Hermes flies up to me, wearing those stupid, stupid winged shoes of his. "Poseidon," he says, looking you in the eye. "I have news from Camp Half-Blood."
I look up. "Oh really?" I smile. "How's Percy doing?"
Hermes looks down. Something inside of me feels hollow all of a sudden. My hands are cold. I stubbornly ignore the feeling.
"Well? Has he won Capture the Flag lately?" I know the answer to the question, but I need to hear it for it to be true.
"Not... exactly, Poseidon." His eyes fall. His meaning is clear in them. "I am sorry. Your son..."
My only living son.
My son.
"Say it," I growl. "Dying, or..." I choke on the word. "Dead?"
"Dying." He bows his head. "I thought you would want to see him, to say goodbye."
I am gone before he finished the last word.
My son lies on the ground by the beach. Blood pours down his back, staining the sand. I sink to my knees. Annabeth kneels beside him, her face resting on his shoulder, and his shirt is wet from her tears. A panic goes through me, and I move his hand to the water. I will it to heal him.
Nothing. Power over the Achilles curse: one thing I didn't have.
Percy's eyes open. "Hi, Dad," he says, his voice rough. I take his hand. I concentrate on bringing Sally to see her son before he dies. Less than a second later, a dazed Sally stands at the edge of the forest. Soon she sees Annabeth and I, and she half runs, half crawls forward.
"Perseus..." Her voice is weak.
My only son.
My son.
I want to die. I can see the pain in his eyes, but he doesn't cry out... making it better for Annabeth. "Mom," he says, his voice fading. "I love you. You too, Dad. Annabeth..."
She kissed him lightly, and we all watched at the light in his eyes went out forever.
I hold Sally while she cries. As I do, I remembered the last time I held her, in the hospital, standing over her as she held a beautiful, red-faced, green-eyed, black-haired baby.
The next time I'd seen him, eleven, almost twelve, years later. He was mad, furious even. Growing into a fine young man, though, tall for his age, hair in his eyes, two good friends by his side. I hoped that he knew how much I loved him.
And then two years later, at the Winter Solstice. Thirteen now, he seemed to have forgiven me. He was growing up by that time. I could see in his eyes the way he looked at Athena's daughter. Maybe he didn't know it, but I did.
His fifteenth birthday party. I'd warned him of terrible things, given him a sand dollar, and left. But at least I'd seen him... he was a man now, despite mortal laws. He had the maturity of most mans in Sparta. He'd just seen his friends die. He'd just seen a powerful god fade. He'd just been practically rejected by a girl.
In my palace, he'd seen me at my worst. I was so glad I hadn't let him stay and fight. He might have died. Of course, I hadn't thought about this, I hadn't predicted...
I turn to Annabeth. "Who... what... how?" I can barely form sentences.
She swallows. "Capture the Flag. One of the Apollo archers... we don't know which. It was an accident."
His shroud is beautiful. There's no other word for it, it's pure black, with a shimmering green-blue trident in the middle. As they burn it, Sally rests her head on my chest. I hear music playing softly:
I hope you still feel small when you stand by the ocean
When one door closes I hope one more opens
So promised you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the chance to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance.
I think of the song I would have played.
When the waves roll on
Over the waters
And the ocean cries
We look to our sons and daughters
To explain our lives
As if a child could tell us why
That as sure as the sunrise
As sure as the sea
As sure as the wind in the trees
We rise again in the faces of our children
We rise again in the voices of our song
We rise again in the waves out on the ocean and then
We rise again
When the light goes dark
In the forces of creation
Across a stormy sky
We look to reincarnation
To explain our lives
As if a child could tell us why
That as sure as the sunrise
As sure as the sea
As sure as the wind in the trees
We rise again in the faces of our children
We rise again in the voices of our song
We rise again in the waves out on the ocean
And then we rise again
Annabeth stands, and goes to speak. "Percy Jackson was a hero," she begins, her voice cracking. "There's no denying it. He didn't deserve to die. He was probably one of the bravest, kindest, most loyal people I've ever known. And..." she began to cry.
I hold Sally close.
My only son.
My son. I am sure he had tried for rebirth. Maybe, in seventeen years or so, I will meet him, recognize him.
As sure as the wind in the trees
We rise again.