Look, I'm alive! Sorry it's been so long since I updated, school and life got in the way. I promise I will never go this long without an update again. I'm super super super sorry, please don't hunt me down!
You guys can scroll through this, but I also want to address some reviews I've gotten saying my mythology is incorrect. I am totally open to constructive criticism and corrections, but the corrections I got were wrong. Furthermore, I checked my facts and found they were right. I'd also like to point out that there are a lot of different versions of myths, so there's very rarely one right answer. What you've heard may be different from what I've heard. Also, this story is a spin off Greek Mythology, so I'm taking the classic stories and facts and twisting them. Things in this story might be a bit different than in mythology textbooks, because I'm warping and changing a few things to fit my storyline. Lastly, I'm fourteen years old and still learning, so go easy on me. I may be wrong a few times, and please understand that I will try my hardest to make sure my mythology is accurate, but sometimes I'll miss the mark. That's all, sorry to bore you!
done with you: Yes, sorry, here's your update!
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i am awesome: Updating, and thank you!
Anonymous: Updated! Glad you like it, thanks for the review!
TehAppleR84: Thank you! I'm glad you like it. I work really hard to bring out emotions and make my characters likeable, so I'm glad you noticed. Thanks for the update!
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.1217: Thank you! I love puns, don't you?
Hermes
If anyone had told me how I was getting to training camp, I might've just decided not to go. The bus that I'd always taken leaves from MOJH, and I obviously couldn't take it from Brightwood. I got a letter from Odysseus saying someone would come pick me up, and that, because of the war brewing, I wasn't to fly there from Brightwood. Half of me was suspicious as to why he didn't say who, but the other half of me was exhausted and didn't give a fuck.
So, when my Dad pulls up, I can't say I'm exactly surprised. I've been throwing away six-page letters from him since school began. Half because I was mad and didn't want to hear a thing he had to say, half because I couldn't read them anyway. Looking back on it, that might not have been the best idea, considering there's a war on the way and I'm in plain sight behind this shroud. But whatever. Killing my girlfriend might not have been the best idea, either.
"Coming?" He asks. Wordlessly, I shoulder my bag and climb into the chariot behind him, and he drives off. "So, how's Brightwood?" He asks. I don't reply. "You know, I always wanted to go there, when I was a kid," He says, desperately trying to make conversation.
"Jane wanted to go through the portal to the future so she could go to the Joffrey Ballet School," I tell him. He sighs. "She didn't make it that far."
"She wouldn't have," He snaps. "I saw her string, Hermes. She never left training camp. It wasn't a happy life."
"Well, now it's not even a life at all!" I counter, before crossing my arms and turning away from him. I've picked up a few things from watching Coral and the other popular girls bitch at each other. After that, we don't talk much. He makes a few horrible attempts, telling me about weapons and fighting all the things he loves, and even trying to make conversation about horses ("So, uh, how's that thing you do? You know, with the jumping over stuff in a forest?" "Cross country, Dad?" "Yeah, cross country." "Fine, I guess."). But I don't give him more than three words at a time, and eventually he just gives chariot takes us up the mountain and past the palace, then over the top to the other side, where training camp is. When we're about three quarters of the way there, he stops the chariot. "Alright," He says, "you're going to stop sulking and ignoring me, or you're not going to training camp." I finger one of the wings on my baseball cap.
"If you haven't noticed, I have other means of transportation." He reaches up and grabs my hat off my head.
"Good luck with that," He replies. What with the wings on my shoes and hat being as small as they are, it's hard to fly with just the hat, or just the shoes. You have to have both. I learned that the hard way, and I have the scars to prove it. Still, I don't need wings. I push myself over the side of the chariot, run three circles around it, and jump back in, all in a span of 1.3 seconds.
"I think I can manage," I shoot back. He sighs, but doesn't move the chariot.
"So, you're with Artemis now, huh?" He attempts to make conversation. In one of my rare moments of intelligence, I remember her vow.
