To begin, I'd like to say that this story is 95% word for word Son of Neptune, at least for the first few chapters. It starts about 6 months before the Son of Neptune would've taken place, this is because in this story Jason never goes on the quest which elongates the amount of time Percy has to spend asleep. This is going to be Percy/Reyna. Eventually, either in this story or a sequel—this will be a crossover story. No hints yet, but I'm sure some of you will be able to guess. Also this story has been posted, by me, on Wattpad.
The past few days had been as hard as any Percy could remember. Now. . . he couldn't remember much, since waking at the wolf house to the she-wolf Lupa. She'd taught him to sharpen his senses—to trust the instincts that had been guiding him south. And his homing radar was tingling like crazy now. The end of his journey was close—almost right under his feet. But how could that be? There was nothing on the hilltop.
The past few days, he'd hardly slept. He'd eaten whatever he could scrounge—vending machine gummi bears, stale bagels, even a Jack in the Crack burrito, which was a new personal low. His clothes were torn, burned, and splattered with monster slime and dust. His orange t-shirt was in tatters, barely hanging on to him, yet he couldn't throw it away.
He tried to wipe some of the slime and dust off, with no luck there. Looking around, his only way down was to the west side of the hill.
He stared at the stream of cars flowing west toward San Fransisco and wished he were in one of them. Then he realized the highway must cut through the hill. There must be a tunnel. . . right under his feet. His internal radar went nuts. He was in the right place, just too high up. He had to check out that tunnel. He started downhill.
It was crazy to think it'd been two months since he woke up in the courtyard of a burned-out mansion in the middle of the woods, wearing shorts, an orange t-shirt, and a leather necklace with a long clay bead on it. Percy had no idea how he'd gotten there and only the vaguest idea who he was. He'd been barefoot, freezing, and confused. And then the wolves came. . .
He'd just reached the bottom of the hill and glanced east. Just as he'd figured, a hundred yards up hill, the highway cut through the base of the cliff. Two tunnel entrances, one for each direction of traffic, stared down at him like eye sockets of a giant skull. In the middle, where the nose would have been, a cement wall jutted from the hillside, with a metal door, like the entrance to a bunker.
It might've been a maintenance tunnel. That's probably what mortals thought, if they noticed the door at all. But they couldn't see through the mist. Percy knew the door was more than that. Two kids in armor flanked the entrance. They wore a bizarre mix of plumed roman helmets, breastplates, scabbards, jeans, purple t-shirts, and white athletic shoes. The guard on the right looked like a girl, though it was hard to tell for sure with all that armor. The one on the left was a stocky guy with a bow and quiver on his back. Both kids held long wooden staffs with iron tops, like old-fashioned harpoons.
Percy's internal radar was pinging like crazy. After so many horrible days, he'd finally reached his goal. His instincts told him that if he could make it inside that door, he might find safety for the first time since the wolves had sent him south.
So why did he feel such dread?
He'd have to cross the median of the highway, but then it would be a short sprint to the hill.
"Are you crossing?" asked a voice next to him.
Percy jumped. His only company since the wolf house had been the monsters he'd ripped apart. Hence the monster dust and slime coating him.
At first, he'd thought a monster had snuck up on him again, but the old lady in the bushes was the one who spoke.
She looked like a hippie who'd been kicked to the side of the road maybe forty years ago, where she'd been collecting trash and rags ever since. She wore a dress made of tie-died cloth, ripped-up quilts, and plastic grocery bags. Her frizzy mop of hair was gray-brown, like root-beer foam, tied back with a peace sign head band. Warts and moles covered her face. When she smiled, she showed exactly three teeth.
"You're right of course. It isn't a maintenance tunnel," she confided. "It's the entrance to camp."
A jolt went up Percy's spine. Camp. Yes, that's where he was from. A camp. Maybe this was his home.
But something felt wrong.
"Who are you?" Percy asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know. The last thing he needed was another harmless mortal who turned out to be a monster—like those two gorgons he killed at a Bargain Mart, one who posed as someone giving free samples and the other a greeter.
"Oh, you can call me June." The old lady's eyes sparkled as if she'd made an excellent joke. "It is June, isn't it? They named the month after me!"
"Okay. . . Look, I should go."
"Oh, but you could do a good deed for an old lady," she said. "Carry me to camp with you?"
"Carry you?" Percy hoped she was kidding. Then June hiked up her skirt and showed him her swollen purple feet.
"I can't get there by myself," she said. "Carry me to camp—across the highway, through the tunnel, and across the river."
Percy didn't know what river she meant. He wasn't the biggest fan of water. June wouldn't be tough to carry, he was strong, something he'd found out pretty quickly when killing monsters.
Percy looked at the old lady. "And I'd carry you to this camp because—?"
"Because it's a kindness!" she said. "And if you don't, the gods will die—your father included—the world we know will perish, and everyone from your old life will be destroyed. Of course, you wouldn't remember them, so I suppose it won't matter."
"If I go to this camp," he said. "Will I get my memory back?"
"Eventually," June said, "but be warned. You will sacrifice much. You'll feel pain, misery, and loss beyond anything you've ever known. But you might have a chance to save your family, who exiled you," she muttered the last part. Percy caught it but barely. "As well as your old friends, a chance to reclaim your old life."
"Exiled? And what about the guards at the door?" Percy asked.
June smiled. "Oh, they'll let you in dear. You can trust those two. So, what do you say? Will you help a defenseless old woman?"
