CHAPTER FIVE
I Play Pinochle with a Horse
I don't own Percy Jackson.
Percy's dreams were strange. It first started out with barn animals. Half of them wanted food, and half of them wanted to kill her, and the half that wanted to kill her only wanted to kill her because she had no food and they thought she would make a good substitute. It was kind of funny, in a twisted way. It soon turned into a dream that was far more terrifying. Endless darkness. Voices chanting in an ancient language, words that she didn't understand, and yet made her skin crawl. Fire. Death. Lightning. Drowning.
And laughter.
Twisted, high, cold laughter.
Her eyes fluttered open weakly.
The blond that had brought her in, the one she had seen on the porch, was feeding her some sort of golden pudding that tasted strangely like buttered popcorn; a soothing taste to combat her nerves from her dreams. As soon as he saw that she was awake, he reached forward and gently felt her forehead as if taking her temperature, giving her an encouraging smile.
"Go back to sleep," he said, and Percy, drowsy, noted that he had a melodious voice. "You need your rest."
I'm fine, Percy wanted to protest, but she had hardly thought of even opening her mouth when she fell back asleep.
The second time she woke up, the blond boy was gone. Instead, there was a guy standing in the corner, with eyes all over his body. Half of them were on her, and half were watching the door. As Percy watched, one of the eyes winked at her, though she couldn't tell if she was hallucinating or not. She was so exhausted, she fell asleep almost immediately after that.
The third time, it was the blonde girl who was feeding her the same golden pudding the blond boy had been feeding her, smirking as she scraped bits of it off Percy's chin. She was too tired to even be humiliated, and as she blinked slowly, her eyelids feeling as though they weighed a hundred pounds, the girl, noticing that she was awake, immediately looked worried, setting down the cup with the strange, butter-flavored pudding.
"What will happen at the summer solstice?" she asked.
Percy managed to croak out, "What?"
She looked around, as if she was afraid that someone else would hear her. "There isn't much time, and I need to know!"
Percy didn't even have time to think about how to answer that question when someone knocked on the door, and the girl quickly filled her mouth with pudding.
The fourth time she woke up, she felt far better than the other three. She was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, and her surroundings were far nicer than what she was used to. She had been buried underneath a mountain of fluffy white pillows, and there was a blanket draped loosely on her legs. Maybe someone knew she was going to wake up, or maybe they thought that it would've been nice for an unconscious person to get some fresh air, or that some sunlight would do some good too. Wincing, she gingerly touched her head, her mouth dry, like a scorpion had been using it as a nest.
Next to her sat a glass full of some sort of golden liquid on a table, complete with a paper umbrella, straw, and cherry. For some reason, Percy knew it was for her, but when she picked it up with trembling fingers, she almost dropped it.
"Careful."
Percy nearly dropped the glass again when her head snapped up, a smile forming on her face. "Grover!"
He just smiled. "Awake, huh?"
Percy could've cried in relief, but she settled for smiling widely. The Grover standing in front of her was the same Grover she had known for the last year—a human dressed in jeans, t-shirt, and converse. He had a shoebox tucked under his arm, but Percy was more focused on the fact that he didn't look anything like the goat-boy in her nightmare. Everything must've just been a bad dream. Her mother was safe. They must've stopped by this house for some reason, but they were still on vacation. Her brain must've been tired, making up things, and they must've been at Grover's summer house or something.
"You saved my life," Grover said quietly. "The least I could do was give you this."
All of her previous relief melted into her shoes as Grover handed her the shoebox. Lead-like dread filled her stomach as she opened it. Inside lay a black-and-white horn, jagged from where she had torn it off, tip still splattered with dried blood. Emptiness spread through her, numbing her fingers. It hadn't been a nightmare, then. Her mother was really gone.
"The Minotaur," she whispered.
"Um, Percy, I don't think it's a good idea—"
"That's what they called him in those Greek myths, isn't it?" she demanded, finding her voice again, rage coloring her tone. "The Minotaur. The beast of Minos. Half-man, half-bull."
He shifted uncomfortably. "You've been out for two days," he said, changing the topic. "How much do you remember?"
"I... I don't know. Is my mom really—is she...?"
Percy couldn't force herself to say the sentence, and Grover didn't respond, but that was an answer already.
She stared out at the valley.
