A/N: Certain ancient Greek names matches words use of foul language but no foul language was intentionally used.

When Demon Pigeons Attack

The next few days were torture, just like Tantalus wanted.

After I announced to the whole camp that Tyson wasn't just my half-brother but obviously my adopted brother, I had to deal with rude or mean comments and some rumors.

Annabeth tried to make me feel better. She suggest we teamed up for the chariot race to take our mind off our problems. Don't get me wrong—we both hated Tantalus and we were worried sick about camp—but we didn't know what to do about it. Until we could come up with some brilliant plan to save Thalia's tree, we figured we might as well go along with the races. After all, Annabeth's mom, Athena, had invented the chariot, and my dad had created the horses that pull them. And since Chiron wouldn't let us take part of it the last time we had races, we figure now was the time to show what happens when children of Athena and Poseidon can do when they work together outside the battlefield.

I tried to keep my problems involving Tyson to myself when we're working on the chariot together, but some campers make even that difficult.

One morning Annabeth and I were sitting by the canoe lake sketching the chariot designs when some jokers from Aphrodite cabin walked by and asked me if I needed to borrow some eyeliner for my eye… "Oh sorry, eyes."

As they walked away laughing, Annabeth grumbled, "Just ignore them, Percy."

"It's okay. It's not like I'm asking everyone to change their opinion about Tyson, I'm not asking anyone to do that," I responded. "I just want people to understand that my mom and I agreed to take Tyson in to help him find his way to the forges of the Cyclopes so he wouldn't turn out like the ones who kills demigods."

Annabeth thought of it for a second and sighed. "Working at the Forges would be a lot better than killing heroes. Now let's work on the chariot."

I nodded.

…

After that Annabeth wasn't so bother at the idea of Tyson being both my adopted and half-brother. She still was distant around Tyson, but considering this was coming from the girl who held a long term grudge against Hermes Cabin for setting loose spiders in Athena Cabin, I would be more surprise if she wasn't distant toward Tyson.

But it wasn't just the campers that were skittish around Tyson. One day, Silena Beauregard agreed to teach Tyson how to ride a Pegasus, but all the Pegasi decided they didn't want a cyclopes riding them.

The only other camper who had no problem with Tyson was Beckendorf. The Lord of Blacksmiths worked with Cyclopes in his forges, so Beckendorf took Tyson down to the armory to teach him metalworking. He said he'd have Tyson crafting magic items like a master in no time.

While he was at it, I asked Beckendorf to modified the lid on my thermos so it can clip to my pants or belt so I can have to carry it in my hands whenever I don't have a backpack for it. Beckendorf agreed with the idea and by the end of the day, I was able to clip my thermos to my belt so I can get to it went I need it.

After lunch, I had my first solo sword lesson alone with some of the unclaimed—helping them get claimed as I always do.

Archery haven't been the same since Chiron left. I ditch arts and crafts to work on some new water tricks. I scaled the climbing wall in full lava-and-earthquake mode. And in the evenings, I did border patrol with Hermes Cabin. Even though Tantalus had insisted we forget trying to protect the camp, some of the campers either use their free time on boarder patrol—it is our choice after all.

I sat at the top of Half-Blood Hill and watched the dryads come and go, singing to Thalia's tree. Satyrs brought their reed pipes and played nature magic songs, and for a while the pine needles seemed to get fuller. The flowers on the hill smelled a little sweeter and the grass looked greener. But as soon as the music stopped, the sickness crept back into the air. The whole hill seemed to be infected, dying from the poison that had sunk into the tree's roots. The longer I sat there, the angrier I got.

Who could do this to Thalia? Luke? As much as I like to think he wouldn't do that, the memory of him almost killing me replay in my head. Sure Luke didn't try to kill me directly, but he didn't stop the pit scorpion from not killing me either.

You wouldn't do this to Thalia, would you, Luke? I wondered

…

At night, I had more dreams of Grover. Sometimes, I just heard his scratches of his voice. Once, I heard him say: It's here. Another time: He likes sheep.