Somehow Percy knew she wasn't defenseless, she seemed familiar though. At worst this was a trap. At best, it was some kind of test.
Percy hated tests. Since he'd lost his memory, his whole life was one big fill-in-the-blank.
He was, from, and he felt like.
"I'll carry you." he scooped up the old woman.
She was heavier than he expected. At least a few hundred pounds, but she didn't look like she'd crack ninety, soaking wet. He went with it though. Percy tried to ignore her sour breath and her calloused hands clinging to his neck. He made it across the first lane of traffic. A driver honked. Another yelled something that was lost in the wind. Most just swerved and looked irritated, as if they had to deal with a lot of ratty teenagers carrying old hippie women across the freeway here in Berkley.
Percy ran for the door in the hillside. June got heavier with every step, which was astounding; she weighed a ton! Percy's heart pounded. His ribs ached.
The two guards looked at Percy and his passenger. "Frank," the girl said. "Get them inside."
"Onward, Percy Jackson! Through the tunnel, over the river!" June shouted.
The female guard was darker-skinned, with curly hair sticking out the sides of her helmet. She looked younger than Frank—maybe fourteen. Her sword scabbard came down almost to her ankle. Still she sounded like she was the one in charge. "Okay, you're obviously a demigod. But what the-?" She glanced at June. "Never mind. Just get inside."
Frank opened the door. "Come on!"
Percy followed, staggering under the weight of the old lady, who was defying physics—not that this was anything new to Percy. He was no slouch, so she must've purposefully made herself heavier. Somehow.
The tunnel cut through sold rock, about the width and height of a school hallway. At first it looked like a typical maintenance tunnel, with electric cables, warning signs, and fuse boxes on the walls, lightbulbs in wire cages along the ceiling. As they walked deeper into the hillside, the cement floor changed to tiled mosaic. The lights changed to reed torches, which burned but didn't smoke. A few hundred yards ahead, Percy saw a square of daylight.
Percy's arms shook from the strain. June mumbled a song in Latin, like a lullaby, which didn't help Percy concentrate.
"We're almost there," Frank said.
"Almost where?"
June chuckled. "All roads lead there, child. You should know that."
"Punishment?" Percy asked.
"Rome, child," the old woman said. "Rome."
Percy wasn't sure he'd heard her right. True, his memory was gone. His brain hadn't felt right since he had woken up at the wolf house. But he was pretty sure Rome wasn't in California.
They kept walking. The glow at the end of the tunnel grew brighter, and finally they emerged into sunlight.
Percy froze. Spread out at his feet was a bowl-shaped valley, several miles wide. The basin floor was rumpled with smaller hills, golden plains, and stretches of forest. A small clear river cut a winding course from a lake in the center and around the perimeter, like a capital G.
The geography could've been anywhere in northern California—live oaks and eucalyptus trees, gold hills, and blue skies. That big inland mountain—what was it called, Mount Diablo?—rose in the distance, right where it should be.
But Percy felt like he'd stepped into a secret world. In the center of the valley, nestled by the lake, was a small city of white marble buildings with red tiled roofs. Some had domes and columned porticoes, like national monuments. Other looked like palaces with golden doors and large gardens. He could see an open plaza with freestanding columns, fountains, and statues. A five-story-tall Roman Coliseum gleamed in the sun, next to a long oval arena like a racetrack.
Across the lake to the south, another hill was dotted with even more impressive building—temples, Percy guess. Several stone bridges crossed the river as it wound through the valley; and in the north, a long line of brickwork arches stretched from the hills into the town. Percy thought it looked like an elevated train track. Then he realized it must be an aqueduct.
The strangest part of the valley was right below him. About two hundred yards away, just across the river, was some sort of military encampment. It was about a quarter mile square, with earthen ramparts on all four sides, the tops lined with sharpened spikes. Wooden watch towers rose at each corner, manned by sentries with oversized, mounted crossbows. Purple banners hung from towers. A wide gateway opened on the riverbank side. Inside, the fortress bustled with activity: Dozens of kids going to and from barracks, carrying weapons, polishing armor. Percy heard the clank of hammers at a forge and smelled meat cooking over a fire.
Something about this place felt very familiar, yet not quite right.
"Camp Jupiter," Frank said. "We just have to get across the river."
June squeezed Percy's neck tighter. "Oh, yes, please. I can't get my dress wet."
Percy bit his tongue. He'd come this far, he'd better keep lugging her along. If this was a test, he couldn't afford to get an F.
They reached the riverbank and Percy stopped to reposition June. Only a stone's throws across the river stood the gates of the fort.
"The Little Tiber," said June. "It flows with the power of the original Tiber, river of the empire."
Percy was too exhausted to understand all that. But he got the main point and forged into the river. It was icy cold.
He reached the other side and put the old woman down as the camp's gate opened. Two sentries came out.
"Well that was a lovely trip," she said. "Thank you, Percy Jackson, for bringing me to Camp Jupiter."
Then, just because the day hadn't been weird enough already, the old lady began to glow and change form. She grew until she was a shining seven-foot-tall goddess in a blue dress, with a cloak that looked like a goat's skin over her shoulders. Her face was stern and stately. In her hand was a staff topped with a lotus flower.
Frank spoke first, "Juno."
It finally clicked with Percy who she was. So, he joined the others in kneeling.
She smiled at Percy. He may not know who she really is to him, but she appreciated the respect, even after carrying her all this way.
She turned to look at the other. "Romans, I present to you, Percy Jackson, the son of Jupiter. His fate is in your hands."