"No," I lie.
"Well," He says, "if you were, that'd be okay."
"So, you mean, you wouldn't kill her, too?" I snap. "Gee, thanks." He exhales sharply, seemingly having lost all patience.
"You know why I killed her, Hermes?" He exclaims, "I did it for you! I did it because I saw her string, and I saw what happened to yours because of it!" I raise my eyebrows.
"Yeah? What happened?" I question. He takes a deep breath and starts driving the chariot again.
"You went to Brightwood, she stayed at training camp, and you saw each other during winter and summer went on for several years, and you grew apart. You were dating all the way up to senior year, when she finally got tired of missing you, and cheated. When you found out, you hung yourself. Artemis had been in love with you the whole time, and horrible things happened to her. She stopped talking to anyone. She stopped hunting. She stopped doing anything but just going through the motions. Apollo thought she had a mental disease, and he practically went mad trying to diagnose and cure her. Hestia tried to comfort him, and eventually he hit her. Ares turned on Apollo for that, and Athena turned on Ares for turning on Apollo. Eventually, a huge feud started, and Prometheus took advantage of us. A house divided cannot conquer, Hermes. Prometheus won, and he and his army took over. Don't you see? She tore out family apart. She was the sole cause of our downfall." I shake my head. By now, I can see training camp.
"You're lying," I hiss.
"She didn't mean it, Hermes," He tells me, "it's rare that a petty highschool break-up is the demise of the heavens."
"So, I guess I'm supposed to forgive you now," I sigh. "I guess I'm supposed to tell you it's okay you killed her. That you had your reasons. That it's really for the better in the end, because if she lived, it would've caused a lot of trouble." He stops the chariot at the entrance to camp, and I grab my bag and step out of the chariot. He looks me in the eye, not knowing what to say. I roll up my right sleeve, exposing countless red lines. Some are red, some pink, some white or beige. The criss-cross over each other, pale pink meeting scabbed-over red. A masterpiece of self-hatred and horrible things. "But, you know, her death caused a lot of trouble, too." With that, I turn around and walk past the familiar sign reading, "Mt. Olympus Training Camp: Go From Zero to Hero!"
Artemis
"I can't believe this."
"You can't believe what?"
"I can't believe I've been friends with you all this time, and all along, you pronounced 'bagel' wrong!" I roll my eyes at Apollo and Achilles's antics, watching with mock interest as Odysseus demonstrates sword techniques.
"Dude, I honestly don't think this is worth ruining an entire friendship over," Achilles says.
"You're butchering the English language!" Apollo cries.
"This escalated quickly," Achilles mutters. Sighing, I turn to face him.
"Are you actually arguing over the pronunciation of 'bagel'?" I question.
"He says it wrong!" Apollo cries.
"I think you say it wrong," Achilles shoots back. "It's obviously pronounced 'bagel'." Apollo's right. It does sound weird. He pronounces it with a short a, like "baaaagel". My eyes widen.
"Oh my gods," I gasp, "you're totally right." Apollo nods, the corners of his mouth turning upward in a satisfied smirk. Achilles lets out a loud, exasperated sigh that draws Odysseus's attention to us. He fixes us with a disapproving glare.
"Nice job, Bagel Boy," Apollo hisses, emphasizing the short a that Achilles used.
"Apollo! Artemis! Achilles!" Odysseus calls, "Are you paying attention?!"
"I'm sorry, Odysseus, he pronounces 'bagel' wrong, and it's making it very hard to concentrate," Apollo explains. Odysseus quirks an eyebrow. He's used to us being weird, but this is a little too weird.
"How do you pronounce 'bagel', Achilles?" He questions.
"Bagel," Achilles replies, with that infuriating short a. The class gasps.
"That is the most despicable butchering of the English language I have heard in all my years of existence," Odysseus says seriously. Achilles sighs exasperatedly.