The night before the race, Annabeth and I finished the chariot. Annabeth finally let Tyson help with the building to help speed things up, and I think she even admits that Tyson a good job.

That night I had another dream about Grover.

…

In my dream, Grover was wearing a wedding dress.

It didn't fit him very well. The gown was too long and the hem was caked with dried mud. The neckline kept falling off his shoulders. A tattered veil covered his face.

He was standing in a dank cave, lit only by torches. There was a cot in one corner and an old-fashion loom in the other, a length of white cloth half woven on the frame. And he was staring right at me, like I was a TV program he'd been waiting for. "Thank the gods!" he yelped. "Can you hear me?"

My dream-self was slow to respond. I was still looking around, taking in the stalactite ceiling, the stench of sheep and goats, the growling and grumbling and bleating sounds that seemed to echo from behind a refrigerator-size boulder, which was blocking the room's only exit, as if there were a much larger cavern beyond it.

"Percy?" Grover said. "Please, I don't have the strength to project any better. You have to hear me!"

"I hear you," I said. "Grover, what's going on?"

From behind the boulder, a monstrous voice yelled, "Honeypie! Are you done yet?"

Grover flinched. He called out in falsetto, "Not quite, dearest! A few more days!"

"Bah! Hasn't it been two weeks yet?"

"N-no, dearest. Just five. That leaves twelve more to go."

The monster was silent, maybe trying to do the math. He must've been the worse in arithmetic because he said, "All right, but hurry! I want to SEEEEE under that veil, heh-heh-heh."

Grover turned back to me. "You have to help me! No time! I'm stuck in this cave. On an island in the sea."

"Where?"

"I don't know exactly! I went to Florida and turned left."

"What? How did you—"

"It's a trap!" Grover said. "It's the reason no satyr has ever returned from this quest. He's a shepherd, Percy! And he has it. Its nature magic is so powerful it smells just like the great god Pan! The satyrs come here thinking they've found Pan, and they get trapped and eaten by Polyphemus!"

"Polyphemus—wait as in the Cyclops Polyphemus? The only other Cyclops that got his name known since the Elder Cyclops?" I asked.

"The one and the same," Grover said. "I almost got away. I made it all the way to St. Augustine."

"But he followed you," I said, remembering my first dream. "And trapped you in a bridal boutique."

"That's right," Grover said. "My first empathy link must've worked then. Look, this bridal dress is the only thing keeping me alive. He thinks I smell good, but I told him it was just goat-scented perfume. Thank goodness he can't see very well. His eye is still half blind from the last time somebody poked it out. But soon he'll realize what I am. He's only giving me two weeks to finish the bridal train, and he's getting impatient!"

"Wait a minute. This Cyclops think you're—"

"Yes!" Grover wailed. He thinks I'm a lady Cyclops and he want to marry me!"

Under different circumstances, I might've burst out laughing, but Grover's voice was deadly serious. He was shaking with fear.

"I'll come to rescue you, if not at least have someone does," I promised. "So I take it you're in the sea of monsters, right?"

"Yes! But I don't know exactly where!" And look, Percy… um, I'm reall sorry about this, but this empathy link…"

"I understand," I responded. If Grover dies I would be stuck in a vegetative state.

"Honeypie!" the monster bellowed. "Dinnertime! Yummy yummy sheep meat!"

Grover whimpered. "I have to go. Hurry!"

"Wait what was that thing you mention before?" I asked.

But Grover's voice was already growing fainter. "Sweet dreams. Don't let me die!"

The dream faded and I woke with a start. It was early morning. Tyson was staring down at me, his one big brown eye full of concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

His voice sent a chill down my back, because he sounded almost exactly like Polyphemus.

That's when it dawn to me. Polyphemus is the son of Poseidon. That's why Odysseus took so long too go home. Because after Odysseus tricked him, Polyphemus prayed to Poseidon to curse Odysseus.

…

The morning of the race was hot and humid. Fog lay low on the ground like sauna steam. Millions of birds were roosting in the trees—fat gray-and-white pigeons, except they didn't coo like regular pigeons. They made this annoying metallic screeching sound that remind me of submarine radar.

