Author's Notes: It has been a long time, and I'm sorry to anyone who was following this before I stopped writing. This is the product of a New Year's Resolution that I'm trying hard to keep, so I should be able to get a chapter out every few months although I don't have much time to write anymore. Riordan has also kept writing, and I've had to pick and choose how much of the new events and cosmology to use. The Magnus Chase books happened on schedule in the other Nine Worlds without Percy getting involved at the beginning of Ship of the Dead, the Trials of Apollo haven't happened because the Emperors don't want to wake Gaia up either, and I'm still figuring out what I'm going to do with the remaining short stories in Demigods and Magicians.
Late November, two years after the second Olympian War.
The naiads of Spain had duck feet.
No, seriously. They were beautiful women, wearing flowing dresses rather than the jeans and t-shirts most of the naiads back in America liked, with bright yellow webbed feet. The group in the lake in front of us hadn't noticed the three of us yet; most of them were playing underwater volleyball with one watching on the rocks near the shore.
"I'm going to go say hi," I said, leaving Blackjack to graze on the shoreline of Sanabria Lake, the largest freshwater lake in Spain. Mrs. O'Leary was stalking a butterfly behind him. When I got to the water's edge, an out-of-bounds ball bounced up onto the shore, and I scooped it up.
The naiad on the rocks turned to look for the ball, saw us, and then yelped and dove into the water like she was being chased by the hounds of hell. This was a bit of an over-reaction, since Mrs. O'Leary was nowhere near her.
"Um," I called, tossing the ball back into the water, "sorry? The dog is harmless, I swear."
I waited for a bit, feeling stupider by the second, but eventually one of the team captains warily surfaced to grab the ball.
"You'll find no game here, Hunter," she called out. "Leave these shores in peace."
I blinked, surprised. Not Greek spirits, then.
"That's… mostly a technicality. And how can you tell? Do we smell?" I didn't want to smell like Wild Hunt. It sounded like a bad cologne brand.
She looked from Blackjack to Mrs. O'Leary and back to me. Even at a distance I could see the look of profound skepticism, like I'd tried to sell her a six-foot bed and promised her she'd fit perfectly.
"So you just happen to be wandering about with horse and hound? There are no 'technical' members of the Wild Hunt."
"Come on, he's a pegasus, do we look local? I'm a demigod from America." I pulled up a ball of water, the same size as hers, and spiked it to her. It bounced twice before coming up to rest on the water's surface. (OK, I'd been hoping for an invitation when I came up to the water. Sue me. It looked like fun, and I hadn't ever played a sport when the rest of the team didn't need to breathe air.) "We got pulled into a Hunt in Ireland, that's all. It didn't seem smart to say no."
"You're… a son of Neptune?" She picked up the waterball hesitantly, then, at a normal volume so I almost couldn't hear her, said "They made a son of Neptune a Hunter?"
I paused, and then decided against it. I should probably just get used to that name for my dad while I was west of Italy.
"It was supposed to be a one-time thing, I think," or at least that was the impression I'd gotten from Manannan, "but then a big pig happened, and after it was dead they'd decided we'd joined up. There were prophecies involved. It was a weird night."
I didn't think I'd completely managed to convince her, but she dropped the ball and swam closer so we wouldn't be almost shouting at each other. I waded out a bit to meet her halfway.
"Then what brings you here, demigod, and why bring a hellhound with you?"
"I'm taking her for a walk," I said cheerfully. "Her name is Mrs. O'Leary. The pegasus is Blackjack, and I'm Percy Jackson."
"You're taking your hellhound out for a walk," she repeated, raising her eyebrows.
"Sure, I can't keep her cooped up on the ship all the time. I try to exercise her at least once a day." I kept smiling. "So, since I'm just a wandering demigod, barely part of the Wild Hunt-"
"That's not actually any better, I've known too many demigods," she said, but I was pretty sure she was trying not to smile back at me.
"-and you've got an uneven number of people, can I play? It would mean no-one would have to sit out."
She laughed out loud. "You've got some nerve, Percy Jackson. I'll ask."
It took a bit of discussion, but eventually the not-a-naiad waved me in, and I spent the rest of the afternoon under Sanabria Lake. Eventually, I got hungry enough to say good-bye and surface for dinner. Blackjack left his patch of grass and wandered back over at my wave, and I summarized the original conversation for him.
Do you get the feeling we've joined a biker gang, boss? Blackjack asked as I jumped onto his back. I let Mrs. O'Leary head back into the forest instead of sending her back before us. She'd be fine there until we got back to the ship.
"A bit, yeah."
What are we doing for the Winter Solstice? He started cantering for momentum, and then spread his wings to get us into the air.
"I think we should just get out of Europe entirely. Spend a couple of weeks at home." One Hunt a year was more than enough. I thought for a bit. "I don't think we'll have a problem in Italy. If we don't spend too long in France, we can anchor near Rome and head to New York on the eighteenth or nineteenth, and come back after New Years' Day."
Sounds good. Are there any old French holidays we'll need to avoid?
"… I'll look it up when we get back to the ship." I facepalmed. I probably should have done that already. The Salmon's little lecture had been annoying, but he wasn't wrong. And I wasn't the one who could get hurt if I missed something obvious. Even Mrs. O'Leary could be hurt if the monster was big enough.
My stomach rumbled, and Blackjack snorted and said, After dinner?
"After dinner," I agreed. "I'm thinking a ham sandwich."
Again? You've got anger issues, boss.
"You're just jealous you can't eat meat." Plus, the local cured ham was delicious.
You're damn right I am.
At the end of November, I pulled into Port Vell, in Barcelona. After renting a slip from one of the local yacht clubs for a few nights and answering the usual sailing-enthusiast questions about the Firefly, I asked about the three-masted schooner farther up in the port.
"She's the Saint Eulalia, with the Maritime Museum," the marina official told me. "It's free for entry tomorrow, if you're interested."
I thanked her, and did wind up going the next day. The museum was in the old Royal Shipyard, and I got some good pictures of the old buildings. Most of the permanent exhibits were full-scale models of sailing ships from the last five centuries, including a modern replica of a sixteenth-century Spanish galley. They hadn't ever sailed, but they were the right shape and for each of them I had the same bone-deep knowledge of their structure that I had for the Firefly, telling me what I would need to do to each of these ships for them to be seaworthy.
As I absently inspected the old navigational equipment, following the audio guide and mostly ignoring the written information, the ship sails that had never actually been used for their intended purpose ruffled in a nonexistent breeze. Ropes twitched. The demonstration oars in the galley shifted slightly and locked into position. A single cannon, bolted to the ground as a separate exhibit, rocked slightly, until I remembered where I was and stopped fidgeting.
This was the first time that had happened on land, although as the trip went on and I docked at each new port I had to put more effort into ignoring the other ships in the marina. If it used sails or rows, it was naturally a part of me.
I didn't have quite as much control over anything that relied on a motor. I had that same awareness, but not the control. For the mechanical stuff, I was happy to bug Leo or Nyssa. Engines weren't really my thing.
Sometimes, though, I felt like that was just a matter of working a muscle I'd never tried using. Since I was pretty sure that would mean actually sitting down and learning about outboard motors the hard way, I was fine just sailing the way that came naturally.