Juno shimmered and disappeared. Frank and the two sentries gaped at Percy. Stunned that he had carried a goddess; and the fact that he was a son of Jupiter, almost a direct replacement of their recently missing Praetor, Jason—another son of Jupiter.
Frank was leading Percy to the Principia where he'd meet Reyna, the remaining Praetor of New Rome.
"She's not bad, but she just lost her other Praetor two months ago, so she might be a little on edge."
"I'm sorry. . . Um, if you want to talk about—" Percy tried to comfort Frank.
"It's fine, man. I didn't get to meet him. He was gone before I got here. Anyway, he's probably fine."
"Oh, he's not—dead?"
"No," Frank started, seemingly thinking how to answer. "He just disappeared one night, I guess. He was our other Praetor, a son of Jupiter, like you. He wouldn't have abandoned New Rome. So, he was probably taken."
"Hey, it's cool. Why don't we talk about something else." Frank seemed to cheer a little at that. "So, I guess my parent is Ze—Jupiter. Who's yours?"
"I don't know. I really hope it's Apollo. I'm awesome with a bow, my sixteenth birthday is soon, so I should be claimed then—Here, this is it."
It was at the corner of a crossroads. It stood as the most impressive building Percy had seen. A two-story wedge of white marble with a columned portico like an old-fashioned bank. Roman guards stood out front. Over the doorway hung a big purple banner with gold letter 'SPQR' embroidered inside a laurel wreath.
"Your headquarters?" Percy asked.
"It's called the principia." Frank corrected. "C'mon, she'll want to meet you—oh yeah! Don't lie in front of her dogs, they'll tear you apart if you do."
That didn't calm Percy down at all. Not only was he going to meet the leader of New Rome, a city filled with Lares, as Frank had called them; As well as a legion of soldiers. But had also just lost her co-leader. To top it off she's got dogs that will eat him if he lies. . . So yeah, there's that.
It was even more impressive inside the principia. The ceiling bore a mosaic of Romulus and Remus under their adopted mama she-wolf. The floor was polished marble. The walls were draped in velvet, so Percy felt like he was inside the world's most expensive camping tent.
Along the back wall stood a display of banners and wooden poles studded with bronze medals—military symbols, Percy guessed. In the center was one empty display stand, as if the main banner had been taken down for cleaning or something.
In the back corner, a stairwell led down. It was blocked by a row of iron bars, like a prison door.
In the center of the room, a long wooden table was cluttered with scrolls, not books, table computers, daggers, and a large bowl filled with jelly beans, which seemed kind of out of place. Two life sized statues of greyhounds—one silver, one gold, flanked the table. Two high-backed chairs were sat behind the table.
Frank and Percy stopped. It was then that Percy noticed a girl in a purple cape, sat in one of the high-backed chairs behind the table.
She looked to be about Percy's age, sixteen or so. She had piercing-black eyes, as she looked at Percy. Sea-green met onyx-black as they sized one another up. She had glossy black hair in a single brain. Her face looked regal, and it made Percy wonder if he should bow to her, like Juno.
"Frank, who's this?" Her accented voice broke Percy out of his stupor.
"This is Percy Jackson, amnesiac son of Jupiter, who carried Lady Juno across the Little Tiber."
Reyna's eyes widened. The man in front of her was tall—taller than Frank, so she'd guess 6'4" at least. He had raven-black hair, just like her own. With sea-green eyes that so much resembled the ocean she grew up surrounded by on Puerto Rico.
Reyna stood up and walked around the table. Offering her hand, she asked, "And how may I help you, Percy Jackson?"
Frank felt like he'd just introduced two nuclear bombs. Now he was waiting to see which one exploded first.
Until that morning, Reyna and Hazel had been the two most powerful demigods he'd met. That's one of the reasons Reyna was praetor, the best fighter in camp.
Then he'd met Percy.
At first when he saw Percy stumbling up the highway with the old lady in his arms, Frank had thought he might be a god in disguise. Even though he was beat up, dirty, and stooped with exhaustion, he'd had an aura of power. The good looks of a Roman god, with sea-green eyes, and wind-blown black hair.
They two continued to eye each other up, so Frank decided to speak for Percy. "Lady Juno declared that his fate was up to us Romans—so you. . ."
Reyna cleared her throat, released Percy's hand, and took a step back.
"First things first," she sat back down. "I want to hear your story. What do you remember? How did you get here?"
Percy told his story—how he'd woken up in the woods of Sonoma. He described his time with Lupa and her pack, learning their language of gestures and expressions, learning to survive and fight.
Lupa had taught him about demigods, monsters, and gods. She'd explained that she was one of the guardian spirits of ancient Rome. Demigods like Percy were still responsible for carrying on Roman traditions in modern times—fighting monsters, serving the gods, protecting mortals, and upholding the memory of the empire. She'd spent weeks training him until he was as strong and tough and vicious as a wolf. When she was satisfied with his skills, she'd sent him south, telling him that if he survived the journey, he might find a new home and regain his memory.
None of it seemed to surprise Reyna. In fact, she seemed to find it pretty ordinary—except for one thing.
"No memory at all," she asked, "you still remember nothing?" Reyna spun her dagger. "Most of what you're describing is normal for demigods. At a certain age, one way or another, we find our way to the wolf house. Were tested and trained. If Lupa thinks we're worthy, she sends us south to join the legion. . . But I've never heard of someone losing their memory." Reyna studied him. "You're old for a recruit. You're what, sixteen?"
"I think so," Percy said.
