"We need to get going."
I looked up, gaping at Jester's slumped form. His fingers curled around his arms, crinkling the fabric of his too-big jacket, his gaze trained solidly on the dirty alley floor.
Ryland's arms dropped from my shoulders as he turned to face him. "What?" He asked.
"We need to get going," Jester repeated, resolutely glaring at the floor, refusing to make eye contact with any of us. "We can't stay here. Demigod blood in the air, plus the scents of all the half-bloods that were here in the past hour alone? Monsters'll be pouring in by the dozen." His hands fell from his arms, instead coming to a rest on the hilts of his weapons. "We need to go before they get here."
I watched as Cynthia lifted her head off of her knees, hair sticking to the tear tracts on her cheeks. Ryland shifted, hesitance pouring off of him in waves. I watched him glance at Cynthia's stricken expression, then at me, then at all of Marc's stuff on the floor. His spear glinted in the dim light. "Jester's..." He hesitated. "... Right." He turned his head to look at me imploringly. I ducked, scrubbing at my eyes with more vigour than what was strictly needed, dashing stubborn tears away.
I didn't know if the fact that my friend was gone would ever truly hit me. Marc was an idiot- a brash, cocky, overzealous idiot who put himself in danger at every possible chance to get as much attention as humanely possible. He liked the spotlight, liked showing other people up, liked wearing his dad's name like a medal of honour. Our friendship ran purely on the countless duels he challenged me to, from the crack of dawn to curfew, growing from legitimate fights to ones spent like a conversation, where he'd talk his ass off about something or other that went on in his cabin or at some activity and I'd listen and try not to get my head lopped off.
He said he was a soldier, and I couldn't have agreed more. He hadn't thought twice about shoving me out of the way of a shot that would've killed me for sure, even though he was barely walking from an arrow to the side. He didn't hesitate when he offered to come along on this stupid quest in the first place, shaking my hand and pledging his commitment with a grin and a "pleasure doing business with you". He hadn't even second guessed himself when he fought me in our very first sword fight, cocky and abrasive as ever even after getting his ass handed to him by Percy.
People said children of Ares were stupid and insane, and most of the time I saw where they were coming from. They rocked the war games and capture the flag, but I never saw their names in the leaderboards for much else. But Marc?
He'd been reliable to a fault. He'd been an amazing cook. He'd been supportive of me, even when I'd lied to him. He'd been a friend. He'd been so much more than a son of Ares stereotype.
He'd been a hero.
And now he was gone.
"Yeah," I spoke up, building off of Ryland's words. I breathed in once, before looking up, pushing fallen strands of hair away from my eyes. I shoved all of the screaming thoughts in my mind to the side, doing my best to file away the pain and grief that had still yet to take over completely. I chalked it up to some silent blessing from him before he... left, a mental pat on the back to remind us to "Keep your damn heads in the game, yeah?"
"Marc wouldn't want us moping around. We should get this quest over and done with." I turned, fetching my fallen duffel bag and tossing the ones that belonged to my friends back to them, watching as each of them caught their own. Marc's things still laid neatly at our feet. No one made a move to pack them up. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready for this quest to be over," I continued, slinging the strap over my shoulder.
A moment of silence passed before Cynthia stood, pushing her matted hair off her cheeks and tucking the short strands behind her ears. "We need to make it back to Camp to tell his cabin that he went out fighting, too," she said, shining grey eyes meeting mine determinedly. I nodded once, remembering his request for a kick-ass shroud burning.
Jester watched me silently, before he slung on his own bag, nodding once in my direction. His cheeks were hollowed, as if he'd aged ten years in the few minutes of Marc's passing. I didn't blame him. Whatever I was feeling, he had to be feeling much, much worse.
Ryland brushed my shoulder with his, his silvery eyes sad. "To the ocean?" He asked, voice quiet.
I nodded. "To the ocean."
