Hello again! It's been awhile since I've last updated, and I'm sorry to say the next update will probably not come out for awhile as well. 7th grade is a big jump from last year, and since we share most of our classes with 8th graders, it's like we are skipping a year. So it's difficult. But I'll keep trying to work on it as much as I can.
Anyways, here it is! Time for training!
According to Rafael, it was night. Really, Tristan couldn't tell, because in this… underground place, there was no natural light that reached down to the halls. But everyone was bustling around, fighting over the single bathroom, hanging out trying to get the last bits of conversation before lights out, etc.
The other guys in his room helped him and Noah out as well. They introduced themselves, but Tristan couldn't remember their names very well. Aleron, Solomon, Jonah, Jackson, Peter; he could remember their names but would probably forget who they belonged to overnight. He got back to his bunk, his toiletries laid out neatly in front of him.
"Lights out," Rafael said loudly, seemingly from nowhere. Tristan whirled around to locate the speaker, but the lights quickly flashed off. With no moonlight, it was pitch black. Tristan had to climb under covers with no source of light. When he eventually succeeded, he only could hope that his dreams would be silent this night.
Unfortunately, he had no such luck. As soon as his mind left the restraints of his body, he felt a powerful force push itself into his consciousness, enveloping his thought.
The next thing he knew, wind was slapping him in the face. Around him, people buzzed back and forth, moving hurriedly as they talked into their cell phones or Bluetooth. Different people walked around—some short, some tall, and others had green hair, or a business suit on. Tall skyscrapers loomed over him, casting weird shadows over the bustling city. Everywhere he looked, giant yellow taxicabs roamed the streets—New York taxicabs. How had he gotten so far away?
"I'm sorry I had to bring you this far," a voice suddenly broke in, interrupting his thoughts. Tristan turned his head to see a man searching through a purse, pulling out all sorts of things—parcels, letters, and all that junk. "You see my clients are currently around this area."
"Um, I'm not entirely sure what you mean." Tristan watched the man pull out his ringing phone, which he quickly silenced and shoved it in his pouch. He swore he heard the phone yell, "Ow!"
The man smiled. "My name's Mercury. Messenger god, at your service."
What the heck? Tristan thought to himself. That's three gods in one day! What do they want from me? But he kept his mouth shut.
Unfortunately, the god seemed to hear his thoughts. Luckily, it did not seem to anger him.
"We don't want anything from you, Tristan. In fact, I'm just here to... help you out for future needs." He winked, reaching inside his purse.
Tristan just watched curiously, thinking of all the things that could come out of it. Weapons? Food? Godzilla?
Mercury seemed to be picking up his thoughts, and smiled at the boy. He just dug deeper, until his elbow was gone. Tristan didn't think it was possible for a purse to be that deep. But Mercury's bag didn't seem full of possibilities. It seemed to be filled with impossibilities, if that even made sense.
Finally, the god pulled out a parcel, the box covered in a nice thick brown wrapping. "That one's for you. It might come in handy." He then pulled out another, this time rectangular and much longer. Tristan wondered what could be inside. "And that one is addressed to Noah Holtzman. His, ah... godly parent sent this through the mail. Signed anonymous, though. I'm pretty sure it can't be his mortal parent."
"Yeah, his mortal parent either died or abandoned him years ago," he said distractedly, taking the parcels in his hands, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. He couldn't wait till he showed Noah the gifts, so that they could finally open them together and see what was hidden inside.
Mercury just smiled, as if he knew the whole story. But something in his eyes told him that he in fact didn't.
"Make sure you don't open them until you're on your quest. It would be a shame for those gifts to go to waste. I have a feeling you'll need them on the road."
His phone rang again, and he gave an exasperated sigh. "I'd love to stay and chat, Tristan, but I really must go. But there is one thing you should do before you make any more plans; train like there's no tomorrow. And then you can head to Camp Jupiter."
"Wait!" But Mercury had already picked up his phone, and Tristan was surprised to see two snakes twining around it.
What're you looking at kid? You know it's impolite to stare, said a voice inside his head.
"Shut up George," Mercury said irritably. His phone elongated into a giant winged staff, and he erupted into a shining light that burned Tristan's eyes, and the dream ceased.