At Annabeth's suggestion, I also got pictures of a park designed by the architect Gaudi and flew up to Bilbao to get some aerial footage of the Guggenheim Art Museum, but aside from a couple of casual flights we just relaxed and resupplied over the next couple of days, getting ready to leave Spain and follow the coast up to France.
A few hours out of Barcelona, I was in the bottom hold organizing the supplies when Blackjack yelled, Boss! Get up here! There's a ship coming!
I focused on any ships around us, and dropped the crate as the information hit me. Trireme, 120 feet long, currently carrying...
Currently carrying a compliment of weird fish-men rowing the ship at us at ramming speed.
"I've got it," I yelled to Blackjack as I climbed out of the bilge.
I angled us away from the oncoming ship. If she missed us on her first charge, we would lose her. The Firefly could out-sail any ship on the water. At my command, the water around the oars thickened, and the trireme stalled in place.
Then, she popped free, propelled by the water behind her like a cork from a bottle.
Boss! Blackjack sounded panicked now. I broke into a run and had just reached the ladder to the top deck when the ship crashed full-on into our side and the crew started swarming onto my deck.
I fell off the ladder from the impact as Mrs. O'Leary started barking and Blackjack jumped into the air. Smart- he was a trained war-pegasus, but if he was surrounded by men with swords he'd only be able to go down fighting.
He didn't get more than a few feet up. They had javelins. Two hit Blackjack's wings, the third hit his chest. He fell back to the deck with a scream, and then I'd finally made it onto the deck and hit the attackers around him like a tank.
I killed two of them before they even knew I was there. The other five had no chance even when they turned to fight me. When the last of the immediate threats were dead, I took a second to glance at the wounds. They were nasty, and he wouldn't be flying soon, but they wouldn't kill him quickly.
Go, boss. I'll live, Blackjack snapped.
On the bow of the ship, Mrs. O'Leary was attacking the dolphin-men still swarming off of the trireme. Daedalus had raised her to be friendly, but she was still a hellhound. Most of the attackers she met dove off the sides rather than face her teeth, and their swords and nets couldn't do much more than irritate her. Her jumping around was more of a danger to the ship than any of the dolphin-men were, though. I could turn the Firefly back over if she capsized, and it was an option if things went really wrong, but with Blackjack injured it was the last resort. I whistled, and she whirled and bounded back to the empty space I'd cleared in the stern of the ship.
"Guard," I ordered, pointing at Blackjack, and she obediently stood over him while I charged the dolphin-men. There were about twenty-five still left on the ship, with maybe another hundred either in the water and swimming back to the trireme, or still getting up from the three banks of oars that had propelled the trireme's bronze-covered bow into my ship.
I'd beaten worse odds.
I carved my way through another four attackers before I met one that fought back. He was dressed in full gold-colored Greek armor and a golden gorgon's mask, and didn't have any of the visible deformities of the rest of the trireme's crew.
I attacked with a low strike. He blocked with his own golden sword, stepped in, twisted, and Riptide went flying while his sword came directly at my throat.
I staggered back, choking.
Less than three seconds, and I'd been disarmed and taken a fatal blow.
"Huh," the man (the captain?) said. His crew gathered behind him and dragged the wounded they could reach out of the way. "So this is the Mark of Achilles. I have only heard the legends. A pleasure to meet you, Percy Jackson."
I straightened, rubbing my throat. Riptide was out of reach, but if he was willing to talk… "Who are you? How do you know who I am?"
"Chrysaor, son of Poseidon, at your service," the man said with a mocking bow. His voice was rich and velvety, with a vaguely middle-eastern accent. "A mutual acquaintance wishes me to deliver a message. 'Enjoy Elysium'."
I drew a blank for a minute, then the memory hit. Hercules. "That son of a-"
"He rather is, isn't he?" Chrysaor agreed cheerfully.
"So you're… what? His errand boy or something?" I asked.
"Or something," Chrysaor said. "He killed my son once, you see. We've never really gotten along. But Hercules has guarded the exit to this ocean for most of my life. I did not care when Olympus lay on the Mediterranean, but the West expanded across the oceans centuries ago, and we have been left behind, bottled up in the same waters we have been sailing for thousands of years."
His men chittered behind him. This was clearly a long-standing grievance.
"They made another exit, you know," I said. "The Suez Canal, ever heard of it?"
He snorted. "Wrong direction. Those waters are not friendly to any child of our father."
"So, what, you get rid of me and you sail free?" I guessed. "I hope you got that on the Styx."
"Oh, nothing so attention-getting," he said. "If word of this little deal gets out… well, Poseidon holds grudges. He would forgive me, in time. He has lost many sons over the centuries. Hercules, however…"
My sword finally came back to my pocket, and I drew it and attacked in one movement. Chrysaor laughed and met the blow, and the fight started in earnest.
I wasn't disarmed. That's about the most I could say for the fight, and it was more because he didn't try again than because of any skill on my part. I hadn't been this outmatched since I'd fought Ares when I was twelve, and Chrysaor wasn't holding back or underestimating me at all.
I could probably hit harder than him, but it didn't matter if I couldn't touch him, and even with the Mark of Achilles, he was better. I was a good swordsman and the most powerful demigod Camp Half-Blood had seen in centuries, but I'd only been training for six years. Chrysaor had three thousand.
He hit me a dozen times in the first three minutes. Chest, stomach, sides, armpits, back of the neck, and a few very unsportsmanlike places.
"I'm going to actually have to tie you down and stab every part of your body, aren't I?" Chrysaor finally said contemplatively, stepping back. I was panting and drenched in sweat. He wasn't even breathing hard. I reached out to the water, but the wave I summoned died before it formed.
"None of that, brother. I've sailed these waters far longer than you have."
Boss, you don't have to fight him! Just tell the dog to shadow-walk us out of here, Blackjack called. I turned sideways and glanced back without fully letting Chrysaor out of my sight. He was on his knees, with the javelin still in his chest muscle.
"Target the animals," Chrysaor snapped, and the chittering crew immediately threw a dozen javelins over our heads. I jumped, grabbed the rope that reached out for me, and swept as many off-course as I could; the rest hit Mrs. O'Leary without too much effect. When they'd run out and I landed, though, Chrysaor attacked again, driving me away from Mrs. O'Leary and towards the ship railing.
...son of Poseidon. Right, Blackjack said sheepishly.
"My brother was Pegasus, nephew. I hardly need my father's blood to understand you. Springing together from our mother's was enough," he said.
Pegasus had a brother? Blackjack sounded surprised. I was now remembering a small pair of human-shaped handprints in that cave, next to the foal's hoof prints. I was glad I hadn't been the only one to not make that connection.
"That tends to get left out of the legends," Chrysaor said sourly. "When your brother is Pegasus, you get used to being forgotten."
"Wait," I said, finally placing the accent as one I'd heard six years ago, in New Jersey, "your mom was Medusa? That sucks."
"Yes, it's quite tragic. Trapped in one sea, with my mother across the ocean, but… well, we could IM. Until you killed her, of course."
"It's not like she's not coming back," I protested automatically, trying to think through my options. The crew would kill Blackjack if Mrs. O'Leary attacked Chrysaor, I couldn't beat him alone, and I couldn't control the water… but could control the ship. That rope had responded to me automatically, and it didn't look like he'd noticed. He hadn't thought to block that power, even on the trireme he captained. I could feel both ships.
