CHAPTER SIX
Ker's Journal

I have never written before. I don't know why I'm able to do it now. I don't know why I understand Ancient Greek. I haven't even heard of it until I came to this camp. However, Chiron suggested I write my memories, experiences, and feelings since I have no one to talk to about them. He is one of the leaders of the camp, and he is trustworthy. He has been keeping children safe here for years, so I have deemed him as such. Whether he is my enemy or ally is yet to be seen, but I do not fear for my life with him.

The others in my cabin are warriors like me, though none of them have actually been in a war. Yes, they have trained and fought, but they haven't felt the fears and worries true warfare brings about. On my first day here, they attacked me. Naturally, I fought back, but I was too weak, and they triumphed easily. Since then, however, I seemed to have earned their respect.

Their attack was the last thing my body could take, and I was sent to the medical room. My wounds had become infectious, so I had fevers and didn't wake for days. I healed quickly, though. More quickly than was natural. They said it was because of a drink and bread combination known as Nectar and Ambrosia. They also said too much would kill a half-blood like me. They were stunned by how much I needed.

By half-blood, they mean demigod. I still find it hard to believe. My mother was mortal, my father was the god of war, known here as Ares. But as I think about it, it makes more sense. My mother had chosen to place the war god's name—Mohen—in mine, after my father's name—Inumin—of course. My father had even asked me once if I was truly his son. People always said I looked like my mother, never my father.

Even though it is clear to me who my true father is, I still don't want to believe it. I grew up with another man styling himself as my father, and I saw him as my father. There was no question until now.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

In this entry, I will cover my past. I feel the need to explain where I came from before I know where I'm going.

I got my first scar when I was four. It is the one on my left wrist, right over the vein. Back then, I didn't know danger, I didn't know fear, and I didn't know to protect myself even in sleep.

The assassin probably came through the window in the next room over, then sneaked into my room through my only door. He slits my wrist, waking me. I see the blood; it scares me. My eyes move up to see the assailant. He covers my mouth so I don't cry out. I am almost too scared to think, but the thoughts come. I must survive. I must remove the threat. It is what Father always taught me.

I lash out at the man, jumping to stand on my bed. He backs away, but only for a moment. His blade glints as it sails toward me. I block the arm and parry with my own knife. It finds his organs, but he doesn't react. He is trained well. He tries again. Turanth holds his arm back. My bodyguard and protector had heard our fight, and he has come to my aid. He is always there to help me.

I had lost a lot of blood that night, but the worst of it came when my father reprimanded me for my failure. I took it silently, as he had taught me. I promised myself I wouldn't let such a thing happen again.

Two years later, my father asked me the all important question, which only now do I know the answer to.

Father leans next to the kitchen sink, glowering. His arms are crossed, but he isn't off-guard. He's never off-guard. "Are you my son?"

"Yes, of course," I reply, blocking the tears as I had been taught. "I couldn't not be your son!"

"Then prove it!" Father shouts, dropping his arms and leaning forward.

I jump onto the counter with a dagger against his throat. Even now, I don't know how I made it across the room so quickly.

Father smiles. It is something I never see, and I am confused. He takes my wrist in his hand. It is gentle. He turns to face me directly.

"Yes, you are my son, and I love you dearly."

I blink back sudden tears. The dagger clatters to the ground and Father embraces me.

After that, my father saw fit to allow me into battle. All my training was finally put to use, and I impressed him. When I saw his pride for me, a strange feeling welled inside me. It was the love my father had mentioned. He loved me, and I loved him back. From then on, I always wanted to see him impressed by me.

When I was nine, a second assassin made it into my room. This time, however, I was better prepared.

I wake as soon as she enters my room, but I am not aware. Her blade slides down my wrist, much longer than the first cut from five years ago. I react instantly, kicking out at her side. She staggers back and I rush forward with the dagger I keep hidden under my pillow. She grabs my wrist and twists it around. Using the movement, she shoves me toward my bed. I turn around to see her knife flying toward me and duck just in time. I kick her legs out from under her and stab her in the heart. I rip a line of cloth to wrap around my wrist. Only then does Turanth come to me. He is impressed with my success and he gives me a smile. I like to see him impressed, like Father, but the blood loss has gotten to me now.

My third scar is from my tenth birthday. There was a battle. My side was losing, and I was sure a retreat would be called soon. I was one of the last standing.

The sword is arching toward me. I spin, but not in time. The sword clips my left arm.

The wound took longer to heal than I thought it would; it was my first big gash. I was lucky, though. It almost hit a vital artery, and I could have died then. Seeing it, my father was quite relieved I survived the battle, but I still see it as a bad block on my part. I could have avoided it.

The emotions I felt after Turanth's death caught me by surprise.

My protector, my bodyguard, my only friend, falls at my feet. He took the blow that was meant for me, and paid the price. It was what he was supposed to do. I should have known this would come, yet I am overwhelmed by despair. My knees crumple below me, and I fall to his side. He is already dead; there is nothing I can do for him. His assailant takes my moment of weakness to attack me from behind. I can do one thing for Turanth: Survive.

