Eyes of a Storm
By Becky Creighton
Disclaimer: If I owned Percy Jackson, why would I be writing fanfics about my own work? Honestly…The only thing I own in this story is my OC Ulysses Tanner.
AN: I've been turning this idea over in my head for some time now, and I've finally worked out everything. As it goes on it will seem rather disturbing, but…
The more gruesome aspects of the story which grant this an 'M' won't occur until the next chapter, so bear with me here.
Ulysses is another name for Odysseus, the hero of Homer's Odyssey. Do a bit of research and you'll find out why I chose that name….
Chapter One: Bananabeth
"….and that gives you a time of one minute thirteen seconds, Mr Tanner."
I staggered to a stop, pressing down on my knees as I got my breath back.
"T-that's b-better…than, than…y-y-yesterday, right?" I said, glancing up at the dryad in front of me. The dryad, a willowy girl with a thin face and chestnuts for eyes, flicked a quick glance at her record sheet and then looked back at me with a smirk.
"Better," she says, "but still not good enough to beat me."
"D-dammit!" I reply, and drew myself up to my full height, wiping sweat off my forehead. "One of t-t-these, t-theses, these –"
"Days?" the dryad finished for me.
"Yeah!" I said. "I'll b-beatcha!" I shook a limp fist at the sky, only for the sun to glare back at me. The dryad raised an eyebrow, and then her attention was drawn to the clatter of footsteps behind me and the rapid, deep breaths that were getting louder every -
Before I knew it, I was shoved forward and sent sprawling onto the sandy ground.
"Aaaack!"
"W-w, w-wa, w-w-watch it, Jackson!" I scrambled to my feet and spat out a mouthful of sand.
The black haired boy groaned pathetically and stood up, scowling at me.
"Well at least you beat Percy," the dryad noted.
"How tactful of you," Poseidon's son said dryly.
"Anyway!" the dryad interrupted, narrowing her eyes at him. "That's the end of the session. We'll just tote up the scores and see which cabin won…" My siblings from the Athena cabin quietly laughed to themselves as we went back to our groups – in Percy's case, the empty spot which he decided represented his cabin. I took my position at the end of the row, where my younger sister Annabeth was gazing as if in a trance out to the sky.
The dryad blew on a whistle around her neck and the other satyrs and dryads assisting the activity suddenly turned around from afar at the shrill sound, gathering around her with their clipboards. A few seconds later there was a ripple of nodding heads and the group pulled away. "Okay, little godlings, the results are in…Per – I mean, Poseidon cabin, scored an average time of one minute twelve; Athena cabin scored fifty-two seconds. Athena cabin wins!"
"Ugh!" came Percy's grunt amid the eruption of cheers. Annabeth merely just smiled and mumbled congratulations. I struggled to find a spot to breath as my brothers and sisters jumped around squealing.
"That was so not fair! I mean, one against…against, nine people or something!" Percy moaned.
"Stop being such a sore loser, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth countered. "You know perfectly well that you could beat us any day if you tried."
"No I couldn't!" Percy retorted. "Maybe I could've got a few seconds more if I hadn't barged into Lanky Legs there!" He pointed an accusing finger right under my chin, surprising me so much that I jumped, making my glasses slide down my face.
"H-hey!" I said. "My l-l-legs aren't the-that long!" I poked my glasses back over my eyes and made an effort to look tough. "If I r-remember cor-correctly I was only a f-f-f-f-f –"
"Few?" Percy offered, one eyebrow raised.
"Few d-d-damnseconds behind you!" I completed.
Percy gave a blank expression and said, "So you've got a stammer and Tourettes."
"Hey!" I sized up to him and balled my fists at that, which wasn't that hard considering my height. I had no idea how much my knees were wobbling until I remembered how badly Percy could pulverize me.
A few gasps came from behind.
Percy's mouth formed a small o. Annabeth rolled her eyes, and turned around with her hands on her hips, sighing.
The anger slid off my face like grease.
"Umm…"
Percy grinned devilishly and started in a quiet sing-song voice, "Lanky Legs Ul - "
"Percy!" Annabeth barked. I yelped and collapsed to the ground, clutching my ears.
"No n-need to shou-"
"You know how much Ulysses hates being teased, Percy," Annabeth scolded.
"But he-"
"But you promised!" My sister reposted, sealing the argument as if with a large red stamp. The air became brittle with tension, the silence like a shout. She gave Percy a look that could freeze water, and then turned to me, saying in a soft voice, "C'mon, Yoolly, we have to go to the orchards now."
I scrambled to my feet and got a glimpse at Percy as Annabeth dragged me away by the arm. His face was reddening by the second, his eyes soft and distant. He was either annoyed at losing the argument or ashamed that –
Wait a minute. Annabeth had gone to the trouble of making Percy promise never to tease me. Without even asking me.