-
As we stepped out into the street, I felt a shudder run through my body. The Mist slunk around our ankles, curling this way and that, feeling unreasonably thick against the soles of my shoes. I glanced up and around, instantly on edge. I didn't know much about the stuff that I could apparently work with thanks to Hecate, but by then, I knew when something was up.
My fingers travelled automatically to my wrist, before feeling nothing but empty skin. Blinking, I abruptly recalled dropping my sword during the... final battle. Wincing, I cast my gaze around, looking for the familiar glow of celestial bronze in the shimmering puddles on the floor. It took me a moment, but I spotted the leaf shaped blade lying innocently enough by the side of the Chinese medicine shop.
I jogged over as my teammates continued on, bending over to snatch the blade up in one hand. The blade thrummed strangely in my palm, still warm, despite the fact that the battle was over. The inscription of its name seemed to shift and slide in my vision, but I thought nothing of it. My dyslexia made wriggly letters the norm at this point.
What did catch me off guard, though, was the face in the window as I looked up.
A gasp caught itself in my throat as I gazed up at the dark glass, which seemed to- and it must have been the exhaustion finally kicking in- ripple as I watched it, slow waves travelling over the surface of the glass. Behind, or on, it, an image swam in and out of focus. I saw two life-sized figures standing in the glass, arms held out, as if seconds away from grabbing me and hauling me through the glass. Normally, I would've stumbled back, because seeing figures in the glass either meant 1. A monster was about to make a helluva entrance or 2. Your brain was finally collapsing under the strain of, well, everything, but it was the face, which was most certainly not mine, that froze me in place.
For a single, delirious moment, I thought that Marc had returned. But the glass continued to ripple, finally revealing a face that was decidedly not Marc, with bright amber eyes and long, shoulder length dark curls half-tied back framing the expression of a very, very surprised boy. A boy that seemed so, so familiar...
His lips moved soundlessly, incredulity painting his features as our eyes met. I tried to guess what he was saying, slowly making out an "are" and a "you"-
"Calypso!"
I startled, stumbling back from the glass window. The image rippled once more, before dissipating like smoke into nothingness.
I stared. Had that been real?
I heard footsteps before a hand landed on my forearm, jostling me to turn and stare at the person who'd called my name. Ryland raised his eyebrows.
"Hey," he said, "you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost." Then, he grimaced. "Gods. Why did I- No. Sorry. I-"
I touched his hand, feeling the tension from that one moment drain out of my shoulders as he floundered. "Hey," I interrupted, a sad kind of smile curving my lips. "It's okay." I grimaced. "It was nothing. I just thought I saw something." I felt a now-familiar pull in my gut as I lied to him, but, gods. Did we really need something like this right now? Our friend had just... left us, and we were tired and grubby from everything that had happened over, what, two, three days? I did not want to add seeing strange boys in the glass windows of Chinese medicine shops to the list of grievances we were already trying to deal with.
And... something about him had made my mind stutter. He'd been so familiar, like I'd seen him before. Like I'd known him before...
Before what? Before all of this Greek gods nonsense? That couldn't be true. I'd have remembered if someone had appeared to me in glass windows before. Unless the Mist has taken care of that or something. Or if I'd just had an overly hyperactive imagination. Which, clinically and officially, I did.
Poseidon's underpants.
"... He would have found it funny," I told him wryly, smiling a little. Conflict flickered over Ryland's features, before an equally tentative smile crept over his lips, doing little to dull the grief in his eyes but doing wonders to the worry in my heart.
"You're right," he said, huffing a little in amusement. "Got your sword, then? Let's catch up with the others."
I wrapped my fingers tightly around the hilt, feeling the thrum slowly fade into nothingness. Oddly, I felt a slight sense of loss as it faded away.
I mustered the best smile I could manage. "Yeah. Let's go."
-
Cynthia stopped us as we reached a bigger, yet still empty street, holding her arm out abruptly. "Wait."
Jester rocked on the balls of his feet. "For what?" He snapped. "We're not far away enough yet. Monsters could appear any second-"
"I know," Cynthia said. Her chest shuddered as she breathed out.