The racetrack had been built in a grassy field between the archery range and the woods. Hephaestus cabin had used the Cochis Bulls, which were completely tamed since they'd had their heads smashed in, to plow an oval track in a matter of minutes.

There were rows of stone steps for spectators—Tantalus, the satyrs, a few dryads, and all of the campers who weren't participating. Mr. D didn't show. He never got up before ten o'clock.

"Right!" Tantalus announced as the teams began to assemble. A naiad had brought him a big platter of pastries, and as Tantalus spoke, his right hand chased a chocolate éclair across the judge's table. "You all know the rules. A quarter-mile track. Twice around to win. Two horses per chariot. Each team will consist of a driver and a fighter. Weapons are allowed. Dirty tricks are expected. But try not to kill anybody!" Tantalus smiled at us like we were all naughty children. "Any killing will result in harsh punishment. No s'mores at the campfire for a week! Now ready your chariots!"

Now, if you've never seen a Greek chariot, it's built for speed, not safety or comfort. It's basically a wooden basket, open at the back, mounted on an axle between two wheels. The driver stands up the whole times, and you can feel every bump in the road. The carriage is made of such light wood that if you wipe out making the hairpin turn at either end of the tracks, you'll probably tip over and crush both the chariot and yourself.

Beside me and Annabeth, it seems only the biggest or the strongest cabins were participating. Dionysus, Demeter, and Aphrodite weren't participating, mostly because they were worried about the races after hearing stories about the last chariot race.

Beckendorf led the Hephaestus team onto the track. They had a sweet ride made of bronze and iron—even the horses, which were magical automatons like the Colchis bulls. I had no doubt that their chariot had all kinds of mechanical traps and more fancy options than a fully loaded Maserati.

The Ares chariot was bloodred, and pulled by two grisly horse skeletons—probably a gift from their father. Did I forget to mention Ares can summon dead soldier of the side that lost wars and his kids can command them? Anyways, Clarisse climbed aboard with a batch of javelins, spiked balls, caltrops and a bunch of other nasty toys, which is expected from the children of the god of war.

Apollo's chariot was trim and graceful and completely gold, pulled by two beautiful palominos. Their fighter was armed with a bow, though he had promised not to shoot regular pointed arrows at the opposing drivers.

Hermes's chariot was green and kind of old-looking, as if it hadn't been out of the garage in years. It didn't look like anything special, but it was manned by the Stoll brothers, and I shuddered to think what dirty tricks they schemed up.

That just leaves Annabeth's and my Chariot. I was the driver and Annabeth was the fighter. I tried to tell Annabeth about my dream, she seemed concern.

"Tell me the rest after the race," Annabeth said.

I nodded but I still can't help but think what Grover found. What I can guess, it had something to do with sheep, but the only thing that comes to my mind but it been lost for millions of years. How did Polyphemus get his hands on it?

The conch horn sounded.

"Charioteers!" Tantalus called. "To your mark!"

We positioned our chariots. I couldn't help but noticed how many more pigeons were in the trees now—screeching like crazy, making the whole forest rustle. Nobody else seemed to be paying them much attention, but they made me feel nervous. Their beaks glinted strangely. They seemed shinier than regular birds. I remember Hal's book mentioning a bird described like that—something Hercules had to deal with for one of his labors.

I turned to Tyson to see if he was acting stragely. The big guy was sitting with Hephaestus cabin, who began to take Beckendorf's example of accepting him. Tyson did seem to glance at the birds every now and then, but I can't tell if it was because they smell funny to Tyson.

Annabeth seemed to have the same bad feeling about those birds because she said, "I'll keep an eye on the birds, and you focus on controlling the horses."

"Charioteers!" he shouted. "Attend your mark!"

He waved his hand and the starting signal dropped. The chariots roared to life. Hooves thundered against the dirt. The crowd cheered.