"T-this is why I-I'm glad to h-ha-have you as m-m-mm-my sister, Bananabeth." I said with a smile. "Just s-ss-stop c-calling me Y-Yoolly."
"And stop calling me Bananabeth." She replied wryly.
"Okay the-then." One small question at the back of my head was left unanswered. "S-say, Ban- Annabeth, why wuh-were you a b-b-bit spaced out b-back at the racing there?"
"Oh, it's just that Thalia's coming to visit from the Hunt today," she replied, the corners of her mouth perking up. "I'm sure she has too many stories to tell!"
I had lost track of where we were going so it came as a surprise when the darkness of the thicket washed over me, little threads of light beaming out of the cracks between the leaves above. It felt safe and secluded here, peaceful almost. I could almost feel the trees growing beneath me; and finally I had found a place where I could spend eternity, talk about anything. The same thing had crept along Annabeth's face, for her hand relaxed a little, and she seemed as if she was about to say something she'd been trying to say for a long time; which she did.
"For goodness' sake, Ulysses. You're sixteen – that's a year older than I am, and you can't stand up for yourself."
The blunt truth of it sent pangs of sadness through my mind. "I-I know, it's just that, the-that, that…"
"What?"
Somewhere in my head, I summoned the words I'd been trying to say all this time. The right ones.
"I don't get it, Annabeth. The children of Athena are supposed to be wise, athletic, and cunning. I'm just a book-worm."
She suddenly stopped, her grey eyes widening. Perhaps it was because I had managed to say something without crashing headfirst into the hurdle that was my every word.
Or maybe it was something I said?
"Ulysses Tanner," she began, crossing her arms. When Annabeth calls you by your full name, she means business. "It's nothing to do with who you are. You're the smartest person I know here at Camp Half-Blood, I kid you not."
"N-not as s-s-smart as you though."
"That's rubbish!" she said. "Listen. Who's the genius who's won us nearly every Capture-The-Flag since the year began with his crafty schemes? You are. Your namesake was renowned for his guile and artfulness, his knack for survival and disguise. Athena is proud to be your mom. If Seaweed Brain ever forgets his promise again, you remember that."
I stood perfectly still, repeating Annabeth's words in my head. I felt the heat of the sun bake the back of my orange shirt to my skin. The silence became even more evident as a bird swooped across the path in the thicket, warbling its song. Annabeth looked down at the ground, her hair tumbling across her face. Then she finally looked up, saying, "We're late. Let's go."
Nothing else of much interest happened to me that day; except for the moment when Thalia, the Hunter and Daughter of Zeus who had befriended Percy, Grover the satyr and Annabeth, arrived in Camp. I overheard the four exchanging stories and whatnot, but that was about the second highlight of the whole day. I just tried to keep myself to myself, replaying the words, 'Athena is proud to be your mom' over and over again. It gave me a warm feeling inside, but despite all that I couldn't rid myself of the strange sensation that everything was going to go wrong.
Which, I can happily say in retrospect, it did.
It all started when I decided to sneak out of the cabin at midnight and curl up under a tree near the forges. It was large and chunky, and cast a shadow so dark it seemed to swallow me up. The harpies would never find me here. Sighing, I leaned back, stretching, catching the midnight breeze on my skin. As I groped on the ground in the darkness my hand found something soft – a bag? With a lot of metal objects inside, as I searched it further. I dropped it, and then casually turned to look behind me.
A silhouette peered back.
"Aaah!" I yelped and clutched the tree, my heart pounding like a drum; the silhouette jumped back.
The silhouette and I studied each other for a few seconds in the silence; I quaking in terror with wide pale eyes, the silhouette shaking at the knees - the question friend or foe? wasflung back and forth, neither of us wanting to deal our hand.
The tension snapped.
"Ulysses?" a husky voice asked. I tilted my head as the figure stepped into the dim moonlight, and with great relief I found that the person was none other than Charles Beckendorf, son of Hephaestus.
"Th-thank the g-gods!" I spluttered, releasing the breath I had held. "For a s-second I thought y-y-you were some kuh-k-kuh-kind of serial killer!"
"Same here!" Beckendorf said. He raised a hand to his brow."I'm sorry for scaring you, Ulysses. I keep my tools here whenever I feel like working at night-"
"You m-mean that bag?"
"Yeah!" I held the bag aloft and tossed it into Beckendorf's hand. "Cheers. Nice meeting you out here, Yoolly, but I gotta go."
"See ya!"
Beckendorf gave me a pearly smile and sauntered off into the night, making no sound whatsoever.
I decided not to take any more chances and crept as quickly as I could back to the Athena cabin, buried myself under my duvet and fell asleep in an instant, blissfully unaware.
Looking back on that night, I wonder whose tasteless joke it was that it should be I, Ulysses Tanner, who would be the last one to ever see Charles Beckendorf –
Alive.