"What is it, Cyn?" I asked, stepping up towards her. She pursed her lips, then turned to face us.
"I think we should talk about the prophecy," she said. "Before... before, you know, before we go in. Marc's d-" she breathed in slowly. "Departure... that was foretold in the prophecy. We should try to predict what happens next and... and prepare for it."
I sighed, turning her suggestion over in my head. It made sense, to anticipate what was to come. But something about the way she stood- closed off, eyes lowered, lips pursed- made me feel like that wasn't entirely what she meant. But what else could she mean? Cynthia was the most well versed in strategy of the group, and I trusted her intellect. I was about to nod in agreement before a cold voice broke in.
"You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you?" Jester asked, voice suddenly dangerously low. We turned to look at him. I raised my eyebrows in surprise.
"That we plan?" Ryland asked, sounding just as surprised as I felt. "It's not a half bad plan, Ford."
"No," he said, eyes trained on Cynthia's still form. "That we try to go against the prophecy."
I gaped at him. What?
Go against the prophecy? That couldn't have been what Cynthia meant. It wasn't possible. At least, Chiron had said it wasn't. I mean, it was called a prophecy for a reason.
But I remembered the far-away look in Chiron's eyes as he spoke about them, seeing countless lifetimes that I couldn't begin to guess at. Countless lifetimes of demigods lost to the Oracle's words. All those lives lost, and now Marc, my friend...
Was there a way to go against the prophecy?
Cynthia's gaze was steel as she met Jester's eyes. "Maybe I am," she said. "Marc shouldn't have died. It's not fair. You know it's not fair, Jester."
Jester ground his teeth. "Of course I know it's not fair, Rose," he said. "He was my friend."
"Then you should be on my side," she said, voice trembling. "The prophecy's condemned him for no reason. And now, he's gone, because some ladies weaving thread thought it was about time for him to go. If we can think of a way to prevent that, we could stop someone else from dying! We have one more chance to fix this!"
"No!" He shouted, slamming his flesh leg down. His outburst shocked Cynthia into stepping back, her eyes blown wide with grief and pain and fear- but not a fear of Jester. This was a fear that spoke of experience, of watching friends cross a border only to never return again. I felt something in my chest ache for her. "No," he said, quieter, but still seething. With anger or something else, I didn't know, but he was definitely riled up. "It's not right. Going against a prophecy is asking for trouble. It's like firing off a flare to the Fates asking to be shot down by the King of Olympus himself. It's not right."
"How would you know?" She asked, her voice small, but strong. She was serious about this. "We could've saved him. I know we could've. If he'd just- just stayed still, he'd still be okay-"
"No!" Jester yelled, surging forward.
"Hey!" I shouted, stepping in front of Cynthia as Ryland shot out to hold him back with a grunt.
"Easy!" he said, but Jester pushed him away, eyes still trained on Cynthia.
"We couldn't have, okay!" Jester shouted. "It was foretold! There was nothing we could do!"
"How do you know?" She yelled back. "How-?"
"Because I could see it!" Jester cried out, like someone was physically ripping the words out of his chest. Ryland stopped trying to hold him back at the same time as Jester slumped, his back hunched, his eyes closed, his chest heaving. Dark hair shrouded his face in shadows as his head dropped, one hand still balanced on Ryland's arm. Cynthia was silent beside me, mouth dropped open in confusion. I didn't blame her.
Silence reigned for what seemed like forever. Then, Ryland's voice slowly shattered it, quiet and puzzled. "... What do you mean?"
Jester didn't make a sound. His final outburst seemed to have sapped him of all his remaining strength. Cynthia shivered beside me as we stared at the son of Hephaestus, who looked seconds away from crumbling like the dust of the monsters we'd killed.
I felt Cynthia's fingers grab at the hem of my shirt and wordlessly gripped her hand in mine as we watched Ryland slowly grip Jester's shoulder with his free hand. "Jester?" I asked, my voice sounding weirdly loud in the quiet early morning air.