"If you spent that many years on your own, without training or help, you should be dead. A son of Jupiter? You'd have a powerful aura that would attract all kinds of monsters."
"Yeah," Percy said. "I've been told that I smell."
A smile cracked Reyna's mask of indifference. "You must've been somewhere before the wolf house," she said. Reyna sighed, rubbing her temples. "Well, the dogs haven't barked or tried to eat you, so I suppose you're telling the truth."
Frank was shifting from foot to foot like had to pee—which he either did or he was nervous.
"You're definitely not a typical demigod," she continued. "And your arm. . ."
"What about it?" Percy asked.
Reyna held up her own forearm. Percy hadn't noticed before, but she had a tattoo on the inside; The letters SPQR, a crossed sword and torch, and under that, four parallel lines like score marks.
Percy glanced at Frank.
"Not me." He held up a tablet on a necklace. "I'm too new—need to be here a year for a bar of service."
"So, you've never been a member of the legion," Reyna said. "These marks can't be removed."
Frank leaned forward. "I mentioned him earlier. Have you met a demigod like us before? A guy in a purple shirt with marks on his arm—"
"Frank," Reyna's voice tightened. "Percy's got enough to worry about. It's been two months. There's six months until the Feast of Fortuna. If he hasn't shown up by then. . ."
Reyna grimaced. Percy got the feeling this guy, Jason, might've been more to her than just a colleague.
"Elections only happen in two ways," Reyna said. "Either the legion raises someone on a shield after a major success on the battlefield—and we haven't had any major battles since Othrys. Or we hold a ballot. June 24th, the feast of Fortuna. Six months from now." Reyna took a deep breath. "We've talked enough for now. Frank, take him to Temple Hill. Find Octavian. On your way, tell him about the legion."
"Yes, Reyna."
Reyna stood up. "Good luck with the Augury, Percy Jackson. You'll need it."
On their way to see Octavian, Frank filled him in on Octavian and the monuments and temples they passed by.
"Octavian's a legacy," Frank said. "Son of a demigod of Apollo. Now—supposedly, he's got the gift of prophecy."
"Supposedly?"
Frank made a sour face. "You'll see."
"So, the divisions," Percy asked. "the Cohorts or whatever—you're divided according to who your godly parent it?"
"Gods no. No, the officers decide where to assign recruits. If we were divided according to god, the cohorts would be all uneven. The unclaimed, like me, would be alone. Hazel would be alone."
"Why? What's her ancestry?"
"Daughter of Pluto. Most people in the legion think she's bad luck. Me? I like her."
"Yah, she seemed nice," Frank nodded." And you're in the Fifth Cohort," Percy guessed, "Which maybe isn't the most popular?"
"Yeah. Hazel joined a month before me."
Frank pointed south, across the river. Dark clouds were gathering over Temple Hill. Red flashes of lighting washed over the monuments in blood-colored light.
"Octavian is busy," Frank said. "We'd better get over there."
They walked the rest of the way to Temple Hill in silence, Frank letting Percy digest the information. A crooked stone path led past a crazy assortment of tiny alters and massive domed vaults. Statues of gods seemed to follow Percy with their eyes.
Frank pointed out the Temple of Bellona. "Goddess of war," he said. "That's Reyna's mom." Frank pointed to where the lighting was coming from. A ring of white columns supporting a domed roof. "Octavian reads auguries there, at your fathers temple, Jupiter Optimus Maximus."
Percy had to think about it, but the Latin words clicked into English. "Jupiter. . . the best and the greatest?"
"Right."
Above them thunder rumbled, red lighting lit up the hill.
"Octavian's almost done," Frank said. "Let's go."
Jupiter's temple was definitely Optimus and Maximus.
The marble floor was etched with fancy mosaics and Latin inscriptions. Sixty feet above, the domed ceiling sparkled gld. The whole temple was pen to the wind. When Percy had stepped into the temple, thunder boomed even louder, which made Frank jump—much to Percy's amusement.
In the center stood a marble alter, where a kid in a toga was doing some sort of ritual in front of a massive golden statue of Jupiter himself.
The kid at the alter raised his hands. More red lightning flashed in the sky, shaking the temple. Then he put his hands down, and the rumbling stopped. The clouds turned from grey to white and broke apart.
A pretty impressive trick, considering the kid didn't look like much. He was tall and skinny, with straw colored hair, oversized jeans, a baggy t-shirt, and a drooping toga. He looked like a scarecrow wearing a bedsheet.
"What's he doing?" Percy murmured.
The guy in the toga turned. He had a crooked smile and a slightly crazy look in his eyes, like he'd just been playing an intense videogame. In one hand he held a knife. In the other was something like a dead animal. That didn't make him look any less crazy.
"Percy," Frank said. "This is Octavian. New Rome's auger."
"Ah Greggus," Octavian announced. "How-"
"Uh, actually it's Percy, not Gregg," Percy interrupted.
Frank coughed. "No, he said Graecus- Greek. Didn't you hear the Lares calling you that earlier?"
"What? Why're they calling me 'Greek'?"
"You do look a little Greek. You've got the complexion, the dark hair and all. Maybe they think you're actually Greek. Is your family from there?"
"Don't know. Like I said, my memory's gone. . . Although it sounds familiar— definitely could be from around there." Percy's head began to hammer, as if he was digging for information that he wasn't supposed to retrieve. It eventually subsided though.
Octavian coughed. "Now that that's settled-"
"Uh, Hi," Percy interrupted again. "Are you killing small animals?"
