."
He said it so calmly, Percy could've relaxed if he hadn't just heard the news. Half a million people evacuated? Injuries. Illness. What had he done?
"The telkhines were scattered," the god told Percy. "Some vaporized. Some got away, no doubt. I don't think they'll be using my forge any time soon. On the other hand, neither will I. The explosion caused Typhon to stir in his sleep. We'll have to wait and see—"
"I couldn't release him, could I? I mean, I'm not that powerful!"
The god grunted. "Not that powerful, eh? Could have fooled me. You're the son of the Earthshaker, lad. You don't know your own strength."
That's the last thing Percy wanted Hephaestus to say. He hadn't been in control of himself in that mountain. He'd released so much energy he'd almost vaporized himself, draining all the life out of him. Now Percy found out he'd nearly destroyed the Northwest US and almost woken the most horrible monster ever imprisoned by the gods. Maybe it was safer for his friends to think he was dead.
"What about Grover and Tyson?" he asked.
Hephaestus shook his head. "No word, I'm afraid. I suppose the Labyrinth has them."
So three friends were possibly stuck down in that horrible place, Percy thought bitterly.
"So what am I supposed to do?" He sounded miserable, even to himself.
Hephaestus winced. "Don't ever ask an old cripple for advice, lad. But I'll tell you this. You've met my wife?"
"Aphrodite."
"That's her. She's a tricky one, lad. Be careful of love. It'll twist your brain around and leave you thinking up is down and right is wrong."
Percy thought about his meeting with Aphrodite, in the back of a white Cadillac in the desert last winter. She'd told Percy that she had taken a special interest in him, and she'd be making things hard for him in the romance department, just because she liked him.
"Is this part of her plan?" he asked. "Did she land me here?"
"Possibly. Hard to say with her. But if you decide to leave this place—and I don't say what's right or wrong—then I promised you an answer to your quest. I promised you the way to Daedalus. Well now, here's the thing. It has nothing to do with Ariadne's string. Not really. Sure, the string works. That's what the Titans' army will be after. But the best way through the maze ... Theseus had the princess's help. And the princess was a regular mortal. Not a drop of god blood in her. But she was clever, and she could see, lad. She could see very clearly. So what I'm saying—I think you know how to navigate the maze."
It finally sank in. Why hadn't he seen it before? Hera had been right. The answer was there all the time.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Yeah, I know."
"Then you'll need to decide whether or not you're leaving."
"I ..." Percy wanted to say yes. That he would. That he had no doubt about his choice. But the words got stuck in his throat. He found himself looking out at the lake, and suddenly the idea of leaving seemed very hard.
"Don't decide yet," Hephaestus advised. "Wait until daybreak. Daybreak is a good time for decisions."
"Will Daedalus even help us?" Percy asked. "I mean, if he gives Luke a way to navigate the Labyrinth, we're dead. I saw dreams about ... Daedalus killed his nephew. He turned bitter and angry and—"
"It isn't easy being a brilliant inventor," Hephaestus rumbled. "Always alone. Always misunderstood. Easy to turn bitter, make horrible mistakes. People are more difficult to work with than machines. And when you break a person, he can't be fixed."
Hephaestus brushed the last drops of Pepsi off his work clothes. "Daedalus started well enough. He helped the Princess Ariadne and Theseus because he felt sorry for them. He tried to do a good deed. And everything in his life went bad because of it. Was that fair?" The god shrugged. "I don't know if Daedalus will help you, lad, but don't judge someone until you've stood at his forge and worked with his hammer, eh?"
"I'll—I'll try."
Hephaestus stood. "Goodbye, lad. You did well, destroying the telkhines. I'll always remember you for that."
It sounded very final, that goodbye. Then he erupted into a column of flame, and the fire moved over the water, heading back to the world outside.
🌷
Percy had always been pretty impulsive, and he decided things pretty easily, but he had never been more conflicted. And daybreak arrived sooner than ever.
Calypso watched knowingly. "He has ordered you to return."
"Well, not ordered. He gave me a choice."
She raised her eyebrows and looked off. "I promised I would not offer."
"Offer what?"
"For you to stay."
"Stay," he repeated. "Like ... forever?"
"You would be immortal on this island," she said quietly. "You would never age or die. You could leave the fight to others, Percy Jackson. You could escape your prophecy."
"Just like that?" he asked.
She nodded. "Just like that."
"But ... my friends." Who all thought he was dead. And Percy could predict exactly how they'd mourn.
