Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.

Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn

Chapter Four

At the heart of just about every legend is a grain of truth.

–Michael Scott, 'The Enchantress'

Nico drove us to the "safe place". I don't remember much from the journey, other than my muddled questions and Nico and Bob's not entirely helpful answers. When I look back, two things stand out. One was my surprise when I was told that we were actually headed for a summer camp.

"A summer camp?" I snapped, my frustration resurfacing when this was revealed.

"Camp Half-Blood," Bob said, nodding in what was presumably meant to be a reassuring manner.

"Most demigods are teenagers when they're trained," Nico said, his exasperation at having to explain this apparently blatantly-obvious fact clear in the quiet trembling of his aura. "Can you imagine a gang of hyperactive teenagers being herded into some kind of mythological military school?"

Even I had to admit that the Olive had a point there.

The other stand-out feature of the journey was Nico's complete indifference towards me. For someone who was supposed to be helping me discover my true nature, he was awfully disinterested. It didn't help matters when I asked once again if they were sure I was a demigod, and Nico replied airily, "We think, yeah."

I'd been trying to tone down my angry sarcasm, but this was too much.

"Oh, wonderful," I muttered. "So, I'm going with two people, one of whom is a complete stranger, to a camp at an unknown location, because these two people think I am the child of a Greek God. Oh, and the complete stranger is a son of the god of the Underworld. Which is also real."

"Pretty much," Nico replied evenly, pressing down the accelerator. Either he was so detached he couldn't spot sarcasm if it picked up a bat and hit him over the head, or he was so used to snark he simply tuned it out.

I started off on another rant, but their glassy eyes made clear that neither Nico nor Bob were listening to me, and so I gave up, and spent the rest of the journey trying to calm my mind down.

Eventually, we reached the camp. At first glance, I thought it was just a hill.

Then I noticed the dragon.

"Er," I said, my voice embarrassingly squeaky. "Is that a, uh. a…"

"A dragon?" Nico said helpfully. "Yep. Guardian of the camp."

"What kind of a camp has a dragon for a guardian?" I replied in disbelief.

"A very paranoid one," Nico said quietly, a small smile plucking at his lips.

We began to climb up the hill, and I continued to stare at the dragon. I realised that it was coiled around a large pine tree. Judging by its position, I figured it was actually guarding the tree. One thing was for sure - if you needed a guard, that dragon was the guy for the job: long, scaly, and generally so scary-looking, his entire job was fulfilled even when he was asleep. I sure wouldn't argue with him over the leftover pizza.

I focussed on the tree, and was taken aback when I saw what looked like a small star cradled on two of the branches. It radiated a golden light, and just looking at it made me feel calmer and more awake.

"What's that bright thing?" I asked Bob. He looked at me blankly, and I rephrased the question: "What's the dragon coiled around?"

"That's the tree that forms the border of camp," he explained. "On it is the Golden Fleece. Peleus, the dragon, guards it night and day."

I drew in a sharp breath. So that was why it was so bright, and why Bob (and presumably Nico) didn't notice it. The mystery of my sight deepened.

A hope that I'd get some easy answers to my questions about my sight passed briefly through my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. That was like expecting the grass to turn red - my Murphyonic field would stop anything from happening easily.

We reached the crest of the hill and, with amazement, I took in all that lay in the valley below. Cabins, some grouped in a horseshoe curve and others dotted around in a patternless clump; a large lake, with the distant shapes of canoes and swimmers upon it; an archery range, something that immediately took my interest - if I had to learn to fight, archery might be a good option, what with my bizarrely clear sight; what looked like some kind of sword-fighting arena - I was already praying I'd be able to keep out of that; a large pavilion, filled with benches and a large open fire; and a large farmhouse, which seemed to be the biggest standalone structure in the whole camp.

"We're going down there, to the Big House," Bob said, gesturing towards the farmhouse.

I suppressed a chuckle. The Big House? That had to be one of the most unimaginative names ever. Next they'd be calling the pavilion a—

"I'll see you guys in the dining pavilion," Nico muttered, clearly fed up with human company.

Right, I thought, as I watched the son of Hades practically run down the hill. Whoever runs this camp clearly isn't the most ingenious when it comes to naming things.

Bob started off down the hill again, and I followed him, keeping a step behind, just in case something jumped out at us.

(Hey, I'm not paranoid! I'm simply cautious.)

(After all, have you ever met a cautious corpse?)

The camp was pretty quiet. The only sounds were the clash of swords from the arena, the swish of the wind in the trees, and the quiet thuds of Bob's hooves clopping along the path.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. Bob was actually a satyr. He had, he'd explained in the car, been assigned to segue me from the school and into my "pick-up", which sounded too much like a complicated drug trafficking operation for my liking.