He jerked at the sound of my voice, eyes flicking up for a half second. Dark as obsidian eyes stared out at us, flickering with a fire that reminded me, very suddenly, that Jester wasn't like me, or Ryland, or probably even Cynthia and Marc. He'd been on the run for years before he'd been found by Marc. When he came to camp, he was already claimed, already a veteran, already lost his family and life and leg for no other reason than the fact that his dad was a god. While I was still battling off caricatures of mean girls in Yancy, he'd been gods knew where fighting for his right to even exist. He knew all about monsters, and the Mist, and the war, and the gods, and demigods- and had probably fought his fair share of every variant of Greek mythological nasties.
Simply put, he'd probably seen some shit.
If I were the person I'd been when I'd first met Jester, I'd have scoffed at his warnings. Maybe made fun of him a bit. But even though it hadn't been long, I knew better than to write him off so easily. I'd seen this guy in battle. I'd seen the stuff he could do. I could still feel the breath holding in my chest for the split second that he crouched beside me on the train to Boston, his finger already on the trigger of his Greek fire gun, aim unnaturally poised and true before any of us could even begin to realise what was happening. Sure, he was a jerk, but his cynicism was unfortunately well-earned.
But this... this was new.
'Because I could see it!' What the hell did he mean by that? Could he see into the future or something? At this point, with everything that's been going on, I wouldn't be surprised. But why would he keep something that useful hidden from us?
Hypocrite, a nagging voice in my head I suspected was called a conscience chastised. I tried my best to ignore it.
Jester's throat worked silently, before he opened his mouth to speak. "I..." he gritted his teeth, as if speaking was causing him real, physical pain. "I can always see it. Every move, every action, every person... I can see all of it."
"It?" Cynthia echoed. "Jester, you're not... you're not making any sense."
He jerked away from Ryland completely, his arms tensing as he took two slow steps away from us, standing in the entrance of the alleyway we'd just emerged from. The darkness of the alley threw him into shadow, hiding his pale features away from us. The early morning light glinted palely on his metal leg. "It's a blessing from my dad," he said. "Or a curse. Depends on how you see it." As he spoke, his tone began to sound more and moe clinical. Detached. But I could still hear the slightest tremble under all of that, the real emotions he was feeling as he talked. "I can see the possibilities. What can happen. What could happen. What should happen. All the time. It's like... it's like a video game hub." He huffed humourlessly, lifting his chin, ruffling his hair as he looked up. "I can see the statistics of certain things happening. The traits that make up a person. What can happen if I did this. If someone did that. If I did something to someone. But... it's never the good stuff."
Ryland looked back at me. In his eyes, I saw the beginnings of a thought I was already starting to form. The prophecy...
"I see the worst parts of a person. I see the worst parts of a thing. I see what I could do to make something fall apart, never to fix it." Jester laughed, a bitter sound, before he turned to look at us. The circles under his eyes were punch-dark, speaking of years of seeing the world in a way that none of us could begin to comprehend. "Can you imagine? Only being able to see the bad in everything?"
Ryland pursed his lips. "Jester..."
"That's how I know," Jester interrupted, "I saw it. I saw the moments before the spear was thrown. I saw the pistons firing in Marc's stupid brain. And I saw that there was no other way, no other world, no other universe where he would've done something different. Because I saw... I saw-"
"His flaws."
Jester stuttered to a stop, eyes widening in surprise, dropping into silence as he stared at me. I hadn't even realised I'd spoken until then. But it made such perfect sense.
The train. The manticore. The split second where he'd landed a shot even Apollo would've whistled at. At Camp, during capture the flag, when he'd taken Ryland out with a single hit. When he'd first arrived, when he'd taken one look at me and said, probably high off ambrosia and his nuts, 'You don't seem like that kind of person.' And...
The reader of flaws...
Of course.
