Untitled Part 11
WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOU ONLY HAD one day at Camp Half-Blood?
Perhaps you'd partake in a game of capture the flag, or ride a pegasus over the beach, or laze in the meadow enjoying the sunshine and the sweet fragrance of ripening strawberries.
All good choices. I did none of them.
I spent my day running around in a panic, trying to prepare myself for imminent death.
After breakfast, Nico refused to share any more information about the mysterious cave-runners. 'You'll find out tomorrow' was all he said.
When I asked Will, he clammed up and looked so sad I didn't have the heart to press him.
Dionysus probably could have enlightened me, but he'd already checked us off his to-do list.
'I told you, Apollo, the world has many crises. Just this morning, scientists released another study tying soda to hypertension. If they continue to disparage the name of Diet Coke, I will have to smite someone!' He stormed off to plot his revenge on the health industry.
I thought Meg, at least, would stay at my side as we got ready for our quest. Instead, she chose to spend her morning planting squash with the Demeter cabin. That's correct, dear reader. She chose ornamental gourds over me.
My first stop was the Ares cabin, where I asked Sherman Yang if he had any helpful intel on Nero's tower.
It's a fortress,' he said. 'A frontal attack would be –'
'Suicide,' I guessed. 'No secret entrances?'
'Not that I know of. If there were, they'd be heavily guarded and set with traps.' He got a faraway look on his face. 'Maybe motion-activated flamethrowers. That would be cool.'
I began to wonder if Sherman would be more helpful as an advisor to Nero.
'Is it possible,' I asked, 'that Nero could have a doomsday weapon in place? For instance, enough Greek fire to destroy New York at the push of a button?'
'Whoa ...' Sherman developed the lovestruck expression of someone seeing Aphrodite for the first time. 'That would be amazing. I mean bad. That would be bad. But ... yeah, it's possible. With his wealth and resources? The amount of time he's had to plan? Sure. He'd need a central storage facility and a delivery system for rapid dispersal. My guess? It would be underground – to take advantage of the city's pipes, sewers, tunnels and whatnot. You think he's really got something like that? When do we leave for battle?'
I realized I may have told Sherman Yang too much. 'I'll get back to you,' I muttered, and beat a hasty retreat.
Next stop: the Athena cabin.
I asked their current head counsellor, Malcolm, if he had any information about the Tower of Nero or creatures called 'cave-runners,' or any hypotheses about why a Gaul like Luguselwa might be working for Nero, and whether or not she could be trusted.
Malcolm paced the cabin, frowning at various wall maps and bookshelves. 'I could do some research,' he offered. 'We could come up with a solid intelligence dossier and a plan of attack.'
'That – that would be amazing!'
'It'll take us about four weeks. Maybe three, if we push it. When do you have to leave?'
I exited the cabin in tears.
Before lunchtime, I decided to consult my weapon of last resort: the Arrow of Dodona. I moved into the woods, thinking perhaps the arrow would be more prophetic if I brought it closer to its place of origin, the Grove of Dodona, where trees whispered the future and every branch dreamed of growing up to be a Shakespeare-spouting projectile. Also, I wanted to be far enough from the cabins that no one would see me talking to an inanimate object.
I updated the arrow on the latest developments and prophecy verses. Then, gods help me, I asked its advice.
I TOLDST THOU BEFORE, the arrow said. I SEEST NO OTHER INTERPRETATION. THOU MUST TRUST THE EMPEROR'S OWN.
'Meaning Luguselwa,' I said. 'Meaning I should surrender myself to Nero, because a Gaul I barely know tells me it's the only way to stop the emperor.'
VERILY, said the arrow.
'And seest thou – Can you see what will happen after we surrender?'
NAY.
'Maybe if I brought you back to the Grove of Dodona?'
NAY! It spoke so forcefully that it almost rattled out of my grasp.
I stared at the arrow, waiting for more, but I got the feeling its outburst had surprised even it.
'So ... are you just making horse sounds now?'
A FIG! it cursed. At least, I assumed it was a swear and not a lunch order. TAKEST ME NOT TO THE GROVE, PERNICIOUS LESTER! THINKEST THOU I SHOULDST BE WELCOMED THERE, MY QUEST INCOMPLETE?
Its tone wasn't easy to understand, since its voice resonated straight into the plates of my skull, but I thought it sounded ... hurt.
'I – I'm sorry,' I said. 'I didn't realize –'
OF COURSE THOU DIDST NOT. Its fletching rippled. I LEFT NOT WILLINGLY FROM MY HOME, O LESTER. I WAS FORCED, CAST OUT! ONE SMALL BRANCH, EXPENDABLE, FORGETTABLE, EXILED FROM THE CHORUS OF TREES UNTIL I SHOULDST PROVE MYSELF! IF NOW I RETURNED, THE ENTIRE GROVE WOULD LAUGH. THE HUMILIATION ...