Annabeth would cry—although deny to everyone—and probably scream, and curse a couple of gods, too. She read every book, searched through every scroll, and every source of knowledge she could get her hands on to try and find a way to find out if Percy was alive—and how to bring him back. She'd keep trying until the day she died.
Percy didn't even want to imagine the heartbroken look on Tyson's face. Or the pure sadness on Grover's. Grover had been there for him since Yancy Academy—since the beginning of this madness. He had seen Percy at his absolute worst, snot-faced and puffy-eyed after losing his mother to the Minotaur.
And Violet ...
No, she was at Camp. No matter what Hephaestus said. It wasn't like Percy's dreams would lie to him. He almost preferred thinking how she would mourn his death than thinking she was lost to the Labyrinth forever. It was hard to say how she would mourn—deny until she no longer couldn't? Run from the idea? Become so angry she cursed the gods? Percy liked to think she would care that much for him.
"You asked about my curse, Percy." Calypso rose, crossing her arms over her chest. "I did not want to tell you. The truth is, the gods send me companionship from time to time. Every thousand years or so, they allow a hero to wash up on my shores, someone who needs my help. I tend to him and befriend him, but it is never random. The Fates make sure that the sort of hero they send ..."
Her voice trembled, and she had to stop.
Percy wanted to reach out, but stopped. Calypso had been so distant, he didn't want to cross that. "Did I do something?"
She shook her head, a sad smile crossing her face. "They send a person who can never stay," she whispered. "Who can never accept my offer of companionship for more than a little while. They send me a hero I can't help ... just the sort of person I can't help falling in love with."
It was quiet except for the gurgle of the fountains and waves lapping on the shore. It took Percy a long time to realize what she was saying.
"Me?"
"If you could see your face." Her eyes were teary, but she smiled at him. "Of course, you."
"That's why you kept your distance? You wanted to ... go against your punishment?"
"I tried very hard. But I can't help it. The Fates are cruel. They sent you to me, my brave one, knowing that you would break my heart."
"But ... I'm just ... I mean, I'm just me."
"That is enough," Calypso promised. "I told myself I would not even speak of this. I would let you go without even offering. But I can't. I suppose the Fates knew that, too. You could stay with me, Percy. I'm afraid that is the only way you could help me."
Percy stared at the horizon. The first red streaks of dawn were lightening the sky. He could stay here forever, disappear from the earth. He could live with Calypso, with invisible servants tending to his every need. They could grow flowers in the garden and talk to songbirds and walk on the beach under perfect blue skies.
No war. No prophecy. No more taking sides.
"I can't."
She looked down sadly.
"I don't want to hurt you," he insisted. "But my friends need me. I know how to help them now. I have to get back."
She picked a flower from her garden—a sprig of silver moonlace. Its glow faded as the sunrise came up. Daybreak is a good time for decisions, Hephaestus had said. Calypso tucked the flower into the T-shirt pocket Percy wore.
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the forehead, like a blessing. "Then come to the beach, my hero. And we will send you on your way."
The words hurt, and he knew they hurt Calypso much more than they hurt Percy.
The raft was a ten-foot square of logs lashed together with a pole for a mast and a simple white linen sail. It didn't look like it would be very seaworthy, or lakeworthy.
"This will take you wherever you desire," Calypso promised. "It is quite safe."
"Maybe I can visit you," he started.
She only shook her head. "No man ever finds Ogygia twice, Percy. When you leave, I will never see you again."
"But—"
"Go, please." Her voice broke. "The Fates are cruel, Percy. Just remember me." Then a little trace of her smile returned. "Plant a garden in Manhattan for me, will you?"
"I promise." He stepped onto the raft. Immediately it began to sail from the shore.
He turned back, to have just one last look, but the Ogygia was already gone. Just like that. Percy's decision had been made.
🌷 SEPT. 17TH, 2023 / this chapter made me sad- for a lot of reasons
calypso :( i have a lot of pity for her especially in pjo (because i act like caleo and her new ,,, characterization didn't happen in heroes of olympus)
personally i really do believe she does not want to be in a relationship but is literally cursed to fall in love - but she still does crave companionship, even if its friendship instead of romantic (if that makes sense)
anyways - percy thinking about violet huhuhu long time coming - i love the idea of him always sorta having a small crush on her ,, like not really ever thought about bc they didn't interact after his stay in cabin eleven ended until ttc
but now he's really committed so - you can't get rid of her! 4lifers 🤞🤞
percy when he dreamed of violet and kept thinking about her:
ideas on what's going on with vi after the
explosion??
anyways,, thoughts?? opinions??
(not edited and not proofread)