Though the blade is still stuck in my shoulder, I spin around and kill the attacker. Righteous anger flows through me, and I desire more revenge than what I just got. I pull the blade out of my back and use it to kill my enemies. I ignore all pain; the pain in my back, and the pain in my heart.

That was three moons ago. Maybe four. I lost track when I traveled half-way around the world. The world is much larger than my island, Lyrith. I never knew how large it was. I had always known there was life outside the island; our mythology states that life came to our island from outside. I now know our mythology is a version of the Greeks, which makes me wonder where my ancestors came from. It also makes me wonder why our deities are dragons, rather than humans.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It seems my last entry leads to the end of the war. It's hard to believe the fighting is over, but the Rebellionists triumphed. They took the throne from my father. It was the new ruler, Caranth, who told me how they succeeded. My mother was killed in the last battle, as the enemy surged into our home. There was no mercy, no second thought. She was just another soldier to be killed. My father fought with his back against the wall. He was the last standing among his men. The enemy pushed him to sit on the throne, which is when Caranth saw to him. He was taunted and tortured, but he showed neither pain nor fear. He, too, was killed.

My weapons have been removed. Caranth strolls into my room as though he owns everything. He is smiling at me. His minions have my arms pinned, and I can't struggle.

"All that's left is the little prince," he says. It takes me a minute to know what he's talking about, but when I grasp his meaning, I can't help but pale. He smirks. "Do you understand? Your life is over. Your parents are dead. Everyone is dead. I rule now." His smirk drops as he barks orders. "Take him to the dungeon. No food or drink. He is to be tortured to death."

Again, I pale. I can hardly breathe for fear. I stumble along with the guards holding me tight. For a moment, I let myself go, I let the tears come. Father is dead. Mother is dead. Turanth has been dead for some moons. I am alone.

I have stopped crying by the time we are at the dungeons. Caranth has followed us. I glare defiantly at him as I am tied down. The board they place me on is vertical, and only supports where my hands and feet are tied, as well as a rope across my chest.

As he did with Father, Caranth taunts me as his minions stab and slash, kick and punch. He leans in close, his mouth almost touching my ear.

"You are alone. The fighting is over and I have won. Your father is dead. I killed him myself, you know. He begged for you to live. His begging is probably what prompted me to give you this extra time."

I keep still. I won't let anything betray my emotions. The tears won't come, I won't cry out, he will not see me beg.

Caranth steps back and paces the cell again. I follow him with my eyes. "Your mother was an easy kill. I don't even know who got to her. She was just another soldier in the battle. She was nothing, just like every other soldier fighting for you."

I will not scream. I will not cry. I will show no emotion.

"How does it feel to know you have lost, that you are alone? There is no one left for you. There's nothing left for you, actually. You will die here. This is your end."

He takes one of the knives and pushes it into the wood. It is close enough to my neck to cut it. The force makes me whimper. I will not cry.

"Keep going until he is unconscious. I have matters of state to attend to." He leaves.

I will not scream. I will not cry. I will show no emotion.

But it hurts so much.

I am woken by a bucket of water thrown over me. The torture starts again. Caranth is still mocking me. I am losing myself. I must stay strong. For Father. For Mother. For Turanth.

It is the fifth session. I can barely hold on. I know I will give in soon. The scream is waiting to leave my lips. Caranth sees it too. He takes a dagger and pushes it deeper than the guards had.

I give in, I scream. I pray to Mohen he can forgive my weakness, but the pain is unbearable. Caranth smiles. "Keep going until he begs." I should have known he wouldn't stop. I hold back the screams, but the tears flow freely.

It is the eighth session. It is over for me. I can't look at Caranth as I begin to beg.

"No... stop! Please, stop it!"

Caranth puts his hand under my chin and forces my head up. He is smiling again.

"Say it again."

"Make it stop...!"

Caranth throws his other arm out, signaling the guards to stop. Tears stream down my face. Caranth backs away to take two daggers. He pushes them into the wood above my wrists, taking some of the skin off in the process.

"Again," he says, "Only stop when he is unconscious."

"No!" but it does nothing. I knew it would do nothing, but I am broken. I pray to Mohen for strength.

A man clad in strange armor comes to me in my fitful sleep. He doesn't speak, and then I am awake. I am alone, except for a guard standing at the cell door. His back is to me. I look down to see the knives still by my wrists. I struggle to lift my hands so I can cut the ropes. I bite back the scream of pain, but it is easier to hold back now that I have a purpose. In my weakened mind, I see my goal. Father always told me to survive.

Cutting the rope takes a lot of work, and my body almost can't withstand the pain. When I am free, I take the knives. It isn't hard to kill the guard. I have escaped the cell, but I hear footsteps approaching. I don't have much time. I head off in the opposite direction, heart pounding. I am slow from the pain, but I know my goal.