"She resurrected once, yes. After a few centuries in Tartarus." Chrysaor turned slightly to take a weighted fishing net from a member of his crew using a trident-net combo. "So did my son, after Heracles killed him. He settled down, and turned a two-bit cattle ranch into a successful business. His name was Geryon."
I really wasn't going to win any points with this guy, was I? Around the Firefly, the chains keeping eight guns in place released. "Get off my ship, or you'll get to say hi to them sooner than you want to."
"Bold words, Percy Jackson. The Mark means nothing if you cannot back it up." Behind him, the guns turned around.
"Uh, Captain-" one of the sailors started to say.
"See you in Tartarus, Chrysaor," I said, keeping his attention on me. He snorted and came at me with the net, trying to tangle up my legs.
"Captain, look out!"
The guns fired.
Two shots hit Chrysaor dead-on and spattered, catching him and his net on fire. The other six went into the massed dolphin-men.
Chrysaor screamed.
He tried to drop and roll, tearing his mask and armor off. He was still screaming.
He kept on rolling, still on fire, throwing bits and gobs of green flame that landed on the deck and sails and died out without any effect.
I couldn't make myself move, and just watched in horror.
Chrysaor, so covered in fire that I couldn't see what his face looked like, tried to go over the side, still screaming through a throat that was almost gone.
This was Greek Fire. The water wouldn't help.
A rope he dove over tangled him up and dragged him back. I was still holding Riptide. It had been less than a minute.
I made him stop screaming.
As the body of my father's son disappeared from the edge of my sword, I got a few seconds of pure, blessed silence before my adrenaline-focused senses started going back to normal and I had to pay attention to the rest of the ship. The dolphin-men had taken most of the cannon shots, but there were a lot more of them and the ones that had been hit had either managed to get their armor off or were already dead from being burned or trampled.
They were panicking, diving over the sides or running back to their ship. The ropes on the Firefly snaked out to grab the ones that were left. On the trireme, the dolphin-men's lines started doing the same. The oars a few of the brightest sailors had managed to reach unlocked themselves and shoved back, pushing them off their benches with bone-breaking force.
"No," one of the ones that had made it to their deck whimpered in Ancient Greek dolphin-speak, "no, no, not again, I'm not doing this again-"
"Abandon ship!" another yelled as he jumped off of the trireme. All of the crewmen that could still move followed him off and started swimming at a respectable pace away from the ship. I stopped paying attention to the water around us and walked over to the closest pirate.
"Sorry, sorry, didn't mean anything by it, sorry," he was chittering as he struggled against the rope dangling him from the mast. Behind his back, out of my line of sight, he was sawing at it with a rigging knife. I focused slightly, and the rope stopped fraying under the edge, and then knitted back together.
I knew who these guys were. When I'd met Mr. D, he'd threatened to turn me into a dolphin before we'd gotten through the camp introduction. It looked like all he'd managed to do was create a new species of monster. The deck was covered in the dust of their dead crewmates, and I couldn't be the first person they'd met who'd fought back. They'd just climbed out of Tartarus and become pirates again.
I had nearly twenty helpless prisoners, and it sickened me a little to know that the biggest thing stopping me from killing them was the fact that it wouldn't make any difference in the long run.
I could have done without knowing that about myself.
The pirate met my eyes. Whatever he saw in them made him close his snout instantly.
I was very tired.
"If you keep attacking people, you'll always bite off more than you can chew eventually," I finally said.
He started nodding frantically. "Yes, yes, I've learned my lesson this time, I'll be good-"
"You won't ever step on a ship again," I said. My words echoed on the decks and through the depths of the ocean. "None of your crew will."
He hesitated, then said "I'll swear, on the Styx itself I'll swear-"
"Don't bother." I turned away from him, almost in a trance. "It won't change anything."
He went pale. Well, paler. "None of us? Never?"
"Never. Good-bye."
The rope twisted and flung him over the sides. With another thought, the rest of my captives on both ships followed him and they all began swimming away.
I stood, surrounded by dropped weapons and armor, and breathed.
I could still smell Chrysaor burning.
Boss? Blackjack came forward and nudged my arm with his nose. Are you OK?
Blackjack was hurt, and I was just standing here. I opened my eyes, and saw the golden mask. It had stopped burning as soon as he'd taken it off, and was only slightly warped by the heat.
Spoils of war.
I bent over the side of the ship and started throwing up.
After I'd become reacquainted with my breakfast, I went below deck and grabbed my medical supplies. I was no child of Apollo, but I had more experience treating pegasi than most of the demigods at Camp Half-Blood, since I tended to be hauled in to translate whenever there wasn't a satyr handy. The winged horses had divine blood, but their relationship with Poseidon was far back enough that they couldn't use as much nectar or ambrosia as a demigod even with the weight difference.
"You'll need to stay out of the air for a few days, and eat a bit of ambrosia each day," I said as I bandaged his wings, "and these will probably scar."
Scars can be hot, Blackjack said, munching on a quarter of a square of ambrosia. The deepest cut, the one in his chest muscle, was getting shallower as I watched. It wouldn't be life-threatening, and he'd probably have been fine eventually even without the ambrosia, but he'd have been out of the air for weeks.
None of Mrs. O'Leary's wounds were more than scratches, but I taped a few bandages on the deepest of them before turning to cleaning up the deck. Camp Half-Blood always needed Celestial Bronze and I had enough space, so I decided to keep the discarded weapons and armor, even Chrysaor's. His sword and some of the other weapons were made of a golden metal I hadn't seen before, but which had the same soft glow as Celestial Bronze and the Tuatha de Daanan's Blessed Iron weapons.
After smoothing over the splinters in the Firefly's hull where Chrysaor's trireme hit, I went over to the trireme, finally started paying attention to the ship's cargo, and sprinted to the locked hold of the lower deck. The locks clicked open when I pushed, and I stepped into Chrysaor's treasure room.
I'd sold enough of the Firefly's original cargo myself to have a decent idea of the market value of precious metals, and there were millions of dollars here in gold and silver alone. I couldn't even begin guess how much the gems or art were worth. I fell to my knees next to a stack of solid gold bars and slowly picked one up.
I'd always known that this trip couldn't last forever. Before I left home, Mom had made me put enough money aside to pay for tuition at an in-state university. What was left over after repairing the Firefly and saving for college was enough for a few years of travelling if I didn't go crazy. After that, I'd need to either head back to New York and go to college, or start making a living sailing like Annabeth had suggested once.
Now? That was no longer a problem. If I didn't want to, I would never need to settle down. I could spend the rest of my life on the water, going anywhere I wanted.
I was free.
I spent the rest of the day moving the treasure and all of their supplies I wanted to keep into my now-stuffed bottom hold. My small laundry room had been returned to its original function as the ship's magazine and armory, and held my entire supply of Greek Fire and all of the weapons I'd collected this trip. It looked like I'd need them.
I'd probably gotten a bit arrogant. We'd been at peace for years, or as much at peace as a demigod's life ever got. I'd spent the time since the gods went quiet as Camp Half-Blood's final answer to any problem. I was invulnerable, and everyone knew it. If my sword wasn't enough, my control over the seas or storms or earthquakes or volcanoes had been able to make up the difference.