"You can see the flaws," I continued. "The flaws of everything. You..." I swallowed, not wanting to believe what the prophecy had ordained him to do, but unable to face away from it. Jester smiled as he watched me: a sad, lonely crack in a face that was already cracked beyond belief. As if he knew what I was going to say and was just waiting for me to deliver the final verdict. And even though everything in me wanted to believe that this guy- who was by all accounts a major dickwad, but was also still a teammate and someone I was meant to trust- wasn't who the prophecy said he was...
... shall bring another's demise...
It was unmistakable.
"You're the reader of flaws."
Jester dropped his head back, tilting his face to the sky as he let the words sink in. Cynthia's grip tightened uncomfortably on my hand, and I looked at her to gauge her reaction. Her brow was furrowed, her jaw clenched, her throat working as she opened and closed her mouth silently, processing the words I'd just dropped. Ryland stood stock still between us and Jester, his hands hovering halfway between reaching for Jester and reaching for his hair. And I...
I didn't know what to think.
Truthfully, I didn't know anything about Jester. What I knew was common knowledge. He'd been the subject of a prophecy, picked up by Marc during a quest, brought to camp after fighting off a giant crab monster. He was the son of Hephaestus, had an inordinate amount of weapons, and had somehow crafted himself a leg out of scrap celestial bronze whole on the run. He knew about monsters, and he'd apparently burnt down a camp of renegade demigods that had served Kronos during the war. He was hard to read. He was loyal to Marc. He was a jerk.
He was prophesied to cause the death of someone else.
But other than that? Nothing. By all accounts, I had no reason to trust him.
Cynthia finally broke the silence. "Why didn't you tell us?" She asked. Her voice was slightly shrill, the slightest hints of panic in her tone. Jester's lips twitched.
"Come on, Athena spawn," he said. "You're supposed to be good at thinking. The prophecy said that the reader of flaws would bring another's demise. Would you have let me live if you knew I was going to end up killing someone on this quest?"
Wait, what?
"Let you live?" I echoed. "Jester, what the Hades?"
Jester quirked an eyebrow at me, his expression carefully blank. "Yeah?"
"We wouldn't have killed you," I said, baffled. The thought hadn't even crossed my mind. In a way, it made sense, but I would never... there was no way. He was a demigod, just like me- not only that, he hadn't done anything wrong yet. Just because the prophecy said he was supposed to do something didn't mean he was a bad person. "You haven't done anything wrong."
He laughed. "You're putting a lot of faith into someone you barely know, Jackson," he said. "You don't know what I've done."
Ryland spoke up, eyebrows furrowed. "Okay, Edgy McEdgeface, we may not know what you've done, but we know you wouldn't have killed anyone intentionally. Just because the prophecy said you would 'bring another's demise' doesn't mean you would do it willingly, right? It could be an accident. You don't have to mean it." He hesitated. "Besides, we've all done things we've regretted. That doesn't mean you're a bad person. And it definitely doesn't mean we'd kill you over it. You're good, I know it. You've saved our lives and everything!"
As he spoke, I watched Jester's expression. He kept eye contact with me, a slow, cynical smile on his lips. There was an indescribable emotion in his eyes- a mixture of regret and shame and fear and something that mixed and bubbled in a toxic cocktail. His expression didn't change, even as Ryland reasoned out what the prophecy could mean. There was no relief, no 'well, duh' in his face when he suggested that he hadn't done anything unforgivable. He just continued to look at me, almost imploring me to get what he wasn't saying. Or, perhaps, what he was saying.
You don't know what I've done.
Distantly, I felt a chill run down my spine. Something tickled at the bare edges of my memory. I tried to grasp onto it as Jester turned his cheek, staring out into the early morning sky.
"That's sweet, Jacobs," he said. "You know, you should be an actor. You've got the drama for it."
Ryland frowned, but I didn't have time to think about that, because as he said that, something snapped into place.
A dark alleyway. Two boys my age running down it for their lives.
"Go, go, go! Run, before he gets us!"
"Shit! It's a dead end!"
"What now?"
A dustbin lid in a kid's hands, held up like a shield.
"You guys look like improvising drama actors."