"Oh my gods," He groans, "what has my life come to?"
"Hey, party people!" A new voice calls, "What's happenin'?"
"Achilles is making my ears bleed," Apollo replies. I turn around to see who spoke, and a wide smile spreads across my face.
"Hermes!" I cry. He grins as I rush toward him. I jump forwards and he catches me in his arms. He swings me around, and the rest of the world seems to disappear. It's just me and him. Hermes and Artemis. Like it was meant to be. It can't have lasted longer than five seconds, but it seems like forever. A happy forever. He spins me around and we laugh and smile and in that moment, I love him so much. I know, right then, if Dad asked me, "Hermes, or hunting?" I'd say, "Hermes." I've lived without him for an entire semester. I can't lose him. Not again.
Then Dionysus makes a gagging noise, and Athena tells us to get a room. Blushing, he releases me and faces the group.
"So, what's this about Achilles?" He asks. Apollo's expression darkens.
"He's ruining my life," He answers seriously. Hermes raises his eyebrows, prompting him to continue. "He pronounces 'bagel' wrong."
"I didn't know there was more than one pronunciation," Hermes says.
"There isn't," Achilles snaps, "it's 'bagel'." Hermes's eyes widen.
"You sicken me," He says. Achilles groans, tipping his head back and glaring at the sky.
"Seriously, Achilles," Dionysus cuts in, "that's, like, bullying linguistics."
"Oh, come on! It's not that big of a deal!" Achilles cries. The rest of the class watches with interest.
"Alright, alright!" Odysseus cuts in, waving his arms and, consequently, his sword. The nymph he'd been demonstrating with jumps back, eyes wide, startled. "Hermes, go put your things in your cabin. Achilles, sit in the corner and think about what you've done. Everyone else, partner up and start practicing." Achilles's jaw drops in disbelief.
"Are you serious?" He cries. Odysseus nods solemnly.
"I'm one-hundred percent serious," He says, "what you did was very rude to the English language."
"Very rude to the...oh my gods," Achilles mutters, walking around aimlessly to find himself a corner, before crying, "And what corner do you expect me to sit in? We're outside!" I'm so distracted by their antics that I don't even see the silver blade come down upon mine, knocking it to the ground.
"Wow," Hermes muses, "that was easier than I expected." I glare at him.
"That's so not fair, Herpes," I tell him.
"It is so fair!" He argues, "Do you think they're gonna wait for you to say 'go' before fighting in the real world?" Fair point.
"But this isn't the real world, Fairy Feet," I point out, grabbing my sword off the ground and crossing it with his.
"It's supposed to prepare you for the real world," He replies, ducking my sword as I swing it above his head. Our argument continues as our swords clash and clatter, the noises mingling with those around us. We duck, jab, and spin, like an annoying dance tutorial on repeat...with deadly weapons. It's hot (It always is at training camp. No one quite knows why, although Athena says Hecate added a weather spell to the protection charms she placed around camp.), my armor is chaffing uncomfortably against my skin, and the clangs of swords connecting ring painfully in my ears, but I'm happy. I'm here, with him. And I've missed him so much. But right now, he's here. Everything has been so horrible and painful, but now, it doesn't matter. I've got him, and he's got me. So we're okay. We'll always be okay, as long as we've got each other. So, later that night, when I ask him, "Are you okay?" All he says is, "I love you." And I know that everything is going to be just fine.
Hermes
Mnemosyne's dead. Which means no more attacks, no more memories, and no more nightmares. I should've fallen asleep ages ago, with no horrible dreams to worry about. But somehow, I just can't. I can't exactly count past five, so counting sheep is out of the question. And I don't like reading, nor do I have any books, so reading until I get bored and fall asleep isn't an option either. I guess I could wake up Apollo and make him tell me sciencey things that will eventually put me to sleep, but I don't know if I want to put myself through that torture. Honestly, who came up with science? Who just sat down one night and was like, "You know what I think we need? Fucking astronomy."