Over the last two years, I'd been able to let go of the quiet terror that eventually, it wouldn't be.
I knew there were plenty of things out there that could easily kill me, of course. Thinking I was the strongest guy around was basically asking for a smiting. Hubris never ended well. But Chrysaor was no god, just a much older son of Poseidon. He probably wasn't even the worst monster in the Mediterranean; these seas were notorious for a reason. And without the guns Leo had modified for me, I'd be dead right now.
It wouldn't be easy, without a regular sparring partner, but I needed to get better. Going back to my regular sword-drills when I got up in the morning would be a start.
The sun was setting as I finished reloading the empty slots in the revolving mechanisms and stood to look at the trireme keeping pace on my starboard side. I was tempted, but I couldn't keep her. The Firefly got a fair amount of attention in any port, but most people assumed my clipper was a very authentic replica. The trireme would get a lot more questions, and I'd probably need to keep her under a veil of Mist whenever I was near humans. I didn't need the extra space that badly.
"Go," I said to her. "Find somewhere you'll be valued for the beauty you are."
Chrysaor was a pirate, but he'd kept a tight ship, and clearly treasured her. This ship was ancient, but wasn't showing any of the wear.
The trireme turned more directly west, self-powered oars dipping into the water in unison, and veered away from us.
Where's it going? Blackjack asked as he munched on dinner.
"I don't know. Somewhere that needs her," I said. Months later, I would see a tour leaflet for a naval museum in Greece, advertising harbor trips on their fully functional trireme, and smile.
August 18th, evening, Japan Standard Time. Five years after the end of the Second Olympian War.
In the garden of the Palace of the Sun, a goddess watched herself set. Her old friend approached from behind.
"My lady," Uke Mochi said quietly, "Ryujin has arrived."
Amaterasu remained silent. To the west, the last rays of light disappeared.
"My lady," Uke Mochi said, in the same tone, "do we go to war?"
Amaterasu clenched the fabric of her kimono above her stomach for a long moment, and did not answer. Then, she opened her hand, and let it fall to her side.
"We do not." Her voice was calm, giving nothing away. "You may inform the ocean lord."
Uke Mochi bowed and withdrew. To the east, her husband began his nightly journey.
"- like spoiled children, demanding a toy just because they realized someone else desired it-"
"Percy." Inari cut Uke Mochi off as I opened the sliding door from the veranda. "We were looking for you."
I paused at the garden entrance, looking them over. There had been a lot of conversations that had stopped as soon as I showed up this week. Uke Mochi had pasted on a smile as soon as she saw me. Inari, a woman today, was keeping a concerned eye on her wife.
I belatedly bowed to the goddesses, and asked, "Is everything all right?"
"The final play will start soon, and Ryujin has requested that you join him," Uke Mochi said, sidestepping the question. "And we have not given you your birthday presents yet."
"Oh, you didn't have to get me anything," I said politely.
Uke Mochi's smile gentled and became real. "My dear boy. If not you, then who?"
She held out her hands, and a platter materialized between them, holding two serving bowls, one large with a cover and one smaller with a spout. When she lifted the cover of the larger bowl, it was filled with some kind of soup. "Lift the cover, and it will give any food of Japan you desire. If you pour Inari's bowl to the left, it will give you tea. Pour to the right, and you'll have sake. Think of it as something to remember us by on your journey."
"There's no chance I'd forget," I said. "This is too much. It can't have been easy to make, so soon after-"
A sharp yip came from the garden outside.
"Tsukuyomi is on his way," Inari said quietly, interrupting the formalities.
Uke Mochi's lips tightened and the dishes disappeared from her hands.
"You will find them in your baggage. Happy birthday, Percy." She turned and went into the large inner performance room through the connecting door behind her.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Awkward.
"Um. Thank you. You didn't have to."
"No. I did not. My debt to you is now paid," Inari said gravely, eyes following her wife.
"What?" I'd called in the favor more than a year ago, yeah, but I wasn't sure we were having the same conversation right now.
She blinked, and turned back to me with a slight shake of her head. "And, perhaps, I have learned to be careful of what I wish for. In the absence of a debt, Percy, you must simply accept the good intentions of your friends."
Behind me, the door slid open.
"Lord Tsukuyomi. Good evening," Inari said, bowing just barely enough to be polite.
Tsukuyomi returned the bow, slightly shallower. "Lady Inari."
I shifted between them as casually as I could, trying to break the rising tension. "Tsukuyomi, hey. Inari said Ryujin was here, and I have really been looking forward to seeing… seeing the play they're showing tonight. Shall we?"
He quirked an eyebrow slightly, knowing as well as I did that I'd head back to Yomi gladly if it would get me out of sitting through a formal performance. Most of the party today had been various races or competitions for exactly that reason.
"I will find my seat, then," Inari said. "Good-bye, Percy. May you have a safe journey, and someday find what you seek in your travel."
"Not all those who wander are lost," I quoted cheerfully. "We'll meet again someday, probably. Good luck until then."
She bowed again and left the room.
"Stay. Amaterasu is still in the garden, and they will not start without us," Tsukuyomi said when I turned to follow her. He nodded at the sword hanging from my belt. "You fought well today."
I grinned at him. "I had good teachers."
"Your sheath has become worn, though. May I?"
I blinked, but unsheathed the Honjo Masamune in a quick motion and gave it to him. Tsukuyomi held out his left hand and conjured a dark scabbard, with a golden sun on the end-cap and a silver crescent moon holding the golden belt-tie. The sword slid into place soundlessly.
"Hold still," he said, reaching out to my head. I did, and hissed as he plucked a single hair and wrapped it around the scabbard. I rubbed my head. That had hurt more than it really should have, like I'd been pierced with a needle. I'd almost forgotten that particular feeling after five years of oral vaccinations.
Under his hand, my hair flared with silver light and sank into the scabbard.
"I know it's probably been too long since I've gotten a haircut, but I'm pretty sure that's new," I said.
Tsukuyomi didn't smile. "It is our gift to you. While you live, no other will be able to draw your sword from this scabbard, and if you are disarmed, it will sheath itself. Mortals will ignore the sheathed sword as they do all divine objects."
He stepped closer and untied the scabbard that had come with the sword.
"Oh. Thank you, Tsukuyomi, but I…" I was fumbling for words as he tied the new sheath on, and not because of the etiquette surrounding gift-giving here.
I'd been planning on giving the sword to them tonight. Amaterasu hadn't let me, the first time I'd tried, but… well, things were different now. "…Tsukuyomi, the Honjo Masamune is one of your national treasures."
The sword he'd just tied to me, in more ways than one, was the most famous creation of Japan's greatest swordsmith, made from Jewel Steel, the local equivalent of Celestial Bronze. Even among normal humans, Masamune's blades were famous for not cutting living flesh unnecessarily. This particular sword, the Honjo Masamune, had belonged to a lot of shoguns. It had been surrendered to the American army with the rest of the then-owner's family swords after the end of World War II.
I tried not to think too hard about how it had gotten into the Yamata-no-Orochi's stomach from there.