No.
Jester's eyes slid over to mine. Cynthia dropped my hand as she looked at me, taking in my expression. "Caly?" She asked, eyes wide with confusion. Ryland turned, staring at me.
Whatever expression I had on, I knew it was every shade of shock and surprise and... and what? I didn't know. Disgust? Fear? Anguish?
How did you react when you realise that your teammate was a murderer all along?
I didn't know how I knew, but I did. The dream I had in that abandoned factory, when Grover had dragged me and Ryland panting and sweating away from Mrs. Axis what felt like years ago. It was a dream that I forgot about almost instantly, what with hellhounds and Hecate and getting to Camp alive occupying all my thoughts. But I had dreamt it. And demigod dreams were never coincidences.
I never saw the face of the guy who was hunting those demigods down, but his voice was unmistakable. How had I not put it together before?
"You..." I tried to say, my words failing me. "I... you..."
Jester watched me silently. His eyes were black holes. Though I knew there was no way he knew about my dream, I knew that he knew the conclusion I'd drawn. It all made sense. In the alleyway, when I'd nearly lost control, he'd been the one to speak up, to stop me from killing the Rogue. The look in his eyes, cautious and warning and broken... oh gods, it all made sense.
I couldn't finish my sentence. I took a staggered step back, unable to separate the picture of Jester Ford, questmate, and Jester Ford, murderer.
"Who... Who are you? Why are you after us?"
"Obviously... To kill you."
Oh, gods.
Jester didn't make a move. I got a sinking feeling that if I raised Flashwave against him, he wouldn't have flinched. Maybe he wouldn't have even fought back.
"I gotta go," I gasped.
"What?" Ryland asked in alarm. "Caly, what do you mean? What do you know-"
"Give me a moment," I said, turning away from my friends. "I just- I gotta- I don't know-"
"Calypso, you cant just-" Cynthia began, but I cut her off by shaking my head.
"I just need a moment to think," I said. Ignoring the calls of Ryland and Cynthia, I stumbled further down the street, my eyes sliding past the buildings and street lamps, blurring them together until they all looked the same.
Holy Poseidon. Holy Fates. What the hell was I supposed to do with this? Jester had killed people, willingly, even hunted them down before. The same guy who mourned Marc's death with me. The same guy who Marc pushed so much faith into. The same guy who'd saved our lives on the train and fought back to back with us in every battle hence. Did that excuse it? What were his intentions? Did he mean it? How was he any better than the Renegades? Was he?
I didn't know.
And now, apparently, the prophecy had foretold how he'd caused one of our deaths. Demise. Whatever. Had he known? Of course he had. Then why had he come on this quest? Did he want this to happen? Was he okay with killing one of us off? Had he listened to the prophecy, thought 'hey, that's me!', and decided that this was as good a time as any to get the old murder gloves back on?
I dropped down on the stairs leading up to some random apartment building, holding my head in my hands. A soft drizzle started to fall, droplets getting caught in the strands of my hair as it escaped from its ponytail. My clothes- stinking of sewage and blood and monster dust- grew darker with every splash of rain. I watched as the knees of my jeans steadily grew darker and darker with every new raindrop, and wondered if that was how it would look with my blood staining it from the spear wound that should have been mine, with Jester on the other end of it.
Who was he? Could I trust him? What was I supposed to do?
"Oh my gods," I whispered to the floor, screwing my eyes shut. The rain fell harder.
Distantly, beyond the Boston shore, the sky rumbled.
-
{A/N:
Or more appropriately, two? Wow!
Truth be told, I didn't really know when I'd get back to this story, if ever. If you're reading this from ages past when I was regularly uploading (good gods!), then I have to give you the biggest kudos for sticking around! I'll forever be fond of Caly, my silly little avatar into the PJO universe, and the gang, so watch this space! I'd love to continue this story as often as I can! :) We haven't even really gotten into the good stuff yet!
And to Jun and Marcus, happy birthdays. Thank you for believing in me.}