Under normal circumstances, it would've been beautiful to her. A huge forest stretched as far as she could see, with strawberry farms and a trickling stream. A light breeze stirred up the reeds and grass, and the sky was the brightest blue she had ever seen. Rolling hills surrounded the valley, and the pine tree was on the tallest one, directly in front of her. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight.
It shouldn't have been. Nothing should've been. Her mother was gone. The world should've been black and white.
"I'm a horrible protector," Grover sniffled. "I should've been there to protect you. I'm the worst satyr in the world. I'm—I'm a failure!"
He started to cry, stomping his foot so hard that it came off. Well, not his actual foot. That would've been rather disturbing. Instead, the converse high-top fell off, and from the angle she was sitting at, she could see that the inside had been filled with styrofoam, and there was a hoof-shaped hole in the middle, presumably for Grover's hooves, which she could see perfectly clearly in the sunlight.
"Oh, Styx," he mumbled, pausing his crying as he tried to get the shoe back on.
As he struggled to put it back on, Percy just stared at him dully.
So Grover was actually a satyr. Of course he was. Why not? She was willing to bet that if she shaved his hair, she'd find small horns. But unlike that night, Percy was too miserable to care that satyrs existed.
It didn't change the fact that her mother was gone, squeezed into nothingness, dissolved into golden light. What was she supposed to do now? Live with Smelly Gabe? No... she would never do something like that. She'd have to live on the streets. Go to foster care. Maybe she could even pretend to be seventeen and join the army. She'd do something.
Grover was still sniffing. The poor kid looked like he was about to cry again.
"Grover," she said, "it wasn't your fault."
"Yes it was, Percy. I was supposed to protect the two of you."
"Did my mom ask you to do that?"
"Well, no. But it's my job. I'm a protector. Well, at least I was."
"Then why would—" the world was suddenly yanked from under her feet, and Percy lurched forward.
"Don't strain yourself. Here."
He helped her bring the glass to her lips, but she recoiled at the taste in shock.
She had been expecting apple juice or something, but that wasn't what she tasted. Instead, it tasted like a chocolate chip cookie. And it wasn't just any kind of cookie. It was a blue one, the ones that her mother made, still warm and buttery, the chocolate still melting. How they managed to get the taste of cookies into a glass of golden liquid, Percy didn't care to find out.
Her grief didn't fade away, as was expected, but the drink made her feel as though her mother was still there, almost—as if she had just given Percy a cookie, ruffled her hair, and told her she could get through anything and that everything would be okay. Before she knew it, Percy had drained the entire glass, and was left staring at it, sure she had just consumed a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.
"Was it good?"
Percy was suddenly jolted into the present at Grover's voice. Glancing up at Grover, she just nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"What did it taste like?"
He sounded so wistful, she felt bad immediately. "Sorry. I should've let you have some."
His eyes widened. "Oh no, that's not what I meant. I... was just wondering."
"Chocolate chip cookies," she said. "My mom's. Homemade."
"And how do you feel?"
"Like I could throw Nancy Bobfit a hundred feet."
He nodded. "Good. That's good. I don't know if you can risk drinking anymore of that."
"What do you mean?"
He didn't respond, but took back the glass gingerly, as if afraid it would explode, and set it back down on the table.
"Come on. We don't want to keep Chiron and Mr D waiting."
Percy didn't know who Chiron and Mr D were (though Chiron sounded familiar), but she got up anyway, still feeling rather weak. Grover offered to carry the Minotaur horn, but she refused his help. She had paid for that souvenir the hard way, and there was no way she was going to let it out of her sight, even though her entire body was protesting her decision.
When she reached the end of the house, however, her breath caught.
At one glance, Percy could tell that they were at the north shore of Long Island. The valley reached the water, which glittered about a mile away in the sunlight. But between them and the sea...
Scattered in the valley were buildings that looked straight out of ancient Greece—an open-air pavilion, and an amphitheater, a circular arena—except these buildings looked rather new, the white marble sparkling. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs were playing a game of volleyball. Specks of canoes were gliding across a lake. Almost all of the kids were wearing bright orange t-shirts like Grover's, and Percy could see some of them chasing each other around a cluster of what looked like cabins, some of them shooting at an archery range, and some of them were riding horses, but unless Percy was hallucinating, she was sure some of those horses had wings.