"It is the weapon you won in battle, and needs a wielder. It should not rust in a museum."
I fought to keep my face expressionless. The Honjo Masamune was perfectly balanced, the only sword I'd found since Riptide that actually felt right to use. Hachiman and Tsukuyomi had kicked me around enough on the training grounds that I'd adjusted to one edge instead of two, two hands instead of one. I'd used it happily wherever carrying a concealed weapon like Riptide's pen would be rude. But once I left their waters, I'd only be taking it out of its sheath to make sure it didn't rust.
The Honjo Masamune was an outstanding sword, but it wasn't the sword I'd grown up with in my hand.
There was no way to say that politely, but I tried to change his mind one last time. "Demigods don't always live to an old age. If you want it used, you can give it to a Japanese hero. At least then, it wouldn't be stuck halfway… across…"
I trailed off. His hand was on my wrist.
"Demigods rarely die of old age, true." His voice was quiet. "The sheath and sword will return to us when you die. This way, we will know."
I closed my eyes. I couldn't say anything to that but, "Thank you."
He stepped back, and we followed Inari and Uke-Mochi into the connecting room. Ryujin had one of the central seats, and I separated from Tsukuyomi to say hi. Ryujin's preferred human form was nearly seven feet tall when standing, with cropped black hair greying at the temples and green cat-eyes. He nodded a greeting when I bowed, and indicated the cushion next to him. "Join me. We will talk after the performance."
By then, Amaterasu had joined Tsukuyomi, and the musicians were starting. I spent the next couple of hours focusing on not fidgeting too much during the play. ADHD sucked. The story was one I'd heard several times already from the participants, about a mythical invasion of an ancient Korean kingdom. Ryujin had helped the invasion, and this play was more because he was here tonight than because of my birthday.
When it was finally over and people were breaking up into groups, he turned to me and said, "You are departing tomorrow."
I frowned, a bit confused. Tsukuyomi and Amaterasu might never see me again. I hoped I'd sail this way again eventually, but… demigod. It was a legitimate concern. Ryujin, though, had a larger range. "Just for Vietnam. I'll be in your seas for a few more months."
"Of course," he said absently. He was still studying me like he'd never seen me before. "I must admit, the gift you were to receive tonight turned out to be… unsuitable. I found myself at a loss for what to give you."
"You don't have to give me anything," I said, shrugging. Birthdays weren't a huge deal to immortals. (Unless there were world-ending prophecies involved, of course.) Last year, I'd spent it in New York and done a night out when I'd gotten back. This year had been big, but that was mostly because it was a good-bye party.
"I believe I have divined an appropriate gift, nevertheless," he said. He raised his hand, palm up. A sea breeze whispered through the hall, drawing the attention of the celestial kami that hadn't already been keeping an eye on our conversation. (Tsukuyomi was subtle. Amaterasu was not.) Ribbons of seawater twisted and turned around a central point above his palm, then shrank and condensed. He closed his hand around the ball of water, and then opened it again to show a black pearl the size of a marble.
"Have you seen one of these before, in your travels?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, remembering that first quest to Hades when I was twelve. It had been a long time. "'What belongs to the sea, returns to the sea,' right? I've never seen one being made."
"Indeed. Keep it with you at all times." He reached out and let the pearl fall into my hand. "Without it, you will die at the hand of one you call family."
I closed my hand around it reflexively and took a few deep breaths. Ryujin was a very precise speaker. 'Divined' would be completely literal. I was tired of prophecies predicting my death.
Finally, I said, "…That may not mean what you think it means. I'm pretty sure every monster in the West is some sort of distant cousin, and nearly every child of Poseidon I've met has tried to kill me."
"Heed my warning nonetheless," Ryujin said. "This is not the method I would have chosen, to repay you for Toyotama's life, but it is the one I am left with."
"Thank you, then. I'll be careful." I pulled apart the braid of my necklace between Mrs. O'Leary's whistle and the golden rice sheath and wove it around the pearl. The hair wouldn't break unless I took it apart, and no knot I tied would ever slip without my permission. It was as secure as I could make it.
"We will see each other again, Jackson Perseus," Ryujin said, more solemnly than I really thought was called for. The gods were being weird tonight. "I will leave you to say your good-byes. Happy birthday."
He walked off, leaving me frowning after him. I shook my head and went back to Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi. "What's up with Ryujin? He called me Perseus."
"That is your full name, is it not?" Amaterasu said, raising her eyebrows.
"Yeah, but no-one uses it but monsters and Olympians. I didn't know he knew it, it's not like he's ever looked at my passport."
Come to think of it, had I ever mentioned it to Amaterasu?
"It may have been passed on. The oceans have been talking recently," Amaterasu said carelessly, turning away. "Are you coming?"
I shook off the mood Ryujin's prophecy had left me in and followed them to the private area of the palace. I'd said most of my good-byes earlier in the day, and the night was still young.
Before dawn the next day, Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi watched as their young lover spoke to Sarutahiko. The guardian of the Floating Bridge nodded once and stepped aside, letting horse and rider pass. After a few steps, the horse broke into a run, then took to the air and left the Bridge, turning southwest.
"It was the honorable choice." His voice was cold.
"I tried." The words were ashes in her mouth. "May I forgive myself, but I tried. It bore no fruit."
August 18th, mid-afternoon, Eastern Standard Time. Exactly five years after the end of the Second Olympian War.
The anniversary celebration was in full swing, and had been since mid-morning. Five years' worth of new campers had met their parents and seen Olympus for the first time, and after whirlwind tours had mostly settled down in family groups. Annabeth wasn't sure how they were going to pry Hephaestus' kids out of the forges, and she'd just diverted around an Apollo cabin jam session that had turned ugly.
"Annabeth," Nico di Angelo said as he came up to her, "have you seen Will anywhere?"
"Back that way, with his cabin," she said, pointing, "but you might want to give them a bit more time. Guitar strings probably shouldn't be used that way."
"What?"
"The celadons showed up," she explained. "Their warranty expired a few years ago."
Nico winced. "I'll just… wait here for a bit, then."
"That's probably smart. I'm heading for the drinks table, if you wanted to come," she said. Nico shrugged, and they went back the way he'd come from.
After they'd gotten their drinks, he asked, in what he probably thought was a casual tone, "So, any idea why Percy isn't here?"
The atmosphere in Olympus was strange today. The younger campers couldn't know anything was wrong, but Annabeth wasn't the only veteran who had picked up on the hole left by the absence of the demigod with the most right to be celebrating today. None of the immortals they'd asked had given their children an answer.
"Only what I've told everyone else who's asked. He wasn't planning on coming back for his birthday this year. He's been out of touch all week."
She waited for the follow-up question that never came. The seventeen-year-old just nodded.
As she studied him, Annabeth thought about where Percy had been on the map when he switched from Iris Messaging to using his phone to call demigods, and of her mothers' non-answers the week before, and of the richness of human culture and experience.
She finally said, "I think you might have heard more than I have, though. So. Nico, do you have any idea why Percy isn't here?"
"No! No, why would I know anything?"
"You're the first person who didn't ask why Hermes couldn't deliver Percy's invitation the way he did for everyone else."
He opened and closed his mouth silently, before saying, "It just didn't occur to me."
