Here I am again! Now, on to...

What story will I fall into—Hey, I'm really flattered! I love the books, and even at camp am trying to get as many people obsessed as possible. =D

ToL-Lover—Hey, you're back! YAY! Glad you still like. The only thing better than reading it is writing it, I swear.

Thisismimi—I'm glad you liked last chapter and the first as well. Thank goodness no one's taken my plot! I'm not always a fast updater with my stories, mostly because of longevity and limited time, but hopefully later this summer that can change. Plus, I'm off easier with this one because the chapters are shorter... and there's only four of them so far. Oops.

g2Luvmeh—Ah, I'm flattered again! I hope I can stay to the book for the most part, and keep the plot interesting. And... yes, Luke. Luke is amazing. Luke is win. In fact, Luke is the reason I'm writing this story. There will be more of him, that I can promise.


Chapter Three: I Pack For A Pilgrimage


Two hours later I was thinking, Maybe I was crazy to do this.

But that was obvious—I was agreeing to leave a safe apartment, a secure job, and some college-planning time in order to help a dead person I hadn't exactly been fond of in life. There was no sense in that at all.

All while the 'Kindly Ones' were there, I had convinced myself that I was doing this for Annabeth. Whatever else she said to the contrary, I knew that she had loved Luke at one time as more than a friend—and I was tied to anyone she was fond of.

But I was still lying to myself. I was tied to him, too.

Luke Castellan and I had been linked from the moment he'd welcomed me into the Hermes cabin, short as my stay there had been. I once counted him as a friend, a close friend, even a teacher (though not of Chiron's caliber). Through him I learned how much of a grudge I could hold against someone—when he tried to kill me and defected, I never once forgave him, or tried to understand his side of the story. He was my enemy, always.

Three years had passed, all the time since he had died to save us, and things... happened, things that made me think more and more about him. Away from camp, away from other half-bloods who weren't as sorry to see Luke gone, I thought about him, and about myself, and about how truly alike we were after all. Luke and I had hot tempers, doting fathers who could be a little distant, and wicked, old swords. We didn't have the approval of any of the gods now, I was sure; we both feared the other's power; and, in different times, we both found friends in Annabeth, Thalia, and Grover.

Now I was the same age Luke had been when he'd betrayed us all.

Yet... I was committed to saving his soul in ways I had never before been committed to anything—except saving Annabeth, or Grover, or my mother.

So. Here I was. Packing for another quest, because that had just gone so well the last time.

I have to save Luke.

I did, but I didn't want to think about all that I had to do, so I decided to pack instead.

My apartment was a mess. I opened drawers and threw bedcovers right and left, reminding myself every so often to keep going whenever I let my ADHD brain distract me. In the end, I found:

-one baggie of ambrosia squares, and

-one canteen, barely full, of nectar (Yes, I still had some of both. I was depressed and hopeless, not stupid.)

-one flawless shield, made by Tyson, hanging on my wall because I hadn't been able to bear leaving it behind anywhere else

-many, many bottles of water

-a pack full of food fit for mortals, half-bloods, or perhaps even gods

-Riptide, cleaned and ready to kill/maim/vaporize, and

-one sleeping bag, just in case I actually got to sleep.

Another precious two hours had flown by, but I could say it—I was ready.

But first I had to write a letter to Annabeth. We'd been planning to get together soon after my birthday, and though I knew it would have just consisted of her nagging me to come back to camp regularly... it would have been a nice post-birthday gift.

She was going to kill me if I returned alive. Luckily, there was a small chance of that happening.

I remembered, perfectly well, what all lurked in the Underworld.


Luke, you had better be worth this.

The pack was on my back, full to the brim—the shield was an innocent watch on my wrist, the water bottles in holders on the bag's many sides, Riptide was a pen in my pocket, and the sleeping bag was thrown over my shoulder as well. I could have passed as a camper, headed for some secluded, water-deprived middle of nowhere.

I stepped out of my apartment and tacked my note to Annabeth to the window. Vaguely, I wondered if I should write a note to Rachel too, but then I decided against it. After all, a) she wasn't my girlfriend, and b) before about eight hours ago, I hadn't heard a peep from her since our graduation—and our reunion hadn't exactly been a barrel of laughs, either.

It was dark, the perfect cover. I began to jog, moving swiftly (but not silently) down the stairs, past the cars, including my own, and...

Wait. Why am I not taking my car?

The answer came quickly: Because it would be recognized, of course. The last thing I needed was to be forcibly ejected from a car by lightning, again. It was either on foot or nowhere at all.