Anyway, he'd pulled off his shoes and his jeans when we'd nearly reached the hill, revealing that his lower half was actually that of a well-groomed (but rather shaggy) goat. When he'd told me that I was his fourth half-blood assignment, I was less than impressed. Whoever organised these pick-ups really needed to screen their staff better. As friendly as Bob was, he'd been as helpful as an actual goat.

We drew closer to the Big House, and I saw two people on the porch. Well, one person and a horse.

I blinked.

One person and a centaur, actually.

I rubbed my eyes wearily. This was starting to get overwhelming. What was next? Were a mob of Ewoks accompanied by a marching band of house elves about to stream around the corner?

It got worse as I turned my attention to the moody fat guy who sat (his slouch was so bad he looked doubled over) across from the centaur. He was shrouded in a purple aura, a light so deep it seemed to dilate the space around it. The air around him seemed to bend inwards, as if he were bending the fabric of space itself. Either he was so incredibly lazy that it bent the universe, or he was some kind of supernatural powerhouse, I decided. The centaur, on the other hand, had no aura.

The two of them were seated at a small table, playing some kind of card game. They glanced up as we approached, and Moody Universe-Bending Guy's expression of moodiness soured even further, if that was possible.

Bob stepped in front of them, and bowed. This made the centaur frown in irritation, but Moody Guy seemed to like it.

"Straighten up, Bob," the centaur chided, laying his cards face-down on the table. "What are you here for?"

"I have brought Cyrus Wright here, sir," Bob said carefully. He enunciated each word carefully, as if he thought he'd be incinerated if he misspoke even slightly. For all I knew, he was right. I cleared my throat quietly and moistened my lips. New life as a pile of ash, here I came…

"Ah, I see," the centaur said cheerfully. "Thank you, then, Bob. He seems to be uninjured and sane, so you've done what's needed. You can go."

The satyr bowed again. He paused for a moment and gave me a nervous glance, before hurrying off at top speed.

The centaur turned his attention to me, inspecting me with deep concentration. On the other end of the spectrum, Moody Guy flicked his eyes toward me for a second, before gazing darkly at his cards again.

"I am Chiron," the centaur said finally. He seemed satisfied from whatever he'd worked out from examining me, and he reached out a hand for me to shake.

I heard my father's voice echo through my mind as I shook Chiron's hand.

Cyrus, if you don't give someone a proper firm handshake they might just break your hand off.

Bearing that in mind, and feeling like such a result was more likely here than in any other place I'd ever been, I gave a firm handshake, and kept up the eye contact. Chiron broke the shake first, and as he did so, I remembered who he actually was.

"Wait, I thought you were up in the sky?" I said abruptly.

(I really need to stop asking questions so much. It gets me into more trouble than you would ever believe.)

Sure enough, this earned me a brief evil-eye stare from Moody Guy. I met his gaze for half a second, and was startled by the purple fire that smouldered in his eyes. It didn't literally smoulder, of course. That would've been silly.

"Ah, not exactly," Chiron replied, sounding slightly amused. I relaxed just a little, feeling relieved that I hadn't yet annoyed the centaur.

Moody Guy turned his gaze away from me, and produced a bag of potato chips from thin air. Chiron, seeing my expression at this, quickly continued.

"The gods decided I was still needed here to train their half-blood offspring, and thus I remained alive for thousands of years," the centaur explained, his tone almost ridiculously nonchalant.

I stared at him for a moment, feeling more than a little fuzzy-headed. There were so many crazy facts in that statement, I didn't know which to question first. After a prolonged pause, my mouth opted to cut loose from my mind, and stuttered, "Um, the gods?"

Fantastic, I immediately thought. Now I look like a dimwitted teenager. Well, more than I did already. Really great job, Cyrus.

Moody Guy made his contempt for my ignorance known by letting out a nice loud derisive snort. Chiron gave him an irritated glance, before turning back to me.

"Yes, the gods. The Olympian gods, in fact," he said cheerily.

"Oh," I nodded. "Of course. Who else could it be?"

Chiron coughed loudly at the exact same time as Moody Guy let out a small growl of irritation.

"In any case," the centaur continued, "I am Chiron, and this is Camp Half-Blood, a place where you are both welcome and safe. This is Mr. D," he gestured towards Moody Guy, who was already eating a third bag of chips, "our camp director."

"Okay," I said slowly. "So this is a camp for demigods. Do you, like, train us and so on? Teach us to save the world and kill monsters?"

"O-ho," Mr. D said suddenly, sitting forward with almost disconcerting interest. "This one is a little sharper than the rest. Perhaps he's one of Athena's. She has been very busy since the mortals got past the telegram."

"What— what are you talking about? What do you mean, I might be one of Athena's?" I asked, looking at Mr. D again, but not daring to gaze directly into his eyes.

He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said, "Well if you really are so smart, Simon, who am I?"