Annabeth took a long sip of her drink, absently watching Laurel and Holly Victor, twin daughters of Nike, start a game of Twister on the far side of the field. Eris, goddess of discord, was standing at their side. "Would it help if I said my dead cousin is a Norse demigod?"
Nico blinked. "Um. That… would help a lot, actually. Anyone I know?"
He then seemed to remember that this was not the standard response to being informed of a death in the family. "And, uh, sorry for your loss."
"You wouldn't know him, no. Wrong afterlife. Don't worry, we talk regularly."
"…right," he said. "I don't actually know anything specific. Just that something is going on with the Japanese gods and that Percy is involved. That's why I asked you."
"Percy didn't say anything to me, but Rachel said Apollo said he's visiting a girlfriend in Japan," she said.
Nico choked and snorted Coke out his nose.
Annabeth had thought Nico might have had a crush on her, once. Had assumed that he had been jealous of Percy. When he and Will Solace started dating last year, she'd had to revise her assumptions.
"Are you okay?" she asked, pounding him on the back and handing him her napkin.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" he retorted, clearing his throat.
"It's been five years. I'm more worried that he didn't mention that there's someone like that in his life. I don't think he'd leave it out unless he thought he had to." She raised an eyebrow. "Like you just did."
Nico's shoulders slumped. "No, probably not."
"My mom didn't know he'd left," she said quietly. "I don't think the gods are happy he's gone."
"Some of them are," Nico said. "…mostly the ones who fought with the Titans. I don't think Melinoe has stopped laughing yet. Have you ever seen a ghost-mummy laugh? It's not pretty."
Farther down the path, a celestial choir started singing Shake it Off. Nico grimaced. "They might actually need backup there, I should go."
"See you around," she said, finishing her drink.
He hesitated, then said, "He'll be fine. It's Percy Jackson."
She smiled. "Yeah. He always lands on his feet. More lives than a cat."
She wasn't sure which of them was reassuring the other.
As the party continued outside the palace, Poseidon inserted the earpiece Hermes handed him into his ear and let the other god fix the microphone onto the collar of his Hawaiian shirt. They were relying almost exclusively on mundane communication today, from the satellites focused on the ports of Hainan that had told them when Percy returned to the island, to the microphone that would be Poseidon's link to Olympus. Although the other gods would also attempt to observe Poseidon and Percy through their normal means, that path could and probably would be blocked by any of the native gods.
"Testing, testing. Can you hear me, Poseidon?" Apollo was in a different room of Hermes' palace with Hephaestus; the rest of the Olympian council would be joining them over the next hour.
"Yes," Poseidon said curtly, and waved off Hermes. "Enough, it's secure. I'm leaving."
"Good luck." Hermes disappeared to join Apollo and Hephaestus as Poseidon focused on the farthest reach of his territory, at the intersection of the Pacific and Indian Oceans between Australia and Indonesia, where his waters mixed with both Ryujin's and Varuna's.
He could feel their attention on him; it was rare for any of the ocean rulers to concentrate on their borders, and it was usually the start of an attempt to extend the waters under their rule. He had even felt Ryujin focus in a similar manner, five years ago when he had been unable to answer the challenge.
That was not his intention today.
Poseidon gathered his power into the human-sized body his son was most familiar with, and left the West.
He felt the shocked recoil of their powers just before he lost that sense completely. It was a bold move, but Olympus needed answers. According to Ares and Athena, Zeus's casual ultimatum had brought them a hairsbreadth from a war that would dwarf the coming conflict with Gaia, and they had only the vaguest idea why the Shinto gods had been willing to go to war for Percy when Ryujin had intended to use him to forge a peace.
Poseidon also had more personal questions, ones that would not be answered over a phone. If Ryujin chose to prevent him from seeing his son… well, that would also be an answer, in its own way. War was still a distinct possibility.
His territory fell behind him rapidly, until all that he could feel, all that he was, was centered on the fragile shell darting through the undersea volcanoes and coral reefs of Indonesia. His control of the water around him now extended barely far enough to allow him to propel his body through it, and he would never be more vulnerable than he was at the moment. If Ryujin intended to fight, he would destroy Poseidon's body now, leaving Triton to defend the border until Poseidon had recovered.
Long minutes passed as he soared through Malaysia and into the South China Sea, and Poseidon gradually let himself relax. Peace, then, or at least a continuation of their current détente.
Finally, there was a familiar presence to the north, the only thing Poseidon could feel with anything but the normal human senses. Demigods did have one advantage over their parents; they could go anywhere and challenge anything, as long as they were prepared to face the consequences when they did. Even before Percy had won favor with Ryujin, he would have had more power here than Poseidon would possess until his territory extended this far. Percy had essentially brought a small piece of the West to these strange waters.
Poseidon surfaced a few hundred feet from his son's ship, currently heading northwest from Hainan at a speed of twenty knots. He recognized the ship as the one that had been sunk in Long Island Sound the last time he had visited the camp. Percy had done an impressive job on the restoration- the ship now danced through the waves with no sign that it had once been a worm-ridden wreck.
"There you are, Poseidon. We were getting worried," Apollo said. "The GPS says you're almost there, but we lost visual as soon as you left your own waters."
As they had expected. Poseidon shot upwards and covered the remaining distance in a graceful parabola, landing with a heavy thud on the bow of the ship.
Percy's reaction was instantaneous. Before Poseidon landed, in fact as soon as he passed over the bowsprit, his son had rolled out of the hammock stretched between the two masts and uncapped his sword with his right hand. A stream of water rose over the side of the ship and coalesced into a rapidly spinning shield on his outstretched left arm as he yelled, "Erre es korakas, Guan-"
He cut off, gaping. "Dad?"
"Happy birthday, Percy. It's been awhile," Poseidon said calmly, and gestured at Anaklusmos. "Are you expecting an attack?"
Percy snapped his mouth shut and looked at the sword in his hand as though he'd forgotten he was holding it, then put it on the hammock and returned the shield on his arm to the ocean before coming closer. "Sorry, the local war god is insane and enjoys ambushing me. What are you doing on this side of the world? Is everyone all right?"
"Everyone is fine, but we are concerned. You're missing the five-year celebration of the end of the war, and Zeus has raised some questions about your recent activities." He raised his eyebrows. "Skydiving, son?"
"And it was amazing." Percy started to grin as Poseidon took his outstretched arm and pulled him into an easy hug. "There's a statute of limitations on smiting, right?"
Something deep in Poseidon's chest uncoiled. It was as it had ever been between them. Percy was still his.
When Percy had found out about his heritage, he had taken some time to adjust to the idea that he had a father. He had taken even longer to let himself believe, as he so desperately wanted to, that Poseidon cared about him. And then Poseidon had stepped forward and saved not just Percy's life, but the life of a creature with the power to destroy them all, solely because Percy had wanted 'Bessie' to live.
They were too alike in that respect; the easiest way to gain their loyalty was to give it first. Though he would not denigrate the sacrifices made and lives lost in the following months, Poseidon rather thought that Olympus had won the war in that instant.
Poseidon knew that Percy would gladly fight another Titan for a fraction more of his time and attention, but he had long since stopped blaming Poseidon for being unable to give it to him. They had only met half-a-dozen times in person, but Poseidon still had Percy's unconditional affection. It was unfair to his heir Triton, who had held the oceans together during his absence, and unfair to Tyson, Polyphemus, Charybdis, and his many other living children, but Percy was his favorite for that reason alone.