Forgive me, Father, I senselessly prayed. I'm about to fail you again.

The moment I was across the street from my new home, something made me turn. And then I remembered:

Oh, no no no NO. My mom—she promised she'd call me, today.

No time to find out if she had. I turned around and continued to jog, putting as much distance between my mortal life and my half-blood life as possible.

I am a phoenix, I told myself calmly as I went. I am rising from my ashes, temporarily at least, to save Luke from a fate worse than... okay, what's really going on in the Underworld again?

As though it mattered. I would be going anyway, and—painful as it had been to come to the conclusion—I knew I would be going alone.

Chiron's voice echoed in my head once more. "You should know this by now, Perseus." (I still remember flinching whenever he called me that.) "Three heroes is the safest number to send on a quest—any quest. And it doesn't matter whether one of those heroes isn't really a 'hero' at all. Thalia, Luke, Annabeth and Grover came here nine years before, and Thalia never made it past the camp borders."

"That wasn't a quest!" I remember protesting.

"Ah, but in a way it was. Getting to camp was the most difficult challenge twelve year-old Thalia had ever faced."

"But—but—the Council sent Grover to get them, so..."

"He still counted, Percy. He was with them for quite a while."

"The wrong turns."

"Yes."

Now I was violating another cardinal rule—not taking two friends along to watch my back. I was so dead that it wasn't even funny.

I sighed, then. At least Hermes won't have to take me to the Underworld. I'm a mindless fowl, going of its own will.

Four more hours bled by at annoyingly slow speed—it had been twelve, now, since I had been working dutifully at Starbucks. It felt more like three more years had been shaved off of my life. Nevertheless I jogged on, panting softly, feeling my heart rate sharply in my ears.

My goal was to reach New York's borders by sunrise. It'd be difficult, but I was sure I could do it—as long as I didn't stop for mortals, gods, potential-gods-masquerading-as-mortals, monsters-masquerading-as-mortals, or any other distractions.

Take it in steps, Percy, I heard Annabeth instructing me—she was my conscience as always. Focus on the journey, not the destination. You might look up and find yourself there sooner.

Thunder boomed silently above—with tingles of apprehension running up my arms, I saw light flashing at the bottom of clouds, charges playing with each other. That ominous sound had spoken to me twice today. That was what demigods liked to call "really bad".

To be honest, I was a little annoyed. Why in the world was I being watched? I'd cut off all contact with the gods, and it had been a long while since I had even seen Zeus, let alone gotten any messages from him. And right now he sounded really, really angry.

I hoped (but did not pray) that it wasn't with me. Praying would call an uncomfortable amount of attention to me—I knew that now, when it hadn't occurred to me starting out. Now it's too late- I spoke with my father, and now they know. Possibly.

The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. Sudden, uncontrollable fear surged through me, and I started to run, expecting lightning to hit me at any moment.

It didn't. But it was a while before I started breathing normally again.


The scar on my back flared anew with pain.

Oh, gods—!

I couldn't help it—I screamed, a long scream, a loud and agonizing yell. It had been such a long time since it had hurt like that.

Everything had been such a long time ago, everything even remotely like this. I was only nineteen years old, and I felt about five times my age.

It came back in flashes:

"Perseus, it was not your—"

"Percy! What happened—to—?"

"The Jackson kid... know how he got that wicked scar, right?"

"Get over it, why don't you? At least you're not dead—"

"SHUT UP!"

I realized that I was screaming at the sky. Definitely not a good idea... but I could plead temporary insanity. Or was it really?

I never knew the memories were still that raw.

The scar flared again. I hissed in pain, threw down the pack, and hurled off my shirt, my hands searching up my back and down, up and down, up and down until...

Ouch.

I traced it slowly. The mirror had taught me where it began and where it ended—but other than my initial morbid fascination with it, I hardly examined it anymore. One reddish, raised-up welt, extending from just above the center of my back to the bottom left corner. Time had dulled everything about it, from the initial pain to the color, size and bleeding habits.

My pain, rage and humiliation, given shape.

It continued to throb now under my fingers, mocking me. I counted twelve flashes of pain before I managed to stand, and pull my shirt and pack on.

Luke and I both have significant scars, too. But I think mine hurts a little more.

I put one foot in front of the other, heading away from the horizon.


Look for an extra scene if I (you guessed it) get enough written support saying 'Yes, DO IT'. (See, I didn't call it what it was and you know anyway. GO!)