Octavian looked at the fuzzy thing in his hand and laughed. "No, no. Once upon a time, yes. We used to read the will of the gods by exhuming animal guts- chickens, goats, that sort of thing. Nowadays we use these."
He tossed the fuzzy thing to Percy. It was a disemboweled teddy bear. Then Percy noticed a whole pile of mutilated stuffed animals at the foot of Jupiter's statue.
"Seriously?" Percy asked. "Don't you guys have an oracle?"
"No, sadly we do not have an oracle just lying around—if we had the Sibylline books, our books of prophecy, then we would have a better idea. Maybe we could've ordered a quest to find Jason. But, our only remaining praetor," he said the word like it was poison on his tongue. "Refuses to send a quest out to retrieve it. It's probably with the eagle too."
"That's because Reyna's not stupid," Frank said.
Percy set his feet, ready to jump into action. He didn't like the way Octavian was talking about Reyna and would help Frank if need be.
Octavian stepped off the dais. He was probably about eighteen, but so skinny and sickly pale, he could've passed for younger. He might've been tall, but Percy was taller. At first, he looked harmless, but as he got closer, Percy wasn't so sure. Octavian's eyes glittered with harsh curiosity, like he might gut Percy as easily as a teddy bear if he thought he could learn something from it.
Octavian narrowed his eyes. "You seem nervous."
"You remind me of someone," Percy said. "I can't remember who."
"Possible my namesake, Octavian—Augustus Caesar. Everyone says I bear a remarkable resemblance."
Percy didn't think that was it, but he couldn't pin down the memory. "Why did you call me "Greek'?"
"I saw it in the Auguries." Octavian waved his knife at the pile of stuffing on the altar. "The message said: The Greek has arrived. Or possibly The Goose has cried. I'm thinking the first interpretation is correct. You seek to join the legion?"
Percy nodded.
"Good news!" He said, turning to Frank. "Percy may join the legion. We'll assign him to a legion at evening muster. Tell Reyna that I approve."
"OK. . . Uh—Let's go Percy. Come on."
After a Roman bath, Percy was stood off to the side with a couple of guards. He had fresh clothes, but still looked uncomfortable standing up there, in front of the entire legion. Could you blame him? He was about to be introduced to two hundred heavily armed kids.
It was a pretty intimidating sight. The first four cohorts, each forty kids strong, stood in rows in front of their barracks on either side of the via Praetoria. The Fifth Cohort assembled at the very end, in front of the Principia, since their barracks were tucked in the back corner of Camp next to the stables and the latrines.
The campers were dressed for war. Their polished chain mail and greaves gleamed over purple t-shirts and jeans. Sword and skull designs decorated their helmets. Even their leather combat boots looked ferocious with their iron cleats, great for marching through mud or stomping on faces.
In front of the legionares, like a line of giant dominoes, stood their red and gold shields, each the size of a refrigerator door. Every legionnaire carried a harpoon-like spear called a pilum, a gladius, a dagger, and about a hundred pounds of other equipment. If you were out of shape when you came into the legion, you didn't stay that way for long. Just walking around in your armor was a full-body workout.
Octavian stood in front of the First Cohort, looking smug in his plumed Centurion helmet, with a dozen medals pinned on his chest.
Reyna was cantering back and forth on her Pegasus, Scipio—nicknamed Skippy because he was the color of Peanut butter. Her metal hounds Aurum and Argentum trotted at her side. Her purple officer's cape billowed behind her.
The Lares were last to fall in. Their purple forms flickered as they jockeyed for placed. They had an annoying habit of standing halfway inside living people, so that the ranks looked like a blurry photograph. But finally, the centurions got them sorted out.
Octavian shouted, "Colors!"
The standard-bearers stepped forward. They wore lion-skin capes and held poles decorated with each cohorts' emblems. The last to present his standard was Jacob. The legions eagle bearer. He held a long pole with absolutely nothing on top. The job was supposed to be a big honor, but Jacob obviously hated it. Even though Reyna insisted on following tradition, every time the eagle-less pole was raised, Hazel and Frank could feel embarrassment ripple through the legion.
Reyna brought her Pegasus to a halt. "Romans!" She announced. "Juno herself guided newcomer, Percy Jackson, here and proclaimed him a son of Jupiter."
A wave of whispers washed over the legion at this news. They lost their other Praetor, Jason, a son of Jupiter, two months ago, only to gain another son of Jupiter.
The kids in the back rows craned their necks to see Percy.
He raised his hand and said, "Hi."
"He seeks to join the legion," Reyna continued. "What do the auguries say?"
"I have read the entrails!" Announced Octavian, as if he'd killed a lion with his bare hands, rather than ripping a stuffed panda pillow. "The auguries are favorable. He is qualified to serve."
The campers gave a shout, "Ave!" Hail
Reyna motioned the Senior officers forward—one from each Cohort. Octavian, as the most senior Centurion, turned to Percy.
"Recruit," he asked, "do you have credentials? Letters of reference?"
A lot of kids brought letters from older demigods in the outside world, adults who were veterans of the camp. A good letter could get you a position in the better Cohorts, sometimes even special jobs like legion messenger, which made you exempt from the grunt work like digging ditches or conjugating Latin verbs.
Percy shifted. "Letters? Um, no."
Octavian wrinkled his nose. "No letters," Octavian said regretfully. "Will any legionnaires stand for him?"
Frank stepped forward, "I will!"
Immediately there were shouts of protest from the other Cohorts. Reyna raised her hand for quiet and glared at Frank.