He hadn't quite realized how important that had become until last week. That Percy had not already agreed to become Ryujin's heir did not necessarily mean that he would tell Ryujin no, and a quiet whisper in the back of his mind would not let him forget that Percy had chosen the love of a woman over service to his father once already. And, even quieter, the thought that perhaps he had simply not offered Percy enough…
May Ryujin rot in the depths of the oceans he had stolen from Poseidon, for making him question this.
The moment was shattered by the hellhound, who had come over to sniff the newcomer, and as Percy calmed her Poseidon took the opportunity to feel out his son's home. He ignored the gift of tongues on Percy's eyes, ears, and mouth. Ignored the shimmering sails, sewn from the skin of a single enormous beast. Ignored the blessing of Tir Na Nog that sprouted from the mast, and the many other traces of power that wafted through the ship like spices in a marketplace. Once he got through the distractions and felt the power that was within the ship itself…
Oh.
Oh Styx.
(So that was why the old worm wanted him.)
How had he missed this?
He'd been surprised by Percy's control over the Queen Anne's Revenge eight years ago. Poseidon was the god of the sea and storms, and so mariners had prayed to him out of necessity, but he wasn't much of a sailor himself; he preferred his chariot. Still, his children's powers sometimes had odd manifestations -he still wasn't sure why his grandson Periclymenus and all of his descendants were shapeshifters- and Poseidon had put it from his mind. Percy was the most powerful demigod he'd ever sired. Some oddities were to be expected, and controlling a ship wasn't anywhere near as dramatic as summoning hurricanes and volcanic eruptions.
(It wasn't at all like that one time a child of the thunder god had developed power over fruit. That had only been explainable in hindsight.)
"Zeus says no, no there isn't, and to get on with it," Apollo said, and he belatedly remembered that his family could only listen in, and had not just had the world turned out from underneath them.
He pushed through the shock, mindful that it wasn't just Olympus that was paying attention to this encounter. "Olympus also received a proposal on Ryujin's behalf. You've made a name for yourself out here, and he wishes to reward you by making you the god of the parts of the section of the Pacific on the border between our waters."
From the way Percy stiffened, his girlfriend had not improved her communication skills in the last week. Now secure in the answer he would receive, Poseidon added, "It's an adoption request, as well. Those waters are under his power at the moment and he'd like to keep them there. The pantheons outside of the West would consider you his son, not mine."
Percy ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "…that explains … a lot, actually. No, you're my dad. If he'd asked me about it I'd have headed him off. Sorry."
"Truth. He's yours, and loyal. An idiot, but loyal."
"I'd thought not, but I wanted to ask. I wasn't sure if your relationship with Amaterasu would affect your decision." Poseidon studied Percy's face carefully for any telltale reaction.
Nothing. No guilt, no dismay, nothing beyond a mild surprise as he said, "How'd you hear about that?"
"It came up when Ryujin's offer was passed along." And, clearly, Percy didn't consider it a betrayal. Athena was going to be smug about this for decades, he could tell already. All of Olympus had seen that she'd had more belief in Percy than Poseidon himself.
"Is that a problem?" Percy was still leaning casually against the dog, but he was now studying Poseidon with narrowed eyes.
"It's a 'problem', yes," Poseidon said. "Amaterasu has disliked the West since Hephaestus's boy first anchored in Tokyo Bay, and our children were at war with hers less than a century ago."
"That's… come up, yeah," Percy said dryly. "She got over it. Don't worry about it."
"Don't worry about it?" Poseidon snapped, starting pace across the deck. "You've become the Shinto Ganymede, your lover's husband is even more short-tempered than Hera, and you don't think I should be worried?"
"Gany-" Percy broke off and rubbed his forehead. "Look, I wasn't exactly swept off my feet. And Tsukuyomi was participating."
Poseidon stopped pacing.
"…what," Apollo said, slightly strangled.
Percy shrugged a bit uncomfortably at Poseidon's stare. "I mean, yeah, she's a married goddess. Terrible idea. And then Tsukuyomi offered, and that would have been even more awkward, but after they got back together they… compared notes, or something."
"Hey, they were laughing at us that entire meeting, weren't they?"
"Have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea how close you came to-" Poseidon stopped before revealing how narrowly they suspected they'd avoided a world war; the last thing he wanted to do was make Percy wary of coming home. Though this at least explained why Amaterasu would have had her siblings' support to keep Percy close. "-Never mind. Is the relationship over, at least?"
Percy shrugged and gestured at the morning sun. "That's not Amaterasu. If I sail north again, they'd probably visit, but I've come a little too far southwest for them to be comfortable. We've said our goodbyes."
Good. Under other circumstances, it might have been too little, too late, but he'd at least ended it on his own. Poseidon sighed, trying to come up with the words to explain to his son how phenomenally stupid he'd been. This could have been so much worse. "Percy… picture any of your friends with Zeus, and ask yourself why I am concerned."
Percy was silent for a second, and then said, "I rejected them both and they accepted it, everything that happened was consensual, and they still respected me in the morning."
Apollo's choked-off laughter in his earbud didn't quite drown out the rumble of thunder in the background. That had been a poor example, in retrospect. Poseidon was trying to prevent Percy from burning any more bridges.
"You were nineteen."
"My mom was nineteen, Dad."
This was different. This was Percy.
He didn't say the words.
Percy finally broke the silence. "Look, Dad... gods and mortals, right? I knew what I was getting into, we all knew how it would end, and it actually lasted longer than I thought it would. No-one got hurt."
"He believes that. Aphrodite disagrees. I'm almost starting to feel bad for them." Despite his words, Apollo's voice was still darkly amused.
Poseidon decided to ignore that. "Did you ever stop to think about the… possible consequences of this, Percy? Relationships with gods are never so simple."
"We talked about it, before anything happened," Percy said. "Amaterasu knew I didn't want to raise a kid so soon. She promised she'd avoid getting pregnant."
Not quite what Poseidon had meant, but a valid concern. "If I had a drachma for every time I'd heard that…"
Percy's lips twitched. "Mistakes can happen. Yeah, I know. Uke-Mochi's married to one of their fertility deities. I called in the favor so I wouldn't have to worry about it. I can't have kids until I make a pretty specific offering to Inari."
"And you think it's that easy?" Poseidon said, more harshly than he'd meant to. It was hard to ignore the implied criticism. Percy had gone to considerable lengths to avoid being placed in the same situation that Poseidon had left his mother in.
"That was important," Apollo said distantly, with all the surety of the god of prophecy. "I don't know why, but that was important… Athena agrees. That stopped a war."
"I think it worked," Percy was saying at the same time, slightly defensively. "If she was pregnant, she'd have told me before I left Japan. I'd need to be there until the kid was born."
Ah.
It was simple, so simple. It still would have started a war if Percy hadn't been one of those mistakes, if he hadn't known through his own existence how easily broken such vows could be. Amaterasu had sworn to them that Percy was no prisoner, and her willingness to break her word apparently did not stretch into making him one. Trapping him, though… that, she might have done.