Tristan woke up on his bed, and was surprised to find the two packages still in his arms. He wondered if he should shake them, like he had seen in the few movies or books he'd encountered in his life at the orphanage. It wasn't that bad, he realized. At least we were taught basic schooling, and had a bit of normal things every once in a while. After contemplating the pros and cons, he decided not to. In the stories, whenever a present was shaken, nothing good ever happened.
Tristan seemed to have woken up just in time. The boys were all seeming to awaken, some putting pillows over their heads, others already walking around. Two identical boys were talking to another, the latter who looked as if he was extremely bored or indifferent about the conversation. One of the twins saw Tristan looking over, and motioned for him.
Tristan reluctantly walked over, unsure of himself. The twin smiled invitingly, nudging his brother, who noticed and smiled weakly, but the other boy just rolled his eyes and moved into a more comfortable position.
"Hey!" The first twin asked. "What's your name?"
"Uh, I'm Tristan. Tristan Luctus."
"Hi. I'm Jonah Paciano. This is my brother Solomon, and that is Aleron Jabez." He indicated each boy respectively. "We've been here for a long time. Dad sent us to Rafael when we were you're age. He knew that it would be safe for us here. And it has been." Jonah looked at Aleron, who was still acting uninterested.
"Aleron was one of the first demigods that Rafael took in. He was running away from the cops, because he stole some money and a laptop." Jonah looked uncertainly at Aleron. "Is that right?"
"Yes," Aleron said simply. His voice was deep, with a slight Italian accent. "I like money. And laptops can be sold for lots of money. My father would have been proud." He lapsed into silence again, pulling out a curved dagger which he examined carefully.
After a few moments of awkwardness, Jonah resumed speaking. "Our dad is Apollo. We didn't meet him until… until he sent us to Rafael one night."
"Until mom died." Solomon interrupted, speaking for the first time.
Jonah shot him a dirty look, then resumed his speech. "Yes, then. He brought us to Rafael, and we learned how to fight. Aleron's dad is Mercury. You know, god of thieves, sports, literature, wit, et cetera."
Jonah sighed a bit, as if he didn't know what else to say. Eventually, Aleron spoke up. "Rafael is a Roman. He teaches us only of the Roman ways; the only ways he's learned. Occasionally, Greek campers chance upon us, like Peter over there—" he pointed at a very young boy talking to Jacob and Jackson, "—and the Greek kids can learn a bit about the Greek ways. Everything else we get from dusty old books from Multnomah County Library or the Internet."
Jonah interrupted hastily. "We try to use the Internet as little as possible, as well as any other technology that is a form of communication. It acts as a signal to any nearby monsters in the area. Also it doesn't work down here. So no phones, although Rafael has an iPhone and we've got a landline."
Tristan had many more questions to ask, but eventually he decided on just one. "How do you support yourselves here? Do any of you have a job?"
Jonah answered this time. "Rafael works at OHSU, and he also goes to college there. Occasionally the gods drop off some cash to pay for whatever new kid that's appearing. Us three work at a gas station. Enough people have jobs here to support us, and Aleron handles whatever we don't have enough money to buy."
"Oh," was the only reply Tristan could think of. He began to contemplate his decision about staying here—it appeared he was now it a gang of outlaws—when Rafael came in, Noah lagging behind.
"Time to start training," Rafael declared firmly. "I know a place where there's tons of warfare stuff. Swords, archery, axes, even modern guns. You can find your niche pretty quickly there." He looked around the room, and all eyes were on him. He had an air of authority that made people want to follow him, and you could tell he had the ability to make good off this.
"Does anyone else want to come?" He asked the crowd of demigods. A few raised their hands; they were Peter, Talisa, Jackson, and three other girls, two of which looked like teenagers and the third looked even younger than Tristan, only seven or eight. "Okay," Rafael called to the small group of demigods following in his wake, "we're going to Aaron's to train. Got it?" He addressed this last part to the older children, who nodded or communicated their understanding in some other way.
They set off through the maze of corridors, the walls changing from brick to marble to concrete. Eventually Tristan walked up to the apparent leader of the group, a teenage girl with braided black hair that overlapped and weaved on her head. "How do you know where you are going?" he inquired curiously.