She wished she had about ten different pairs of eyes as Grover led her slowly down to the porch, where she saw three people—two men, and one girl. Upon closer inspection, she realized that the girl was the pretty blonde who had been feeding her that popcorn pudding. The girl, however, either didn't seem to notice Percy, or she didn't care, because she didn't look up.
The man facing Percy was small and chubby, with a big, watery nose, red eyes, and hair so black it almost looked purple. He looked almost like one of those baby angels one might find in a picture or as a stone statue... except like that piece of art had gone very, very wrong. He would've fit right in with Gabe's poker friends, but she had the strangest feeling that that man could out-gamble even her step-father.
"That's Mr D," Grover murmured. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl is Annabeth Chase, and she's just a camper, but she's been here longer than almost anyone else."
Before Grover could introduce her to the last person, though, a panicked voice interrupted, "Chiron, Annabeth, have you seen Percy?"
A blond boy went flying down to the porch, and, startled, Percy realized that it had been the handsome blond boy who had been there the first time she had woken up.
"Will!" Grover called, waving his arm, causing the boy to turn to face them. "We're up here!"
"Oh."
The boy paused, looking a bit embarrassed, before he trudged up the hill to meet them.
He was taller than Percy, she noted—maybe by about three inches or so—and much more athletic looking. He was wearing a strange assortment of clothing—jeans, that orange t-shirt, flip-flops, surgical gloves, a white half-apron tied at his waist, and a belt stuffed with, from as far as Percy could tell, just medical supplies. With his tanned skin, tousled golden hair, summer-blue eyes, and bright smile, he was exactly the stereotypical look that Percy had always imagined Californian boys would have.
"Hi," she said rather awkwardly.
"Hello."
He took off his gloves, which she just noticed was dirty, and was just about to hold out his hand, perhaps to shake her hand, when a familiar voice said, "You can make your examinations later, Will."
"Mr Brunner!"
Glancing around the confused boy who she now knew was Will, she saw her Latin teacher sitting across from the cherub man, a mischievous glint in his eyes, like when he had a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice questions B. Percy would never forgive him for that.
"Ah, good, Percy. Now we have five for pinochle, if you'll join us, Will?" As Will hesitantly moved toward the table, Mr Brunner continued, "Percy, this is Will. He... er, was your medic. Annabeth, why don't you go and check on Cabin Eleven and see if they have room for one more?"
The girl, Annabeth, just looked at Percy with a slight expression of annoyance, and Percy just crossed her arms, holding the other girl's gaze. Annabeth was, like Will, tall and tan, maybe about the same height as Percy. She looked pretty athletic, her hair pulled into a ponytail, and she would've looked like a stereotypical Californian girl if it hadn't been for her eyes.
They were stormy grey—pretty, but intimidating too. Percy got the feeling that she was analyzing her, figuring out all her weaknesses, and then deciding the best way to take her down in a fight. Involuntarily, Percy drew her arms around herself. Annabeth's gaze then flickered from the Minotaur horn in Percy's hand, and then back to her. Percy braced herself for some sort of verbal attack.
Instead, all the girl said was, "You talk in your sleep," and sprinted off, her hair flying in the wind.
From beside her, Will let out a small cough that she supposed was supposed to cover a laugh, but she just tried to smile, though her cheeks still remained pink. After all, talking in her sleep couldn't have been that bad. If she had drooled... that would've been another story.
"So," she said, anxious to change the subject, "you work here, Mr Brunner?"
"Not Mr Brunner, I'm afraid," he corrected. "That was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."
"Right." Percy was more confused than ever. "And... Mr D. Does that stand for something?"
Mr D stopped shuffling his cards and looked at her as if she had just belched loudly. "Young woman, names have power."
Percy suddenly remembered her mother—her heart constricted at the thought—telling her something like that. Warning her to not use the Minotaur's real name. And when she had said the Minotaur's name out loud just a few minutes ago, Grover had tried to stop her. But she didn't understand how it worked. If someone said "Percy Jackson," was it going to make her bust some ninja move or something?
Then something suddenly clicked, and she slowly turned to both Grover and Will incredulously.
"Grover, that doctor's note you had. It was from some doctor named Will."