It became still in my hand.
FORGETTEST THOU WHAT I SAID, it hummed. PRETENDEST THOU IT NEVER HAPPENED.
I wasn't sure what to say. All my years as a god of archery had not prepared me for playing therapist to an arrow. And yet ... I felt terrible for the poor projectile. I had hauled it across the country and back again. I had complained about its shortcomings. I had belittled its advice and made fun of its lofty language. I had never stopped to consider that it had feelings, hopes, dreams and perhaps even a family as dysfunctional and unsupportive as mine.
I wondered, bitterly, if there was anyone I hadn't neglected, hurt or overlooked during my time as a mortal – strike that – during my four thousand years of existence, period. I could only be grateful that my shoes were not sentient. Or my underwear. Gods, I would never be able to stop apologizing.
'I have used you poorly,' I told the arrow. 'I'm sorry. Once we've succeeded in our quest, I'll return you to the Grove of Dodona, and you'll be welcomed back as a hero.'
I could feel the pulse in my fingertips beating against the arrow's shaft. It remained quiet for six heartbeats.
AYE, it said at last. DOUBTLESS YOU ARE RIGHT.
As far as red flags went, the Arrow of Dodona telling me I was right was the reddest and flaggiest I could imagine.
'What is it?' I demanded. 'You've seen something in the future? Something bad?'
Its point shuddered. WORRY NOT, THOU. I MUST NEEDS RETURN TO MY QUIVER. THOU SHOULDST SPEAK TO MEG.
The arrow fell silent. I wanted to know more. I knew there was more. But the arrow had signalled that it was done talking, and, for once, I thought I should consider what it wanted.
I returned it to the quiver and began my hike back to the cabins.
Perhaps I was overreacting. Just because my life was doom and gloom did not necessarily mean the arrow was doomed, too.
Maybe it was just being evasive because, at the end of my journeys, whether I died or not, it was planning to pitch my life story to one of the Muses' new streaming services. I would be remembered only as a limited series on Calliope+.
Yes, that was probably it. What a relief ...
I was almost to the edge of the forest when I heard laughter – the laughter of dryads , I deduced, based on my centuries of experience as a dryad stalker. I followed the sound to a nearby outcropping of rocks, where Meg McCaffrey and Peaches were hanging out with half a dozen tree spirits.
The dryads were fawning over the fruit spirit, who, being no fool, was doing his best to look adorable for the ladies – which meant not baring his fangs, growling or showing his claws. He was also wearing a clean loincloth, which was more than he'd ever done around me.
'Oh, he's precious!' said one of the dryads, ruffling Peaches' leafy green hair.
'These little toes!' said another, giving him a foot massage.
The karpos purred and fluttered his branchy wings. The dryads did not seem to mind that he looked like a killer baby grown from a chia kit.
Meg tickled his belly. 'Yeah, he's pretty awesome. I found him –'
That's when the dryads saw me.
'Gotta go,' said one, disappearing in a whirl of leaves.
'Yeah, I have this ... thing,' said another, and poofed into pollen.
The other dryads followed suit, until it was only Meg, Peaches, me and the lingering scent of Dryadique™ biodegradable shampoo.
Peaches growled at me. 'Peaches.'
Which no doubt meant Dude, you scared off my groupies.
'Sorry. I was just ...' I waved my hand.
'Passing by? Wandering around, waiting to die? I'm not sure.'
'S'okay,' Meg said. 'Pull up a rock.' Peaches snarled, perhaps doubting my willingness to massage his feet.
Meg pacified him by scratching behind his ear, which reduced him to a purring puddle of bliss.
It felt good to sit, even on a jagged chunk of quartz. The sunshine was pleasant without being too warm. (Yes, I used to be a sun god. Now I am a temperature wimp.)
Meg was dressed in her Sally Jackson Valentine's Day outfit. The pink dress had been washed since our arrival, thank goodness, but the knees of her white leggings were newly stained from her morning digging in the squash garden. Her glasses had been cleaned. The rhinestonestudded rims glittered, and I could actually see her eyes through the lenses. Her hair had been shampooed and corralled with red hair clips. I suspected somebody in the Demeter cabin had given her some loving care in the grooming department.
Not that I could criticize. I was wearing clothes Will Solace had bought for me.
'Good gardening?' I asked.
'Awesome.' She wiped her nose on her sleeve. 'This new kid, Steve? He made a potato erupt in Douglas's jeans.'
'That does sound awesome.'
'Wish we could stay.' She tossed a chip of quartz into the grass.
My heart felt like an open blister. Thinking about the horrible things that awaited us back in Manhattan, I wanted to grant Meg's wish more than anything. She should have been able to stay at camp, laughing and making friends and watching potatoes erupt from her cabinmates' jeans like any normal kid.