"Frank Zhang," she said. "Your godly parent has not claimed you yet. You're also on probatio, and thus are not able to stand for another camper until you've earned your first stripe."
Frank looked like he might die of embarrassment.
The only things stopping the other Cohorts from standing for Percy was the fact that half the shouts of protest were from the Lares, calling him graecus, and nobody in New Rome liked a graecus. Percy also didn't look like very much when he was standing there. Two months of living off very little food, and constant exercise made him lose a lot of weight. Percy was tall and lanky rather than muscular. Other than that, the other Cohorts would've snapped him up.
Both Hazel and Frank looked at Dakota, one of the two Centurions of the Fifth Cohort, who sighed and stood for Percy.
Reyna too wrinkled her nose at the thought of Percy being in the Fifth Cohort, but she turned to Octavian. The auger smiled and shrugged, like the idea amused him. Octavian never liked Jason, and now the fact that the last two sons of Jupiter to come to Camp Jupiter were placed in the disgraced Fifth Cohort was almost too much for him.
"Very well," Reyna announced. "Dakota, you may stand for the recruit. Does your Cohort accept him?"
The other Cohorts started coughing, trying not to laugh. Hazel knew what they were thinking: Another loser for the Fifth.
Both Dakota and Gwen shared a look, like: Here we go again. Frank pounded his shield against the ground and the rest of the Cohort followed, though not very enthusiastically.
Reyna looked at Percy with pity. "Congratulations, Percy Jackson. You stand on probatio. You will be given a tablet with your name and Cohort. In one year's time, or as soon as you complete an act of valor, you will become a full member of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata. Serve Rome, obey the rules of the legion, defend the camp with honor. Senatus Polulusqe Romanus!"
The rest of the legion echoed the cheer.
"Centurions," Reyna said, "you and your troops have one hour for dinner. Then we will meet on the Field of Mars. The First and Second Cohort will defend. The Third, Fourth, and Fifth will attack. Good Fortune!"
A bigger cheer went up-for the war games and for dinner. The Cohorts broke rank and ran for the mess hall.
One of the guards had given Percy his probatio nameplate. Percy strung it on his leather necklace with the one bead.
At least the camp food was good. Invisible wind spirits—aurae—waited on the campers and seemed to know exactly what everyone wanted. They blew plates and cups around so quickly, the mess hall looked like a delicious hurricane. If you got up too fast, you were likely to get beaned by beans or potted by pot roast.
Percy got a cheeseburger and blue-soda, he didn't know why. But he tried it, and grinned. "This makes me happy," he said. "I don't know why. . . But it does."
Just for a moment, one of the aurae became visible—an elfin girl in a white silk dress. She giggled as she topped off Percy's glass then disappeared in a gust.
Laughter echoed off the walls. War banners rustled from cedar ceiling beams as aurae blew back and forth, keeping everyone's plates full. The campers dined in Roman style, sitting on couches around low tables. Kids were constantly getting up and trading places, spreading rumors about who liked whom and all the other gossip.
The Fifth Cohort's tables were in the back of the dining hall next to the kitchen. At Percy's table sat Hazel, Frank, and Percy.
Their house god, Vitellius, shimmered into existence, standing half embedded in Frank's crotch.
"I hope you're ready new kids," he said. "This Legion fights worse than we did in Judea, and that was the first time we lost our eagle. Why, if I were in charge-"
Just as quickly as he'd appeared, he was gone—mid sentence.
"What was that about?" Percy asked.
"The Fifth Cohort hasn't won in a very, very long time," Hazel said.
There was a pause before anyone spoke. It was Frank this time, "I wish I was ADHD or dyslexic."
"What?" Percy asked.
"Yah, you guys all have ADHD or Dyslexia, and all I got was Lactose Intolerance."
Percy grinned. "Seriously?"
Franks shoulders slumped. "And I love Ice cream, too. . ."
Percy laughed. Hazel couldn't help joining in.
"Okay, so tell me," Percy said. "Why is it bad to be in the Fifth Cohort? You guys are great."
Hazel answered. "It's. . . complicated. Aside from being Pluto's kid, I want to ride horses."
"That's why you've got the cavalry sword?"
She nodded. "It's stupid, I guess. Wishful thinking. There's only one Pegasus at camp—Reyna's. The unicorns are just kept for medicine, because the shavings off their horns cure poison and stuff. Anyway, Roman fighting is always done on foot. Cavalry. . . They kind of look down on that. So, they look down on me."
"Their loss," Percy said. "What about you Frank?"
"Archery," he muttered. "They don't like that either, unless you're a child of Apollo. Then you've got an excuse. I hope my dad is Apollo, but I don't know. I can't do poetry very well. And I'm not sure I want to be related to Octavian. They think I should be a sword fighter because I'm big and bulky." He looked down at his body, like he couldn't believe it was his. "They say I'm too stocky for an archer."
"You asked about the Fifth," Hazel said. "Why it's the worst Cohort. That actually started way before us."
She pointed at the back wall, where the legion's standards were on display. "See the empty pole in the middle?"
"The eagle?" Percy asked.
Hazel was stunned. "How'd you know?"
Percy shrugged. "Vitellius was talking about how the legion lost its eagle a long time ago—the first time, he said. He acted like it was a huge disgrace. I'm guessing that's what's missing. And from the way Octavian talked about Reyna, I'm sure it was lost again, and he thinks the Sibylline books are with the eagle, and the loss had something to do with the Fifth Cohort."