Will grinned, raising his hand and wiggling his fingers. "That's me."
She found herself half-laughing and half-scoffing at the strangeness of the situation. So Grover's doctor was apparently some twelve year old kid. Why not? Except she wasn't sure how Will would've been licensed at such a young age, or how he went to medical school so young. Maybe he was just so good at his craft that he was able to go early? Wasn't medical school, like, ten years of education though? Did he start practicing medicine at... two? Three? Or... was he notlicensed? She wasn't sure what was happening anymore. If Will wasn't licensed, then what qualified him to be her medic?
"I must say, Percy," Chiron cut in, breaking her from her thoughts, "I'm quite glad to see you're alive. I'd hate to think I'd wasted my time. It's been a long time since I've made a house call a potential camper."
"House call?"
"The year that I was at Yancy Academy, to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me the moment he met you. He sensed that you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to... ah, take a leave of absence."
Percy strained her memory, which she really shouldn't have, because the room spun from the effort. Still, she was rewarded with the memory of there being a different Latin teacher during her first week at Yancy. She realized that, somehow, she had completely forgotten about him, and that she had never questioned his disappearance, just simply going along with Mr Brunner showing up. She had been so annoyed with the other students for forgetting Mrs Dodds... but was her forgetting of that Latin teacher (she had already forgotten his name) the same thing? But how would Chiron have been able to make everybody forget something?
Percy, of course asked none of those questions. She was afraid that she would end up becoming more confused. So, instead, she asked, "You went to Yancy just to teach me? Why?"
Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't really sure about you in the beginning. We managed to contact your mother, and we let her know we were keeping an eye on you just in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."
Made it here alive. Despite the sunny weather outside, Percy still shivered. The way Chiron worded it implied that not everybody got to this valley alive. She wondered how many other kids had been attacked, just like her. Were there monsters just waiting for them in the valley? She felt a sudden irritation sweep through her—not irritation, no that was far too kind a word. Rage, fury—now those were words that described her better. Chiron had said test. Did he mean, then, that there were monsters placed on the hill to test these new kids? She was twelve! If that was what Chiron was implying, how many twelve year old kids had died just for their test?
But Chiron wasn't like that, was he? At least, she hoped not. She had known him as Mr Brunner, and he had seemed so kind. Was it possible that behind the facade he was insane? But the way Will was smiling at her, so earnestly... she had a hard time believing that anyone here wanted to hurt her (except for Mr D, perhaps, but that was a different story). Maybe Chiron just didn't realize how he had worded his sentence. They had healed her, after all, and Percy tried not to think of the possibility that they had only healed her because she had passed the not-dying test. Her only friend was here. She trusted him. She had to trust him.
She had no one else left.
Will, it seemed, noticed the way her eyes had turned sad, because his smile turned a little more sympathetic and he reached out, squeezing her shoulder gently. She tried not to flinch. She didn't know Will, but he wasn't going to hurt her. At least, that was what she told herself. After all, the only male who had ever touched her without punching her in some way was Grover, but Will seemed so kind, so honest, that she wanted to give him a chance. He didn't deserve to be shoved into the same category she tended to shove most guys in.
She didn't say anything, but she looked up at him, hoping that he understood the thanks in her eyes. His soft smile gave her her answer.
"Grover," Mr D suddenly demanded, Percy flinching slightly at the sudden harsh tone—something that didn't escape Will's notice, as evidenced by the frown that crossed his face, "are you playing or not?"
"Yes sir!"
Percy frowned as Grover took one of the chairs, his entire body trembling. Why was he so afraid of a chubby little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt? But even the way Will was treating the man, and Annabeth... maybe there was something more about him. She had asked him for his name, and he had refused, telling her that names had power. Her mother had said the same thing about the Minotaur. Maybe names only had power when it was linked to mythical beings? But, if Mr D was truly a mythical being, then why was he at a summer camp for kids? At least, she assumed she was at a summer camp. The one her mother had told her about.
Mr D didn't give her much time to think about it more. Instead, he eyed her suspiciously and said, "You do know how to play pinochle, right?"
Percy wished she said she could (not really), but she had never even heard of the game before. But, if Mr D was truly some powerful being, to the point where practically half the people she met were showing respect to him, she supposed that she should've tried too.
"I'm afraid not," she said.