I marvelled at how calm and content she appeared. I'd heard that young people were especially resilient when it came to surviving trauma. They were much tougher than, say, your average immortal. And yet, just for once, I wished I could provide Meg with a safe place to be, without the pressure of having to leave immediately to stop an apocalypse.
'I could go alone,' I found myself saying. 'I could surrender to Nero. There's no reason you have to –'
'Stop,' she ordered.
My throat closed up.
I could do nothing but wait as Meg twirled a blade of grass between her fingers.
'You say that because you don't trust me?' she asked at last.
'What? ' Her question allowed me to speak again. 'Meg, no, that's not –'
'I betrayed you once,' she said. 'Right here in these woods.'
She didn't sound sad or ashamed about it, the way she once might have. She spoke with a sort of dreamy disbelief, as if trying to recall the person she'd been six months ago. That was a problem I could relate to.
'Meg, we've both changed a lot since then,' I said. 'I trust you with my life. I'm just worried about Nero ... how he'll try to hurt you, use you.'
She gave me a look that was almost teacherly, as if cautioning Are you sure that's your final answer?
I realized what she must be thinking: I claimed I wasn't worried about her betraying me, but I was worried about how Nero could manipulate her. Wasn't that the same thing?
'I have to go back,' Meg insisted. 'I have to see if I'm strong enough.'
Peaches cuddled up next to her as if he had no such concerns.
Meg patted his leafy wings. 'Maybe I've got stronger. But, when I go back to the palace, will it be enough? Can I remember to be who I am now and not ... who I was then?'
I didn't think she expected an answer. But it occurred to me that perhaps I should be asking myself the same question.
Since Jason Grace's death, I'd spent sleepless nights wondering if I could keep my promise to him. Assuming I made it back to Mount Olympus, could I remember what it was like to be human, or would I slip back into being the self-centred god I used to be?
Change is a fragile thing. It requires time and distance. Survivors of abuse, like Meg, have to get away from their abusers. Going back to that toxic environment was the worst thing she could do. And former arrogant gods like me couldn't hang around other arrogant gods and expect to stay unsullied.
But I supposed Meg was right. Going back was the only way to see how strong we'd got, even if it meant risking everything.
'Okay, I'm worried,' I admitted. 'About you. And me. I don't know the answer to your question.'
Meg nodded. 'But we have to try.'
'Together, then,' I said. 'One more time, into the lair of the Beast.'
'Peaches,' Peaches murmured.
Meg smirked. 'He says he'll stay here at camp. He needs some me time.'
I hate it when fruit spirits have more sense than me.
That afternoon I filled two quivers with arrows. I polished and restrung my bow. From the cabin's store of musical instruments, I picked a new ukulele – not as nice or durable as the bronze combat ukulele I had lost, but still a fearsome stringed instrument. I made sure I had plenty of medical supplies in my backpack, along with food and drink and the usual change of clothes and clean underwear. (I apologize, underwear!)
I moved through the afternoon hours in a daze, feeling as if I were preparing for a funeral ... specifically my own. Austin and Kayla hovered nearby, trying to be helpful when they could, but without invading my space.
'We talked with Sherman and Malcolm,' Kayla told me. 'We'll be on standby.'
'If there is any chance we can help,' Austin said, 'we'll be ready to roll at a moment's notice.'
Words were not sufficient to thank them, but I hope they saw the gratitude in my teary, bruised, acne-pocked face.
That night we had the usual singalong at the campfire. No one mentioned our quest. No one offered a going-away good-luck speech. The first-time campers were still so new to the demigod experience, so amazed by it all, I doubted they would even notice we were gone. Perhaps that was for the best.
They didn't need to know how much was at stake: not just the burning of New York, but whether the Oracle of Delphi would ever be able to give them prophecies and offer them quests, or whether the future would be controlled and predetermined by an evil emperor and a giant reptile.
If I failed, these young demigods would grow up in a world where Nero's tyranny was the norm and there were only eleven Olympians.
I tried to shove those thoughts to the back of my mind. Austin and I played a duet for saxophone and guitar. Then Kayla joined us to lead the camp in a rousing version of 'The Wheels on the Chariot Go 'Round and 'Round'. We roasted marshmallows, and Meg and I tried to enjoy our final hours among our friends.
Small mercies: that night I had no dreams.
At dawn, Will shook me awake. He and Nico had returned from wherever they had been 'gathering supplies', but he didn't want to talk about it.
Together, he and I met Meg and Nico on the road along the far side of Half-Blood Hill, where the camp's shuttle bus waited to take us to Rachel Elizabeth Dare's house in Brooklyn, and – one way or another – the final few days of my mortal life.
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