Hazel made a mental note not to underestimate Percy again. When he first arrived, she'd thought he was a little goofy, but clearly, he was smarter than he let on.
"You're right," she said. "That's exactly what happened."
"So, what is this eagle anyway? Why is it a big deal?"
Frank looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "It's the symbol of the whole camp—a big eagle made of gold. It's supposed to protect us in battle and make our enemies afraid. Each legions eagle gave it all sorts of power and ours came from your father himself. Supposedly Julius Caesar nicknamed our legion 'Fulminata'- armed with lighting—because of what the eagle could do."
"Yeah, well," Hazel said. "It didn't make us invincible. The Twelfth lost its eagle the first-time way back in ancient days, during the Jewish rebellion. Each legion guarded theirs to the last man, because it was charged with power from the gods. They'd rather hide it or melt it down rather than surrender it to an enemy. The Twelfth was lucky the first time we got our eagle back. But the second time. . ."
"You guys were there?" Percy asked.
They both shook their heads.
"I'm almost as new as you." Frank tapped his probatio plate. "Just got here, Hazel got here a month before me. But everyone's heard the story. It's bad luck to even talk about this."
Hazel filled Percy in on the rest. How the Senior Praetor from the Fifth Cohort tried to figure out a prophecy and make it come true. He was warned by the augur that it was too soon, but they went to Alaska anyway. Any survivors refused to talk about what had attacked them.
"Since the eagle was lost," Frank intervened. "The camp has been getting weaker. Quests are more dangerous. Monsters attack the borders more often. Morale is lower.
"And the Fifth Cohort took the blame," Percy guessed. "So now everyone thinks were cursed."
Hazel spoke up. "We've been outcasts of the legion since. Our reputation got better when Jason became praetor. They say he was a good leader. Grew up in the Fifth Cohort. He didn't care what people thought about us. He started to rebuild our reputation, then he disappeared. . . I'm sorry Percy, now you know what you've gotten yourself into."
Percy sipped his blue-soda and gazed thoughtfully. "I don't know even know where I came from. . . But I've got the feeling this isn't the first time I've been an underdog. I've got myself some new friends. Maybe together we can turn things around for the Fifth Cohort, huh?"
A horn blew at the end of the hall. The officers at the praetor's table got to their feet—even Dakota, his mouth vampire red from Kool-Aid.
"The games begin!" Reyna announced. The campers cheered and rushed to collect their equipment from the stacks along the walls.
"So we're the attacking team?" Percy asked over the noise. "Is that good?"
Hazel shrugged. "Good news: we get the elephant. Bad news-"
"Let me guess," Percy said. "The Fifth Cohort always loses."
Frank slapped Percy on the shoulder. "I love this guy. Come on, new friend. Let's go chalk up my seventh defeat in a row!"
Percy, Frank, Hazel and the rest of the Fifth Cohort walked out of camp towards the war games. The Fifth Cohort formed two lines behind their centurions, Dakota and Gwen. They marched north, skirting the edges of the city, and headed to the Field of Mars—the largest, flattest part of the valley. The grass was cropped short by all the unicorns, bulls, and homeless fauns that grazed here. The earth was pitted with explosion craters and scored with trenches from past games. At the north end of the field stood their target. The engineers had built a stone fortress with an iron portcullis, guard towers, scorpion ballistae, water cannons, and no doubt many other nasty surprises for the defenders to use.
"They did a good job today," Hazel noted. "That's bad for us."
"Wait," Percy said. "You're telling me that fortress was built today?"
Hazel grinned. "Legionnaires are trained to build. If we had to, we could break down the entire camp and rebuild somewhere else. Take maybe three or four days, but we could do it."
"Let's not," Percy said. "So, you attack a different fort every night?"
"Not every night," Frank said. "We have different training exercises, sometimes deathball—um, which is like paintball, except with. . . you know, poison, and acid, and fireballs. Sometimes we do chariots and gladiator competitions, sometimes war games."
Hazel pointed at the fort. "Somewhere inside, the First and Second Cohorts are keeping their banners. Our job is to get inside and capture them without getting slaughtered. We do that, we win."
Percy's eyes lit up. "Like capture-the-flag. I think I like capture-the-flag." Percy stumbled, trying to keep time with the left-right rhythm. "So why are we practicing this anyway? Do you guys spend a lot of time laying siege to fortified cities?"
"Teamwork," Hazel said. "Quick thinking, tactics, battle skills. You'd be surprised what you can learn in the war games."
"Like who will stab you in the back," Frank said.
"Especially that," Hazel agreed.
They marched to the center of the Field of Mars and formed ranks. The Third and Fourth Cohorts assembled as far as possible from the Fifth. The Centurions for the attacking side gathered for a conference. In the sky above them, Reyna circled on her Pegasus, Skippy, ready to play referee. Half a dozen giant eagles flew in formation behind her—prepared for ambulance airlift duty if necessary.
Frank propped his pilum against his shield and checked Percy's armor. Every strap was correct. Every piece of armor was properly adjusted.
"You did it right," he said in amazement. "Percy, you must've done war games before."
"I don't know. Maybe."
"Just stay with us, Percy," Hazel said. "Chances are we'll get the worst duty and get eliminated early. They'll throw us at the walls first to soften up the defenses. Then the Third and Fourth Cohorts will march in and get the honors, if they can even breach the fort."
Horns blew. Dakota and Gwen walked back from the officers' conference, looking grim. "All right, here's the plan!" Dakota took a quick swig of Kool-Aid from his travel flask. "They're throwing us at the walls first to soften up the defenses."