"I'm afraid not, sir," he corrected.
Percy had to take a few moments to calm herself. Clearly, Will sensed her annoyance because he squeezed her shoulder again—this time in warning. Telling her to not make Mr D mad.
So, it was with a sweet smile that felt so painfully fake, Percy managed to say in between her teeth, "Sir. I'm afraid not, sir."
She already hated the camp director.
"Well," he said, either not sensing the distaste in her voice or choosing to ignore it, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young women to know how to play."
"I'm sure the girl can learn," Chiron said.
But Percy still had so many questions, and unfortunately, learning how to play pinochle wasn't exactly high on her list of priorities. She knew that they were doing their best to explain (well, Chiron was, at least), but she also knew that it must've been hard to explain to someone something almost entirely from scratch. She wondered if this was the reason as to why Chiron, as Mr Brunner, had always pushed her to do her best in his class. Because he knew that it was important to her, that she was a part of their world. Her head hurt just thinking about it.
So she decided to start small. "What exactly is this place? Why am I here?"
Mr D snorted and dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time a card landed in his pile.
"Well, it's a summer camp... kind of," Will began slowly from beside her, picking up his own stack of cards. "And you're here because..." he trailed off, and then glanced at Chiron. "Should we have her watch the orientation film first?"
"Orientation film?"
"No," Chiron decided. "I'm afraid it won't be sufficient enough. Well, Percy. You know that your friend Grover is a satyr. You know"—he pointed to the horn in the shoe box—"that you have managed to kill the Minotaur. No small feat, either. What you may or may not know is that great powers are at work all around you while you live. Gods—the very beings that you call the Greek gods—are very much alive."
Though Percy had already suspected it, hearing someone else confirm it was a whole different story. She waited for someone to yell, Not! but nobody said anything. Mr D yelled, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" and cackled as he tallied up his points, but that was all she got. Her head was spinning, and it was partially only because of her concussion. She remembered all those names that she had recalled—names of monsters and gods in Greek mythology. Grover had said that Hades was after her, she had fought the Minotaur—even Mrs Dodds hadn't been human... but what exactly, then, had she been?
She had a feeling Chiron knew, but before she could even open her mouth, Grover asked timidly, "Mr D, if you're not planning to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"
Percy wondered if Grover had made a mistake and meant to say have your Diet Coke, but that question dissolved and about a hundred more popped up when Grover, upon Mr D's alliance, bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully, like an apple. So he could eat actual trash. He was a satyr, sure, but Percy had always thought that satyrs preferred the... human's side's food. But then again, this way, Percy supposed that there was less waste and it helped the environment... sort of.
Even at the age of twelve, Percy understood that one individual changing something wasn't going to make a real big difference. It was the corporations and their waste that did most of the damage. She wondered if Grover had beat up any CEOs of any big businesses. Then she had a mental image of a bunch of satyrs throwing cans at men in business suits cowering on the ground.
An imagination was a fascinating and terrible thing to have.
"So... gods," Percy said to fill in the silence, though she felt terribly strange while saying it. "Greek gods. Not... God. You're telling me... they exist? Somehow? Without people noticing them? I mean, haven't we gone two thousand years without sacrificing anything to them? Didn't the gods go around just smiting people who forgot to offer them something? Wasn't the whole Calydonian Bear hunt problem caused because some king forgot to offer Artemis some fruit? How wouldn't we have noticed them?"
She realized that she had probably just asked about ten questions in the span of about ten seconds, which was something she had swore to herself to not do lest she get confused again, but she couldn't help herself. The questions just poured out of her, and it was only after she had finished that Chrion and Will gave her warning glances, and she realized that, perhaps, it hadn't been smart to call the supposedly-real Greek gods drama queens and sensitive. Even the pudgy Mr D was glaring at her, though his warning felt a bit different from Will and Chiron's... like it was personal...
"Well, yes," Chiron said. "The immortal gods of Olympus. Great beings that control the forces of nature of humans, and the Earth altogether."
"Zeus. Hera. Apollo. You mean them."
Thunder boomed despite the cloudless day, though it sounded further away than right above them. Percy wondered distantly what was the criteria for when people could say their names. She knew for a fact that most people probably said the Greek gods' names at least once in their life, so did thunder boom whenever someone said it, or was it just specific people? And if it were just specific people, then why was Percy a part of that group? And if Percy were part of that group, then why had she never heard distant thunder when she had said their names previously?