The sound of shouting comes to my ears, and I know I must hide before they come looking. I stifle a gasp as I dive behind some storage boxes. I hear running from where I just was. They pass me. I hold my breath, hoping no others come to investigate my hiding place. I listen intently. I can hear that Caranth is angered, but it seems I am alone. I chance a look behind me.

It is clear. I begin to make my escape, my senses alert for any signs that they notice me. Wincing, I creep out of the dungeons and into the trees. I hear soldiers searching up ahead. I decide I should change my clothes and find something to eat and head to the first home I see. No one is there, so I change quickly. I step outside.

"Hello, Ker."

I freeze. It is the man from my dream. I can't read his face. He almost seems... proud.

"You know me as Mohen," the man states.

I can't hide my surprise as I back away slowly. He can't possibly be the war god. The gods are dragons, not humans.

"But my real name is Ares," he continues conversationally, "and I am your father. Your real father."

I shake my head, my back pressed against the wall of the home from which I stole the clothes. "My father is dead," I manage to say.

"Inumin was your surrogate father. Lacrith told the two of you that he was the father so she wouldn't look unfaithful."

The man and I turn at the sound of approaching voices. I prepare to run, but the man looks back at me.

"It's time we get out of here." He holds his hand out to me. "Come, you'll be safe at Camp Half-Blood."

I stare at him, then his hand, then look into the trees. I run. I know it is pointless, since I can't get far in my condition. When the man catches up to me, I stab at him with one of the daggers I still have. However, he grabs my wrist and twists me around so I face him. He seems to have grown taller.

"Come on!" he says. Next thing I know he's dragging me through the forest until we reach a contraption somewhat resembling a wagon. He shoves me onto a platform with a wall in front and behind, and then takes hold of some ropes. He cracks them and I follow the ropes with my eyes. They are attached to two large beasts I don't recognize. They begin running on four legs and we are in the air.

I grab onto the wall in front of us. I shout, "What is this?"

"It's a chariot, Ancient Greek style, just the way I like it."

I look to the man and find that he is smirking down at me. He seems to be normal size again, and I think I had imagined his change in size.

Within moments, we are clear of the trees and soaring over the water. My knees buckle, but I manage to stay standing.

"Do you know any English?" the man asks.

"English?" The word sounds familiar. "Is that what the Americans spoke? They came to the island a few years ago, but I never met them."

"Yes, Americans speak English."

"I learned a little from my mother, but I don't remember any of it."

The man sighed. "Greek it is."

"What do you mean?" I ask, perplexed.

"I don't actually know your language, so I decided to stick with Greek. It's hard-wired in all demigods."

My jaw drops. We aren't speaking my language? How is that possible?

"By that I mean it's natural for you to understand and speak Greek," the man explains. "Like it's natural for a bird to know how to fly."

I struggle to understand what he's saying.

We don't talk much more the rest of the trip, and before I know it, we are landing. The man steps down on the ground and I follow, albeit on unsteady feet. He points to the structure to my right and says, "This is my cabin, where you'll be staying with your half-brothers and -sisters." He gives me a knowing smile, as though I should be in on a secret with him. "There's a lot of fighting going on in this cabin." He claps me on the shoulder—which makes me wince, but I try not to show it—and steps onto the chariot again. "See ya, kid!" and he is gone.

I stare, bewildered, at the spot he just left. Then I hear voices behind me and I come to my senses. I spin around, daggers at the ready; a group of teenagers walk out of the cabin.

The group looks to me. I quickly size them up, and see that they are doing the same to me. There are three girls and three boys, all older and bigger than me. One of them speaks, but I don't understand.

The group rounds on me menacingly. I tighten my grip on my daggers.

The boy in front looks cocky, with his arms crossed. If it comes to a fight, he will be sorry. He is the one talking. Since I don't reply, they are getting angered.

I shift into a more stable stance, feeling the moment of attack nearing.

Then all six of the group have weapons out. I jump at the leader before they can circle me, but the rest are already attacking. I block and parry and fight and defend, but there are just too many of them, and my body is too weakened. It doesn't take long for one of the girls to grab my wrist, twist it up behind my back, and shove me to the ground. I cry out in pain, feeling every cut along my body ripping open at the impact. I am dizzy with pain.

The group is laughing. The girl who pushed me down is starting to stand when she notices the blood escaping the wound in my shoulder, the one I got when Turanth was killed.

She says something with surprise in her voice. Her knee is still pressed to the small of my back, but she quickly backs off and offers her hand to help me up. There is no way I can trust any of them, so I stand on my own. I sway as the blood rushes from my head, making me dizzy again.

The girl is ripping my shirt, revealing my wound. There are gasps, and she removes the shirt completely. I find that I would have fallen if she wasn't holding me.

I am no longer following their words. The world is spinning around me, and my knees buckle. There are worried noises around me, and many hands help me to stand again.

I am being ushered somewhere. I am lying on my side. A cup is being pressed to my lips, and I drink. I am lying on my back, my shoulder bandaged and no longer bleeding. A wet cloth is dabbing my forehead.

"Just rest now, you'll be safe."