Just then, I hear a soft knock on the door. I look around hopefully for a second, willing someone else to wake up and get it, before groaning and getting to my feet. Just because I'm not asleep doesn't mean I'm not tired. Rubbing my eyes, I stumble over to the door and yank it open.
"Okay, whoever thought waking up a cabin of teenage boys at one in the morning was a good idea is-Oh, hey Artemis," I greet her. She laughs.
"Why are you still awake?" She asks.
"Someone knocked on the door at some ungodsly hour of the morning," I reply. "What about you?" She shrugs.
"Couldn't sleep," She says.
"Neither could I," I admit, "anyone else out?" She shakes her head. "Well, then, we could probably go for a walk, if you want." She does. Hand in hand, we traipse through camp and into the forest. For a while, we don't talk. We just enjoy each other's presence. I've missed her so much.
"So, how's Brightwood?" She asks.
"Good," I reply, "Poseidon's teaching me to jump without a bridle."
"Without a bridle?!" She echoes, "Crystal says that's really dangerous! What do you have against tack?" I shrug.
"I don't know," I answer, "I feel like it's not fair. Like, we're already sitting on them. We don't need to put all this uncomfortable stuff on them on top of that."
"By that logic, you shouldn't need to wear a helmet," She points out.
"Sometimes I don't," I tell her.
"Hermes!" She cries, slapping my arm, "You could get really hurt!"
"But I haven't," I counter.
"But you could."
"But I haven't."
"But you could."
"But I haven't."
"But you co-" I press my lips against hers, cutting her off. She's stiff for a moment, before relaxing in my arms. "Well played," She says, when we break apart, "but you should still wear a helmet." We keep talking, about teachers and football games and Achilles's disgusting pronunciation of "bagel", as we walk through the forest. Eventually, we settle down against a tree. My arm is around her and her head is on my shoulder. And there are red lines all over my wrist, and there are thick red welts running across my back, and there are so many more scars on the inside I can't see. But I'm happy.
When you know you're made for someone, everything can be terrible, and still be okay.
"What time is it?" I ask. She glances at the tiny, silver sundial on her wrist.
"Three in the morning," She tells me.
"We could sleep here," I say.
"Yeah," She whispers, "I guess we could." Her eyes slide shut, her expression relaxing, her head still resting on my shoulder. I lean my head back against the tree and close my eyes. Then, our arms wrapped around each other, hidden deep in the forest at training camp, the rustle of the wind through the leaves sings us to sleep.
"Oh, how sweet." At first, I think I'm dreaming. Then I see him, standing front of me. His lips are curled into a sinister smile, he looks at Artemis and my arms wrapped around her with a cynical expression.
Prometheus.
It's odd to see him. We've seen parts of his army, he's sent several to MOJH to kill us, and Mnemosyne to Brightwood. But never has he himself taken part in the actual fighting. So, I know I'm in big trouble.
"What do you want?" I snap.
"You must love her so much," He says, mock happiness dripping from his words. I don't reply, fixing him with a hard, icy glare. "And you would know what it feels like to lose someone you love. What was her name again? Oh, that's right. Jane." I lunge at him without thinking. Weaponless, I pin him against a tree with my bare hands, knowing I've only got him because I caught him off guard.
"Don't talk about Jane," I hiss. He merely laughs, throwing me off of him with ease. Artemis shifts in her sleep, leaning against the tree.
"She was a sweet girl." He walks around me in infuriating circles. "Was." I stand protectively over Artemis.
"You're not killing her," I tell her, "I won't let you. Kill me instead, I don't care. But don't you dare touch her." He laughs again.
"I'm not here to kill her," He says. "I considered it, sure. Mnemosyne was to me as Artemis is to you, and you killed Mnemosyne, so it would only be fair to kill Artemis. But then, I thought, it was you who killed Mnemosyne. So I should kill you." I gulp, knowing I'm defenseless. If I run, he'll kill Artemis. If I don't, he'll kill me. He unsheathes his sword. "Oh, how this will kill your father." In an act of desperation, I jump up and break a branch off a tree. He lets out a hearty laugh. "You think you can fight me with a stick?"