There were so many rules, it seemed, when it came to the world of Greek mythology, that she wasn't sure how she would be able to keep up.
That was, of course, assuming everything that everybody was telling her was real.
"Young woman," said Mr D, still glaring at her like he had a personal vendetta against her, "I would be less casual about throwing those names around, if I were you. One wrong name and you'll turn into a pile of dust."
"But they're stories! Myths to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed in before there was science and stuff to explain everything."
"Science!" Mr D scoffed. "And tell me, Persephone Jackson" —Percy flinched when he said her real name, which she never told anybody— "what will people think of your precious 'science' two thousand, three thousand, years from now?" Mr D continued. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That it's all just rubbish and nonsense. That's what. Oh, I just love mortals—they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they have come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this girl and tell me."
If Percy disliked Mr D at first, then she absolutely detested him now. She doubted that she would ever like him. But there was something about the way she called her mortal... as if he wasn't one. She had already suspected that he was some powerful being, but having him practically outright confirm it was rather terrifying. Was Mr D like Mrs Dodds, the minotaur? But he couldn't have been. They wouldn't have let him in this place... right? Maybe he was a god. But, like Chiron had said, gods lived on Mount Olympus. So what was one doing in America, and in a summer camp for children, of all places?
As Percy's mind whirled with questions, Chiron said, "Percy, you can choose to believe or not, but fact is—immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Never leaving this earth? Existing, just as you are, for all time?"
Percy hesitated. Off the top of her head, she would've agreed that it might've sounded like a good deal, but she knew better than that. All the talk of Greek mythology was reminding her of the old heroes, of how, above everything, they wanted their names to last for millenia.
"You mean, whether people believed in you or not."
"Exactly," Chiron agreed. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning, or thunder? What if I told you, Persephone Jackson, that someday people would call you a myth, just created to explain how little girls can get over losing their mothers?"
Percy didn't even know how to respond to that, because that was probably the meanest thing that Chiron had ever said to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Will shoot Chiron a frown. Her heart pounded. Chiron was trying to make her mad, and she wasn't sure why, but she wasn't going to let him.
"I wouldn't like it," she settled for saying, "but gods... that's a whole different matter."
Percy had grown up atheist. Sure, the idea of God, and such, was plausible, perhaps. Buddha maybe, even. Those were religions that she knew a lot of people believed in, and if such a religion had lasted thousands of years, then she supposed that they could've been real. But Chiron was trying to convince her that Greek gods were real; a religion that hadn't been practiced for a thousand years. What was next, the Norse and Egyptian gods being real? She stared around the table, but nobody said anything.
"Percy."
Will set down his cards, uncaring that everybody saw what his cards were, and placed his hand on her arm, smiling sympathetically yet brightly at her at the same time.
"Nobody starts off believing," he said softly. "In fact, I was you, four years ago. And it isn't that you don't believe, is it? It's that you don't want to. Because you're wondering why, if you had a god for a father, he never helped you. Why he let you go through half the things you went through. But think about it. Every half-blood's experienced something they can't explain. You fought the Minotaur, and if Greek mythology didn't exist, how did you accomplish that?" He gestured at the shoebox. "You even have proof that they exist.
"But, like I said before, you're denying it because you don't want to believe. And trust me, I know how you feel. I was in the same position four years ago. I couldn't bend the idea of Greek mythology to my reality. But Percy... if you know it's true, you can't just shut it out. It doesn't matter whether you believe or not—the gods are still going to be there, and the monsters, too. I know you're afraid of accepting, because you know that if you do, there's no way out, but you can't protect yourself from the truth. I should know."
Percy opened her mouth to argue with him, but found that she couldn't. He was just too darn smart. She did, admittedly, think that most, if not all, of the confusing things that happened in her life was answered by Greek mythology. He had been right on every point, she realized—it was her mind trying to subconsciously protect her from the idea that gods existed. And she still didn't want to believe. But Will was right. She could refuse to believe and the gods would still be there. She might as well just have accepted the truth.
Though she did find herself wondering what he meant by I should know when regarding the truth...