The whole Cohort groaned.
"I know, I know. But maybe this time we'll have some luck!" Gwen said. She gave Percy a meaningful look before looking at the rest of the Cohort. "First line with Dakota. Lock shields and advance in turtle formation to the main gates. Try to stay in one piece. Draw their fire-" Gwen turned to Frank's row without much enthusiasm. "You seventeen from Bobby over, take charge of the elephant and scaling ladders. Try flanking attacks on the western wall. Maybe we can spread the defenders too thin. Frank, Hazel, Percy. . . Well, just do whatever. Show Percy the ropes. Try to keep him alive." Thunder boomed overhead as she finished, it was so loud it was almost as if Jupiter himself was angry that they were disrespecting Percy. It was Percy who caused it. He knew they shouldn't be treated like that and he was ready to prove them wrong.
She turned back to the whole Cohort. "If anybody gets over the wall first, I'll make sure you get the Mural Crown. Victory for the Fifth!"
The Cohort half-heartedly cheered and broke ranks.
Percy scowled, "Do whatever?"
"Yeah," Hazel sighed. "Big vote of confidence"
"What's the Mural Crown?" He asked.
"Military medal," Frank answered. "You'll notice nobody from the Fifth is wearing one since we're usually either burning or drowning."
"Well," Percy said, making sure he had his pilum and gladius. He didn't have shield. "Let's change that today." Again, thunder boomed overhead, and clouds started to roll in, changing from clear skies to hurricane weather in a matter of seconds. Reyna and the eagles would have trouble flying during tonight's game.
The Third and Fourth Cohorts stood back and watched as the Fifth got ready to attack. Ready for their normal entertainment before they too were beaten by the First and Second Cohort's defenders. Percy, Hazel, and Frank were sneaking towards the eastern wall of the fort, the only place the rest of the Fifth wouldn't be attacking. "That's where the defense will be the weakest," Frank said. "They'll never take three kids seriously. I think we can sneak up pretty close before they see us."
"Sneak up how?" Percy asked.
"You're a child of Jupiter. How bad can you make the weather?"
Percy looked unsure. "I don't know. I can try though." Percy brought both hands forward an closed his eyes.
Almost immediately the wind picked up, rain started to pour, and lightning illuminated the sky. Thunder shook the ground. Octavian's little show at Jupiter's Temple was outclassed by the son of Jupiter. The defenders were preoccupied by the storm because the scorpions' fires were doused. Defenders scattered in confusion, some were knocked off the side of the fort. The rescue eagles weren't even in the sky to save them. Quite a few defenders took some hard blows from the fall.
Percy opened his eyes again, grabbed Hazel and Frank's hands and trudged forward through the storm. They made it to the eastern wall with no trouble, with the visibility being almost zero. Percy extended his hands again, raising them this time. The storm responded, dissipating once again. It allowed the eagles to take to the sky again, and Reyna to do her refereeing duties.
"Okay, Frank, we're here. What now?" Percy asked.
Frank was still shocked from the display of power. "Uh, um—here." He took out an arrow. The iron tip was shaped like the nose cone of a rocket. An ultra-thin gold rope trailed from the fletching. "It's called a hydra arrow." He aimed and fired. When it reached the top, the metal point fractured into a dozen lines that lashed out and wrapped around anything they could find—parts of the wall, a scorpion, and defending campers.
"Go!" Frank said.
Percy grinned. "You first, Frank. This is your party."
Frank hesitated. Then he slung his bow on his back and began to climb. Hazel was next, she grabbed onto the rope and looked at Percy. "Apparently Jason could fly. Give it a shot!" And she ascended the rope.
"Flying?" Percy muttered. He gave his best superman pose and jumped, producing a large enough leap to clear the wall, but not flying. He landed next to Frank who'd just swept a couple defenders off their feet with his pilum, and Hazel who just reached the top. He gave her a brief nod before going to work.
From Reyna's point of view, to say Percy fought like a demon was an understatement. He whirled through the defenders' ranks in a completely unorthodox style, rolling under their feet, slashing with his gladius instead of stabbing like a Roman would, whacking campers with the flat end of his blade, and generally causing a mass panic.
Seeing his strength in person wouldn't have been enough to make anyone believe her. He rolled past the stab of a pilum and drove his elbow into the center of a defenders' shield, snapping it in half. An imperial gold shield—snapped in half by an elbow. Seeing Percy do that, with his slimmed down arms, was quite the spectacle. The show of strength was herculean to say the least.
Percy grabbed the half shield, after abandoning his snapped pilum which had broken over the heads of two legionnaires of the First Cohort. His gladius in one and hand and shield in the next he weaved through the remaining defenders until he reached the doors of the center of the base. Frank and Hazel were already at the door, waiting for Percy to finish up.
"Percy, there is no godly way you just did any of that without training," Hazel said.
Percy just shrugged. "After you, guys. I'm going to catch my breath."
Frank and Hazel strode straight into the room, the guards gone after being drawn out to the thunder from before. They grabbed the banners and marched out of the keep, Percy at their side. The Fifth cohort formed ranks around them, and together they paraded out of the fort, past stunned enemies and lines of equally mystified allies.
Slowly the Third and Fourth Cohort joined the Fifth, from where they had been sat watching, and celebrated with them.
Percy slept like a medusa victim—which is to say, like a rock.
He hadn't crashed in a safe, comfortable bed since. . . well, he couldn't even remember. Despite his insane day and the million thoughts running through his head, his body took over and said: You will sleep now.