They would not get another chance. Olympus had their answers, and with what Poseidon now knew he could be confident there would be no retaliation from his own pantheon. All that remained was to find out if Ryujin would actually allow Percy to leave.
"I wouldn't recommend relying on it. There are ways around such curses, and if it had failed you'd need to make an awkward choice right now," Poseidon said quietly. "I need you at home."
"…we're still close to port. If I turned around and docked I could be in New York in a couple of hours," Percy said after a short pause, fiddling with the beads on his necklace.
"It's not quite that urgent. Sail your ship home, if you can. You will not be able to come back soon." It was good that he had the option, though, if Ryujin was uncooperative. "The next prophecy is about to start. Consider this your call."
Percy nodded grimly. "At top speed, I could be at Panama in a month. It'd take at least another week to get to New York from there."
"Just within the West will do."
"Guam?" Percy asked, naming the closest US territory. It had once been near the border between Poseidon's and Ryujin's oceans, but was now far behind the lines.
"Australia."
Above them, the sails shifted, and the Firefly began to turn south. Percy's current speed was unusually fast for a sailing ship, but if it was his norm he'd be in Poseidon's waters in about a week.
"Thank you," Poseidon said as the sea grew choppier around them. "And I think I am outstaying my welcome in this ocean."
"Yeah," Percy said, looking down at the swells. They wouldn't be a danger to an experienced sailor, and were actually pushing the ship south in direct contrast to the relatively still waters on the horizon, but the threat was clear. "Thanks for coming, though. I know it's not easy this far East."
"It was good to see you," Poseidon said. As he walked to the side of the ship, he was struck by a stray thought. "Incidentally, have you ever tried to control liquids that weren't primarily water?"
Percy blinked at the non sequiter, but answered, "Poisons, a few times. Why?"
"If you try that with lower-proof alcohol, you can keep yourself from getting drunk. I thought I'd mention it, since you just turned twenty-one."
Percy smiled. "Thanks, Dad. I didn't know that."
"Lie. Sorry, Poseidon, looks like he figured that one out on his own."
Poseidon turned away to hide his grimace. As he was about to dive over the side, he paused, then sighed and turned back. "Athena's girl is no longer an issue, it would seem. Did you only reject the offer because you would have needed to switch pantheons?"
"What?"
"If you still had the choice," Poseidon clarified, "would you choose to become a god of the West?"
His son grinned at him, relaxed and happy and more comfortable in his own skin than he had ever been as a boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Even the white hairs from that incident were gone. "Nah. I went through the Pillars on the way to the Mediterranean. I think I made the right call."
"That's… unfortunate. You are not the next Heracles, Percy." Percy was far from the first to make the comparison, though, not when he'd been going through the Labors like he'd had a checklist for a few years there.
It would have been better if he had been. Poseidon could have kept Percy by his side, if he had been.
Poseidon sighed. No, this had probably been inevitable. "She's a good ship, son. She'll take you to the stars if you ask her to."
"She is, yeah." Percy grinned, as pleased by praise from Poseidon as he had ever been, and missed the gravity in his words.
"…Truth," Apollo said slowly. "Absolute truth. Poseidon, what… oh no. Really?"
Poseidon tossed the earpiece into the ocean as he dove over the side of the ship.
They had compared him to Heracles. They'd been wrong.
Percy wasn't the next Heracles.
He was the next Dionysus.
Author's Notes: … I've been building up to this throughout the story, but the punchline probably would have had more impact if I hadn't let it sit for nearly four years. The most relevant sections were the Percy/Chiron conversation in the first chapter and Hercules' mention of Dionysus in chapter three.
Poseidon tries, folks.
Mythology Notes:
'The naiads of Spain had duck feet'- These are Lamia, of no relation to the Greek monster. They're the naiad-equivalent in Basque mythology, and are typically friendly, or at least not actively malicious. They are among the general group of fairies that will help out around the farm if food offerings are left for them. Since they're from Basque country originally, this group was a bit far southwest; Sanabria Lake National Park is in Zamora Province in western Castile-and-Leon.
'His name was Geryon' : True story. Riordan didn't make a big deal about it, but by the time Percy met Chrysaor in Mark of Athena, Percy had killed Chrysaor's mother and son (and both of his aunts multiple times although it didn't stick).
Jewel Steel / Tamahagane- this is the name of the traditional steel of Japan, made from smelting iron sand. Steel made this way is very low-quality in real life. Traditional Japanese swords are made by folding the metal many times to get rid of the impurities inherent in the raw material and by layering steel types of varying hardness onto the final blade. The swordsmithing process took anywhere from days to weeks and was considered a sacred art, generally accompanied by a bunch of Shinto rituals.
Masamune- Japan's most famous swordsmith. Most of his work was made in the late 1200's and early 1300's. There is a legend about a contest between Masamune and his 'student' Muramasa to see who could make the finer sword. (Muramasa wasn't making swords until roughly two centuries later, so the two men would not have actually met.) They both made an outstanding sword, and took it to a creek. When Muramasa's sword was lowered into the creek, it cut apart everything that passed by, from the leaves to the fish. When Masamune put his sword in the water, only the leaves were cut. A wandering monk who'd been hanging around called the contest for Masamune, because Muramasa's sword cut everything indiscriminately, but Masamune's sword didn't kill the innocent living creatures. Muramasa's swords went on to gain a terrible reputation over the centuries, including a legend that they could not be sheathed without drawing blood.
In the fic, that legend absolutely happened. Masamune's blades and the swords like it are the Shinto equivalent of Celestial Bronze, and Muramasa's blades are like Luke's sword Backbiter, able to cut both mythical and mortal flesh.
The Honjō Masamune- One of Masamune's most famous swords, considered to be one of the greatest blades ever forged in Japan. It is named for one of the earlier owners, a General Honjō. After a few centuries, it wound up with the Tokugawa family and was a symbol of the Tokugawa shogunate during most of the Edo period, and was declared a Japanese National Treasure in 1939. During the American occupation of Japan in 1945-1946, Iemasa Tokugawa, a member and eventual president of the House of Peers in the Japanese Diet, decided to set a good example in complying with MacArthur's weapons-confiscation demand, and surrendered fifteen family swords, including the Honjo Masamune. They were transferred from the police station to the custody of a 'Sgt. Cody Bimore', which was probably not the correct spelling of the sergeant's name, and were never seen again.
In-story, that guy got eaten by the Yamata-no-Orochi. In real life, the Honjo Masamune was probably either melted down for scrap metal or taken to the States as a souvenir, hopefully the latter. So, if anyone's grandfather or great-grandfather has an old Japanese sword they brought back from the war… you might want to get it appraised.
Hephaestus' boy- Commodore Matthew Perry, the 'Father of the Steam Navy'. Along with other programs to modernize the United States Navy, he oversaw the construction of and commanded their second steam-powered frigate and organized the first naval corps of engineers. In 1852 was assigned by President Fillmore to open Japan to US trade, through gunboat diplomacy if necessary. He anchored in Edo Bay in 1853, delivered the thinly-veiled demands, and left for six months. In 1854, under implied threat from Perry's fleet, the Kanagawa Treaty was signed to end the Tokugawa Shogunate's isolationist policies and open two Japanese ports to foreign ships.