Her train of thought fell off the rails when, right in front of her, Mr D absentmindedly waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table. It looked almost as if the sunlight had bent momentarily, and woven itself into the glass. The goblet then filled itself with red wine, and Mr D went to pick up the goblet.
"Mr D," Chiron warned without looking up. "Your restrictions."
Mr D then looked at the goblet and looked surprised, but even Percy, as oblivious as she was, could tell it was feigned. Then he looked at the sky and yelled, "Old habits! Sorry!"
With another roll of distant thunder setting the mood, Mr D snapped his fingers and the wine glass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. Sighing unhappily, he popped the top of the soda and went back to his card game. Percy was still staring at the can like it was from outer space, unable to believe what had just happened. Sure, Will had all but forced her to accept that Greek gods were real, but she had been given about five seconds to process that before Mr D had done that! Magic. He had done real magic.
Chiron winked at her, as if it were an inside joke between them. "Mr D offended his father a while back. He took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits."
"A wood nymph," Percy repeated dumbly.
"A nature spirit," Will offered, having picked back up his cards again, and Percy didn't have the heart to tell him that she knew what a wood nymph was. Of course, if gods and monsters and the such existed, the idea that a nymph existed wasn't such a far-fetched idea, but still, it was strange. She wondered how much more of her sanity she was going to lose.
"Yes," Mr D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely terrible ten years! The second time—well, she was really very pretty, and I couldn't stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for unbelieving brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. 'Work with children rather than tearing them down.' Ha. Absolutely unfair."
Mr D sounded like a pouting little kid, and Percy stammered, "And—and your father is..."
"Di immortales!" Mr D said, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Chiron. "I thought you said you taught this girl the basics, at least. My father is Zeus, of course."
Percy's mind was whirling. How had she not seen it before? Wine. The skin of a tiger. The way Grover cringed, as if Mr D were his master. Her mind was going a million hours a second, running through all the D names from Greek mythology that she knew, and suddenly, she realized why Mr D had been so annoyed at her for insulting the gods.
"You're Dionysus," she said, though she wasn't sure if it were a question or a statement. "God of wine."
Mr D rolled his eyes. "What do the children say, these days, Grover? Do they say, 'Well, duh!'?"
"Y—yes, Mr D."
"Then, well, duh! Percy Jackson. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?"
Percy almost said As if you could ever be beautiful enough to be Aphrodite, but managed to catch herself at the last second. If she were to associate him with any kind of love, it would've been Cupid, and the little baby image, but if she were using Greek mythology, then he would've been Eros, and Eros, from her limited memory of him, was seen as a young man.
No, instead, Percy said something that was perhaps a little better, but not by much.
She said, rather shocked, "You're a god."
Perhaps she should've toned down the disbelief in her voice.
She saw Will's eyes flash in warning from beside her, but it was too late.
Mr D turned to look at her straight on, and she saw a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, pudgy little man was only showing her the smallest bit of his true nature. She saw visions of grape vines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. And she knew that if she pushed him, Mr D would show her worse things. He would plant a disease in her brain that would leave her wearing a strait-jacket in a rubber room for the rest of her life.
"Would you like to test me, child?" he said quietly.
"No. No, sir."
Because even Percy, as quick as she was to be sarcastic and fire witty remarks, knew when enough was enough.
The fire in his eyes died a little. He turned back to his card game. "I believe I win."
"Not quite, Mr D," Chiron said. He set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me."
Percy was still a bit distrubed by what she had just witnessed. To imagine that such a pudgy little man held so much power... she realized that looks, in this world, could be so deceiving. Maybe the old man walking down the street was actually some powerful god, or some horrible monster. She knew that Will was probably used to it, but it was still a bit strange to see a boy her age not even fazed by the knowledge that Greek gods existed in their world, or what it really meant for them. Or maybe Will did know, but if he had four years to process this while she had had about four minutes, then she supposed that made sense.
Upon being beaten by Chiron, Mr D sighed through his nose, getting up, Grover following nervously. Percy tried to shoot Grover a reassuring smile, but the poor boy didn't even look at her, staring miserably at his feet.
"I'm tired," Mr D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."
Grover's face was beaded with sweat. "Y—yes, sir."
Mr D turned to Percy. "Cabin eleven, then, Percy Jackson. And mind your manners."