Almost immediately there was a loud nasty crack! I looked back in time to see the Apollo chariot flip over. The Hermes chariot had rammed into it—maybe by mistake, maybe not. The riders were thrown free, but their panicked horses dragged the golden chariot diagonally across the track. The Hermes team, Travis and Connor Stoll, were laughing at their good luck, but not for long. The Apollo horses crashed into theirs, and the Hermes chariot flipped too, leaving a pile of broken wood and four rearing horses in the dust.

Two chariots down in the first twenty feet.

I turned my attention back to the front. Annabeth and I were in the lead but Hephaestus' and Ares' Chariots weren't far along. That's when we heard the screaming.

The pigeons had apparently flew into the air and started swarming—thousands of them dive-bombing the spectators in the stands, attacking the other chariots. Beckendorf was mobbed. His fighter tried to bat the birds away but he couldn't see anything. The chariot veered off course and plowed through the strawberry fields, the mechanical horses steaming.

In the Ares chariot, Clarisse barked an order to her fighter, who threw a screen of camouflage netting over their basket. The birds swarmed around it, pecking and clawing at the fighter's hands as he tried to hold up the net, but Clarisse just gritted her teeth and kept driving. Her skeletal horses seemed immune to the distraction. The pigeons pecked uselessly at their empty eyes sockets and few through their rib cages, but the stallions kept right on running.

The spectators weren't so lucky. The birds were slashing at any bit of exposed flesh, driving everyone into panic. Now that the birds were closer it was clear they weren't normal pigeons. Their eyes were beady and evil-looking. Their beaks were made of bronze, and judging from the yelps of the campers, they must've been razor sharp. Tyson seemed to be helping as many campers as he can, but even he wasn't having much luck.

"Stymphalian birds!" Annabeth yelled. "They'll strip everyone to bones if we don't drive them away."

I remember the stories. Hercules used loud sounds to confuse the birds.

"We need to get to the Big House!" I responded.

Annabeth nodded knowing what I had planned.

I veered the chariot off the tracks toward the Big House.

Clarisse had just pulled across the finish line, completely unopposed, and seemed to notice for the first time how serious the bird problem was.

When she saw us driving away, she yelled, "You're running? The fight is here, cowards!" She drew her swords and charged for the stands

Annabeth and my chariot rumbled through the strawberry fields, across the volleyball pit, and lurched to a halt in front of the Big House. Annabeth and I ran inside, tearing down the hallway to Chiron's apartment.

His boom box was still on his nightstand. So were his favorite CDSs. I grabbed the most repulsive ones I could find, Annabeth snatched the boom box, and together we ran back outside.

Down the track, the chariots were in flames. Wounded campers ran in every direction, with birds shredding their clothes and pulling out their hair, while Tantalus chased breakfast pastries around the stands, every once in a while yelling, "Everything's under control! Not to worry."

We pulled up to the finish line. Annabeth got the boom box ready. I prayed the batteries weren't dead.

I pressed PLAY and started up Chiron's favorite—the All-Time Greatest Hits of Dean Martin. Suddenly the air was filled with violins and a bunch of guys moaning in Italian.

The demon pigeons went nuts. They started flying in circles, running into each other like they wanted to bash their own brains out. Then they abandoned the track altogether and flew skyward in a huge dark wave.

"Now!" shouted Annabeth. "Archers!"

With clear targets, Apollo's archers had flawless aim. Most of them could nock five or six arrows at once. Within minutes, the ground was littered with dead bronze-beak pigeons, and the survivors were a distant trail of smoke on the horizon.

The camp was saved, but the wreckage wasn't pretty. Most of the chariots had been completely destroyed. Almost everyone was wounded, bleeding from multiple bird pecks. The kids from Aphrodite cabin were screaming because their hairdos had been ruined and their clothes pooped on.

"Bravo!" Tantalus said, but he wasn't looking at me or Annabeth. "We have our first winner!" He walked to the finish line and awarded the golden laurels for the race to a stunned-looking Clarisse.

Then he turned and smiled at me. "And now to punish the one responsible for bringing the monster who disrupted the race."