Son of Poseidon: the Snake, the Vain, and the Pyre

Chapter 1: A Letter from Camp

I jolted from my bed early, like I usually did, at the tail end of a nightmare; which sadly also was just the usual. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I stretched, groaned, and cracked my back. "Gods…" I groaned as I lazily reached over to the desk, by my bed and grabbed a green leather-bound journal and a pen; a present from my absentee, immortal dad, Poseidon.

I've made it a habit of mine to jot down my dreams and write down my day to day stuff. I figured Rachel or someone back at camp could help make sense of the mental clutter that was my teenage brain.

Hi, my name's Alex, Alexander Conecke. I'm just a kid living on the coast of Florida with my mom; trying to coast through my classes and living the dream catching the surf and relaxing. Well, that's how it worked out, until I turned fourteen. Then the shit hit the fan.

It all started with a crazy shark that wanted to tear me to shreds, followed by a giant boar that wanted to gore me, man-eating horses, swarming bunnies… You get the idea.

But I wouldn't trade it for anything. I met a bunch of really cool kids at this camp up in New York and I learned that I had powers, a dad, so that's awesome. Didn't want to learn that all the Greek monsters were real and that there's this crazy nature Goddess named Cybele trying to level mankind to make way for the Wild, but take the good with the bad I guess…

Anyway, I penned away my nightmare about that creepy hiss from the dark and the screams of little kids. I let the journal gently close but stopped the cover and glanced the signature my dad left for me, stamped with a hand drawn trident next to it.

I sighed as I tossed the journal back on my bed with the other two and clomped over to my closet. I yanked out my really worn out beach flip-flops that look like they half-melted from sitting on the hot sand, and my surfboard.

It was a thing of beauty. My mom had gotten it for me after Sharkzilla smashed my old one into splinters. She didn't know the story, but even if I told her, I don't think she'd believe me.

In any case, after I got back from camp, it was leaning against the wall next to a new backpack crammed with back to school gear, (I guess mom tried to soften the blow that school was right around the corner.)

It was long, about ten feet or so. A grown up's board, something I could use for years to come. It was a sparkling sea-green, like the color of the New York Sound at sunrise. There was also something else cool about it. It had a giant bronze trident inlaid.

Now, I know Dad is the God of the Sea, but apparently mom doesn't. Yet she chose that pattern to decorate it. When I asked her why she chose that specific design, she shrugged and just said that it suited me.

I shrugged, it's a cool board, and it was free. End of story.

As I hobbled over the dunes with the wind knocking into the surfboard; I used this quiet time to help organize my thoughts. Not that I had the answer to world peace or deep, philosophical thoughts running through my head. It's just, I like to put my ducks in line, err so to speak.

Riding the waves was soothing. I always felt better on the water. I figured it had something to do with Dad but hey. Just having the sea breeze blowing into my face and the lapping of the water against my feet, was enough to get rid of all my daily frustrations.

Ever since last year, hanging out by the beach had gotten a lot more interesting. Dolphins make for interesting conversation. They know the best places to hit the waves. And they like keeping an eye on me and hanging around. I don't mind, the monsters always seem a bit hesitant to show up when there's a hundred bottlenose dolphins that can swim like torpedoes and armed with fish-gutting teeth skulking in the shallows.

I was in the middle of trying to make a tight turn on a ten-footer, when a dolphin broke the surface and snorted in my face. I shook my face, trying to get rid of the salt spray and wobbled on my board before crashing into the water.

I popped back up over the water and bobbed in place, "fish-friend, really?" I asked the dolphin in annoyance.

It chattered happily as it smacked its fluke on the water and splashed with the strength of a cannonball. 'I am sorry, young lord." The dolphin snorted from his blowhole and chittered. It lurched into the air and spun in the air like a ballerina in a pirouette before crashing back into the surf.

"Right, I can see when I'm not wanted around," I grunted with arms crossed in annoyance. I got back on my board and rather than wait for the ocean to taken me in to shore, I willed the water to whisk me away. I throttled over the waves, as if I had strapped an engine to the back of my surfboard and jumped onto the sand.

I headed back inside my house and was struck by the wonderful smell of homemade waffles, hash browns and sausages. A feast fit for the gods.

My mom, Sara Conecke, was hands-down the best cook ever. She took some classes in culinary arts before she had me. She could have easily run her own restaurant, between her family's collection of recipes, (which she had memorized by heart) and her ability in the kitchen, coupled with her charming personality. But I came along and threw a monkey wrench in her plans.

Now she works in a diner catering to passing tourists, truckers and a small but loyal crowd of locals. She didn't mind her lot in life, but she deserves more. I wanted to help her, but I wasn't much of a cook. (I can burn water boiling a pot…)

"Hi honey," she called out over the sizzle of oil and the crackle of eggs on a hot pan. "How was the surf this morning?"

I leant my board next to the door and took a seat at the bar behind her. "Picture perfect, and the dolphins were out again."

She smiled as she flipped an omelet and sprinkled some cheese and herbs and folded it before setting it on a plate in front of me, 'Gods help me… The smell was enough to make my stomach roll over and beg.'

As I started forking the food and stuffing myself silly, my mom smiled and added, "I received a letter yesterday I thought you might be interested in." She leafed through the assorted adverts, bills and penny savers and pulled out an envelope with a wax seal in bronze with an impression of a great pine tree paired with a Pegasus.

"It's from Camp" I recognized the seal immediately as I eagerly tore through the envelope.

My mother smiled as she held out a train ticket and slipped it down on the countertop. "You passed your classes, and I know how much you liked that place last year. So, I figured why not head up there again."

I hugged her and smiled. "When is the train leaving?"

I she glanced at the clock, "not till three. I called ahead to make sure someone will be there to meet you at the station. A friend of yours said she'll be there waiting…"

And so, I quickly packed up the essentials to travel across country. A carry on with some changes of clothing, toiletries, my three journals, some food to tide me over, and the letter from camp.

Within hours, I was on the train, slowly chugging along north through Orange County and off for New York. I settled down for the long ride and took the time to read over the letter, since I didn't have anything better to do.

As I read it, my smile faded and an uneasy feeling weighted down on my shoulders…

To Alex Conecke, Melbourne FL

I am sending you this letter to inform you that, it may be prudent that you not come up to camp this year. I would have sent you this via Iris Message, except the Goddess' entire network has collapsed. Communication beyond mortal means has become next to impossible.

Though Cybele has been quiet for the year, I fear that she is likely to act in the summer, when the days are longest and the Wild is at its strongest.

In any case, a more serious issue has surfaced at camp, some of the campers have gone missing. With no warning, the camper goes to bed and by morning, their bunk is found empty, with no trace. There is no pattern to the abductions, if we can call them that. There doesn't appear to be a struggle, and no one has heard anything. It's as if the campers chose to get out of bed to walk off into the night and never return.

The only thing connecting the campers that have gone missing is their age. They have all been very young, across different cabins.

I encourage you to stay home while Argus and I try to determine what is going on and recover the missing campers.

May the Gods be with you, Alex.

Chiron.

As if I were going to just sit around twiddling my thumbs waiting while who knows what's going on at Camp. And my friends, if young campers are going missing; then what about Shayla?

I could just picture the little girl with blonde, wavy hair, with her grin with a missing tooth. She'd be nine this year. She could very well be in danger.

I clenched my free hand into a fist and stared intensely out the window. 'Don't worry guys, I'm coming.'