The girl looked at the young boy coldly, like how a wealthy merchant's daughter would look down on a poor, lowly peasant boy. She obviously was proud, or thought highly of herself. Tristan didn't like it, and he warily put his guard up. He'd experienced this with some kids at the adoption center; kids that had actually met their parents and remembered them. They thought they were so special, that they should be treated better even though others had experienced the same thing. With difficulty, Tristan returned his focus to the girl, who was speaking to him now.
"Do you really need to know?" She asked him. She was kind enough to not refuse or insult him, but it was obvious she didn't want to deal with Tristan at the moment. It seemed like she was trying her best to tolerate him.
"If you would be so kind," Tristan replied through gritted teeth, less kind than before, implying with his tone that he noticed her unpleasantness.
The girl sighed, infuriating Tristan with her rudeness. "Well," she said, "If you must know, my mother is Ariadne, the wife of Dionysus. In her mortal life, the great hero Theseus pleaded for my mother's help because he knew she could see the paths through the Labyrinth, which he was maneuvering through in order to defeat the Minotaur, a great beast that roamed its corridors.
"After his success with the monster, Theseus took Ariadne on his ship and promised to marry her. However, he betrayed her and left her on an island. The god Dionysus, himself a deified mortal, saw her beauty and, captivated, took her as his own wife. She passed down her sight to me. Now, please go. I need to focus on the task at hand." After this speech, the pompous, haughty girl looked forward once more, muttering some words in some language Tristan couldn't understand. He turned away and walked back to Rafael, who was in the back of the group with Peter.
"—happening at the other camp?" Rafael was asking.
Peter replied, his voice strangely old and experienced for someone so young. "Last winter, the Hunters and some campers went to San Francisco to save Artemis from Atlas. We know that the Titans are gathering an army, and they plan an attack on Olympus. Per—" Peter caught sight of Tristan watching and stopped suddenly, unsure what to do. Rafael also saw him, and rushed into introductions.
"Tristan, this is Peter Mallon. We chanced upon him a while back, traveling by himself. He's been giving me information about the camp in Manhattan. And, uh…" Rafael looked uncomfortably at Peter, whose young eyes stared calmly back. He looked young, too young to be found traveling by himself. "… how old were you again?" He asked Peter awkwardly.
"Thirty-six," replied Peter, composed as ever. "Peter Mallon, Son of Hebe, goddess of youth. Explains my appearance." He smiled, but Tristan had the sudden urge to check his pockets. He couldn't trust that smile.
Anxious to change the topic, Tristan asked Rafael: "Who is the girl leading us?"
Rafael looked to the front of the group, at the girl that had been so haughty earlier. "Oh, that's Lyra. I guess you've met her already. Found her wandering the Labyrinth; or maybe she found us. Anyways, I heard she was spoiled as a kid; her mother was a princess after all, albeit a nice one. I don't know why she left where she came from, because she doesn't share much about herself. All I know is… not much.." Again they lapsed into uncomfortable silence, with Peter staring straight ahead, Rafael staring at his feet, and Tristan staring at the two.
Eventually, they reached a stop. Lyra put her hand against the wall, and a blue triangle began to glow. A section of the wall groaned and swung back, revealing a dusty broom closet. It was void of any object, but the closet ended at another door in front of them. Rafael moved to the front and swung the door open, they walked quietly in; Tristan and Noah hanging in the back. Rafael looked back and forth, searching for something.
Suddenly Tristan felt something cold on his neck. It dug into his skin, and when he slowly turned around, he saw a long knife under his throat. The holder of the knife was an adult male, in his early twenties, with short brown hair cropped military style, a nasty grin like someone who enjoyed scaring others, and shades that reflected Tristan's frightened face back upon himself. His grin widened devilishly, and when he removed his sunglasses, his eyes glinted bright red. Tristan could read so much from those eyes: the man was mischievous, intelligent, and he seemed to be happy about something.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" The man asked himself gleefully, his voice instilling fear into Tristan's overactive imagination.
There! Cliffie! Haha! Don't worry, no one will die... probably...