I stared at his nose carefully. Whoever this guy was, he was testing me, trying to determine something about me. I sure as hell didn't like him, but nor was I about to back away from such a direct challenge to my intelligence.

I took a deep breath, and slipped into that focused state of mind where I do my best thinking. I inspected Mr. D from head to toe, taking in everything from his shiny sandals to his black curly hair. His T-shirt was garishly colourful, with the design featuring ridiculously happy dolphins and hopelessly idealised beaches. His hands were unworn but tanned, like those of someone used to leisure and relaxation. He looked as untoned and unfit as any average slob, but his deep purple aura gave him a presence far stronger and more intimidating than that of any slob I'd ever seen.

Somehow, I thought I knew who he was. I felt it at the edge of my mind, but I couldn't quite place him.

Then he yawned emphatically, and my eyes were drawn irresistibly up to his.

I looked into the twin purple flames that burned in his eyes, and my mind was filled with alien thoughts of endless debauchery, parties so primal they drew both men and beasts, goblets and goblets of wine so potent it could make a grown man drunk in a second…

I blinked, and looked away quickly, but I'd seen enough to understand exactly who Mr. D was.

"Dionysus," I breathed.

"Give the godling a prize," the god said sarcastically.

Chiron cut in before I could say anything. "Perhaps this would be a good moment for you to view the orientation film."

"Um, okay," I said. My chronically active imagination was already supplying me with cheerful images of dark rooms, glowing screens, and ominous chanting. As you can imagine, I was pretty relieved when Chiron simply drew a phone from his pocket.

"We used to have an orientation room, with a projector," he told me, as he tapped the phone's screen carefully. "But then some children of Athena joined Apple and we finally got our hands on some decent technology."

I tried not to laugh. Even two-thousand-year-old centaurs wanted smartphones.

"There you go," Chiron said, handing me the phone. "Please, sit down."

I lowered myself into a chair, keeping my eyes on the screen. At first it was black. Then a man with elfin features appeared, standing in front of a whiteboard.

"Greetings, teenagers," he said cheerfully. "Today I'd like to talk to you about something called puberty."

He methodically wrote out the word "puberty" on the whiteboard.

"Hermes!" hissed a voice, off-screen. "Wrong lecture!"

"Oh. Right. Sorry," Hermes whispered back apologetically. He grinned sheepishly into the camera, before fiddling with his marker.

"Er…yes, undo, command-z," he muttered. The whiteboard went blank.

"Okay, let's start again," Hermes said. "Today I'm here to talk to you about being a demigod." He stopped, and slowly wrote out "demigod" on the whiteboard. "Dem-i-god," he enunciated.

I nearly groaned in irritation, but remembered that a Greek god was sitting next to me, and so I kept my mouth tightly shut.

"You see, the gods of Ancient Greece are alive and well in modern-day America," he continued, before pausing again to slowly write "America" on the board.

And so it went on, for fifteen minutes or more. I'd never seen anyone take so long to explain something.

The crux of the lecture was that the Greek gods existed and thrived in America. Apparently the Olympian gods were tied to Western civilisation itself, and as the West moved across the world, so too the gods moved. Mount Olympus was situated above the Empire State Building, which sounded like bad planning permission to me, but I kept that observation to myself.

As Nico had explained, the gods frequently had children. These children, called demigods, had various crazy abilities, depending on who their godly parent was. Usually, they had ADHD and dyslexia - one was a manifestation of their heightened battle reflexes, the other an effect of their ability to understand Ancient Greek. I nearly told Chiron right then that I had neither ADHD nor dyslexia, but I wasn't sure if that would make Moody Guy smite me, so I stayed quiet.

These children of gods were in serious danger from monsters, because apparently demigods smell. This I found insulting, and further evidence that I might not actually be a demigod: I was always very careful about hygiene.

Apparently not only were the Greek gods real, but almost every Greek monster ever known also existed, and a few others besides. Not only that, but pretty much every one of these monsters were strict demigodarians.

These monsters were the reason why I, as a demigod, had to train and learn to fight. According to Hermes, Camp Half-Blood was the ideal place to "help young half-bloods reach their full potential as fearsome warriors!", which didn't really sound like something parents would be overly cheerful about.

Parents. I suddenly remembered my mom and dad. I should have been home. They'd have no idea what had happened. For all I knew, the police were already out looking for me.

I looked up at Chiron and Mr. D, who had gone back to their card game.

"My parents!" I exclaimed, feeling simultaneously guilty and panicked. "I have to contact them!"

I pulled out my phone, but Chiron shook his head seriously.

"No telephone reception here, I'm afraid," he said solemnly. "Too dangerous. We'll have to IM them."

"Do what?"

He laid his cards face-down on the table, and stood up. "Iris-Message. Please, follow me."