I don't own Percy Jackson and the Olympians

This was originally in my other story "The OC Army", but I have decided it should be its own story. This character belongs toLouise Baskerville.

The Fate of Mortals

Lene Von Tesheen:

My very life was a secret up to this day. No, people knew of me, and I had even come to believe I had friends, but they could not know me or it would spell the death of me and the rest of my family. Why, so suddenly, had "witchcraft" become so hated by the majority?

Father always said "It's because they don't understand it. They have forgotten the past and the origin of the power granted to everyman."

People didn't like it when he said things like that. When he called them stupid or ignorant, but he was a successful man and an expert in history so he was rarely challenged. Sometimes though he would spout off truths that came close to revealing our personal history of sorcery and I would fear they would come after us, but they always got this dazed expression and seemed to ignore everything that came close to the truth.

Until today. Father must have pushed it too far. He was a curios man and often enjoyed pushing his boundaries. So when he came home, frantic with worry, auntie Lavern immediately picked up on what had probably happened. They rushed around trying to quickly trying to pack up necessities while I stood trying to understand what had happened, growing extremely nervous sensing my family's worry.

I was already about to start screaming at my father and aunt when the doors burst open unleashing a mob of men that immediately grabbed me and shoved me so deep in the crowd I thought I must have been transported in to the middle of a horse stamped. But no, soon enough the men organized enough to seize me my father and my aunt and drag us, kicking and screaming, to raised platform at the town center.

I was too scared to feel all bumps and bangs as I was dragged up the stairs. I had barely noticed that my hands had been bound or that mud had been flung at me. All I noticed was man standing tall and proud in the most civilized attire I had yet seen. And he only had eyes for the three of us, my aunt, my father, and me. Never before had I seen a man with such an intense and yet vacantexpression. It was as if his very soul had been pulled from his body and nothing remained but raw primordial hate directed at the three victims of the most wide spread misconception in the world.

"You," he spat, "have been charged with the most despicable crime of witchcraft a crime punishable by death. What have you to say for yourselves?"

"You are all fools," my father cried out. "If you would take the time to try and understand it you would see it is not magic at all. My only crime is the pursuit of unexplored knowledge, and if you kill everyone that share's this pursuit then civilization is doomed."

This only succeeded in aggravating the crowd. They booed and called out vile profanities and threw rocks. And the well-dressed man was now scowling and seething with barely controlled rage and he said, "Take them to the fields where they are to be burned at the stake!"

The mob was uproarious as they snatched us off of the stage and dragged me by the hair through the streets of town and on to the fields. It isn't a trial if the fate of the accused is predetermined. As was the case for us. When we arrived we found several men were already setting up the third steak to which we would be tied.

The crowd did not leave after we were tied. No, they were all too eager for blood, so they stayed and taunted us and smeared us in dirt and threw rocks… a lot of rocks. We all bled from the jagged stones but aunt Lavern got the worst of it. She had been growing frailer in her most recent years so every stone that struck cut and she quickly grew weary and drew short ragged breaths until peace at last. A final stone struck her temple and the light in her eyes faded and she fell limp, the weight of her body straining against the ropes that tied her body to the stake.

This sent the crowd into a jubilant uproar. Their thirst for blood temporarily satisfied they returned to the village to savor the ceremony that would come that evening. My father and I were left bruised and bleeding and gasping for breath. My head spun my vision was fogged and the aches of my body threatened to overwhelm me. I cried.

So consumed by my own grief I didn't even notice my own father hacking up blood. "Selene," he managed to say in a heartbreakingly ragged voice.

"Dad," I cried desperately following each drop of blood that dripped from his beard with my eyes.

"Don't cry Selene," he said. "You'll be all right. She'll come for you. Don't worry."

I knew he was talking about the supposed goddess that inspired his pursuits in magic. "Where is she dad? Why didn't she save aunt Lavern? Why doesn't she free us now?" I screamed enraged by his faith looking at the mark on his throat where a stone had struck.

He gave the response he had used before in such arguments. "The lives of mortals are intricately woven by the unseen forces of fate, and the only fates the gods can directly affect are the fates of their kin."

"Are we not all kin? All children of the beginning and fathers to the end?" I said. "Why save me and not you?"

"Because these matters are not of such immense proportions," he said. "You are kin to the gods and I am a mere mortal."

This stunned me so my throat clenched and my eyes burned. "Mother?" I asked.

He nodded and choked on his own ragged breath and blood. "Help will come, all you have to do is ask," he said in a voice so ragged I could feel his throat swelling shut and hear his lungs strain to gather oxygen from the blood that he had swallowed.

"Dad, please!" I screamed my own voice hoarse with grief and fear.

But he could no longer answer. His breath grew quick and desperate, and as the sun set shadows were cast over his face grossly distorting his features so when the townspeople came at last they would be burning the horrible monster they all believed him to be. My brilliant and loving father was lost forever. The only memory of him would be the evil enchanter that never existed.

Finally as the sun sank beneath the horizon my sadness turned to anger. I released from my soul a feral wail that shook the leaves on the nearby plants. "If there is even a single god that watches over this earth then surly they must smite the vile monsters that would dare disgrace my father and aunt in such a manner! Mother! My father believed you were so I pray to you no matter what happens to me I ask that you avenge my family!"

Then I dropped my head exhausted. In the darkness I became aware of the town stirring, preparing for the ceremony. Suddenly a scream. And then light began to stretch out to me from the town. I looked up to the town ablaze. The air was now filled with pathetic wails of terror and pain. All I could do was stare at the flames in amazement.

"It's a shame," said a feminine voice.

I turned my head to find the silhouette of a woman examining, not the town, but my now dead father.

I realized it at once. "Mother?"

She looked at me with eyes that glowed like the moon. "Well?" she said, "did you get everything you wanted from me?"

My eyes filled with tears once again. "Only you were too late to save him."

"Yes, well…" she said grief apparent in her voice. "As he would say we must all face fate and death is an inevitable part of life."

"Does that mean you do not live because you will never die?" I asked a bit of venom returning to my voice.

She merely smiled and said, "You are your fathers a daughter. Always curious."

This elicited another pang of sadness. "But your fate has not yet arrived," said my mother. "So I grant to you immortality until your time comes." Just like that the ropes fell away and I collapsed. "I trust that your father provided you with the necessary skills to survive."

With that she turned and faded in to darkness leaving only a black scythe in her wake. "Thank you, Nyx… Mother."