He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably. As Percy stared at the shrinking figure of her best friend, she felt irritation and worry flash through her. Why was Mr D blaming everything on Grover? It wasn't his fault that he had been knocked unconscious. It was a miracle she and her mother hadn't. She gritted her teeth. In fact, she had a feeling that the lightning bolt that had hit their car wasn't even a coincidence. It was obviously some god's doing, and so, really, wouldn't it have been more Mr D's fault than Grover's? She wondered bitterly if the gods had just run out of morals or if they had never been given any in the first place.
But Percy, of course, knew better than to voice any of that. Instead, she just asked, "Will Grover be okay?"
Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been ... ah, grounded, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."
"Mount Olympus," Percy repeated. "You're telling me there really is a palace there?"
"Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do."
"You mean the Greek gods are here? Like ... in America?"
"Well, of course," Will said. "The gods move with the heart of the west."
"The what now?"
Will smiled a little. "Western civilization isn't just an abstract concept, which is a bit strange to think about, but essentially, it's a living force. Kind of like a consciousness that's been around for thousands of years. The gods are part of it, but they're tied more tightly to it than us, to the point where one could say that they're even the source. But, if you want to be specific, it's more that they're tied so tightly to it that they couldn't possibly fade, not unless all of Western civilization were obliterated.
"We call Western civilization the 'fire' of humanity, and the beginning of the gods' reign. That's where the term Greek mythology comes from—the fire first began in Greece. Then it moved, depending on where Western civilization moved. After Greece, it was Rome. And they were given different names, like Jupiter for Zeus and Venus for Aphrodite, but they were the same gods."
Percy frowned, nodding slowly, trying to process all the new information. "But then they died, right? Or faded? Or whatever god does?"
"Well, Mr D is still here, so I would assume not," Will joked. "And, as I said before, the only way the gods can truly fade is if the West dies, and, as of now, that hasn't happened yet. The gods just move from country to country, usually spending no more than a few millennia. Germany, France, Spain—whenever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They even spent a few centuries in England. And though the idea of there being gods in the world faded, there are still traces of them here, in the architecture, paintings, statues—people don't forget the gods.
"Now, of course, they're in America. Our symbol is the eagle of Zeus. Our government buildings are modelled after ancient Greek architecture. We have statues featuring so many ancient Greek gods and heroes. Every city has prominent displays of the gods, even if people don't usually notice them. And since America is now the great power of the West, the heart of the flame, Olympus is here... and so are we."
Her head was spinning, trying to wrap her mind around the entire concept. So everything in Greek mythology just... moved? What even counted as being magical enough to move? She hadn't looked at a map lately, but she was sure that the Mediterranean Sea was still where it should've been, which meant that only certain places moved. Or maybe the sea did move, and she just didn't notice? It was all so confusing to her.
And the way Will said we, like they were all in some sort of club...
"Who are you?" she asked them both hesitantly, hoping that she didn't come off as rude. "Who... who am I?"
Chiron smiled at that. He shifted his weight as if he was going to get up out of his wheelchair, but Percy knew that was impossible. He was paralyzed from the waist down.
"Who are you?" he mused. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."
And then he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it.
His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, Percy thought he was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, and that was something she didn't ever want to see in her life, but as he kept rising out of the chair, taller than any man, she realized that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair wasn't a chair.
It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg came out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.
Percy stared at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of her Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk. She suddenly felt very small, and very foolish for having thought that he might've been a satyr like she had all those days before.
"What a relief," the centaur said. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, the both of you. Let's meet the other campers."
I hinted in chapter 1 or something that Will was indeed Grover's doctor that excused him from PE, but Percy's reaction, I found, was rather hilarious. Also, I foreshadowed the Sea of Monsters, where the Mediterranean Sea did move. Also about the Kane Chronicles and the Magnus Chase series. And I'm sure I put some other stuff I can't think of right now. I just love those Easter eggs.
In this chapter, I tried to start on Percy/Will's friendship, because Annabeth didn't warm up to Percy until the zoo truck scene, but since Apollo and Poseidon are chill, Will and Percy can start developing their friendship earlier.
I did the math the other day and if I do one chapter a month, that'll take me about nine years or something to finish this book, so maybe I should speed up the process a little? It motivated me to finish this chapter quickly, but I hit a dead end for the next one.
Oops?