"Maybe," I reply, with more confidence than I have. He makes a stab at me, which I block with my tree branch. He makes another, I block it. Another. Blocked. This continues for some time. He swings at me from all sides, but I meet his blade with my branch every time. Artemis sleeps soundly throughout all of this, and I wonder if he's doing something to keep her asleep. He knows he couldn't take us both, even if we're unarmed. She's lethal when she 's mad. And if she saw him trying to kill me, she might be a bit angry.
It's when I raise the stick above my head to protect myself from a blow that it finally snaps. Prometheus swings, and his sword slices right through the wood. I stare down at the broken branch in horror, then up at Prometheus. He smirks evilly.
"I want this to hurt," He says, grabbing me firmly by the shoulder and dragging me over to a tree. "I want it to be slow, and painful." He rests the tip of the blade against the skin of my stomach, only the thin fabric of my T-shirt separating death and I. "This is a bit familiar, isn't it?"
He retracts the blade, ready to drive it into my stomach, and everything seems to move in slow motion. I squeeze my eyes shut on a world I won't see again. Then, I feel hands pushing against me. Not Prometheus's; they're not as rough or as big. I've been pushed aside, and I feel myself hit the ground. I hear a loud cry of pain, and then a ragged, shaky gasp. A loud POP, that I take to be Prometheus doing that disappearing shit.
Slowly, I open my eyes to a sight I never wanted to see.
Artemis is on the ground, slumped against the tree Prometheus had pushed me up to. Blood spurts out of a wound on her stomach, staining her white tank top bright red. She gasps for air, a cold sweat breaking out over her face. Her eyes slide shut as her head rests against the tree. I rush over to her, pulling her into my arms.
"Artemis? Artemis, you're gonna be okay. Just listen to me. Please, Artemis. You've just got to breathe. In and out, Artemis. I know it hurts, I know. But please, you have to breathe," I beg. Her chest rises and falls sporadically, hardly moving at all, before rapidly pulsing.
With a trembling hand, she reaches over and weakly pulls up her shirt, revealing the wound.
"We'll have...matching...s-scars," She gasps. I nod, smiling sadly. Matching scars. Matching marks of horrible things. I'm covered in them. But she's perfect, and I don't want her to have any.
"Yeah, sure. It'll be cute. Just like other couples have matching shirts or rings, and we'll have our matching stab wounds. But for now, you just need to breathe, okay? It's gonna hurt, but it'll be okay in the end, I promise. I've got you. I'm right here, I've got you, you're gonna be okay," I promise her.
"Couldn't...let him...k-kill you," She whispers weakly. "You're...my...p-plunger, too." Her eyes close again, her head lolling to the side in my arms. I watch her chest rise and fall almost obsessively, because if it doesn't rise and fall, I don't think I can take this world anymore.
"Artemis, listen to me. You're gonna be just fine. I'll take you to the infirmary. Asclepius is here, he'll give you some stitches and you'll be good as new! Trust me, it doesn't hurt that bad after the first few days. Just, please, you have to hold on. Breathe, Artemis. Stay with me," I tell her fervently. It kills me to see her in pain. She doesn't deserve to hurt. Right then, I want to take all her pain for her. Her life is beautiful, unmarred by her own tragedy, merely scratched by that of other's. I want it to stay that way. My life is covered in rips and imperfections. I can take another. I want to take this for her.
"Hermes...I love...you." Her voice is barely audible.
"I love you too, Artemis. I'm here. I won't let you die. I said I wouldn't let him kill you. I don't go back on my promises."
"You're the...god of...lies," She points out. I shake my head.
"I'm not going back on this promise," I correct. "You're everything to me, Artemis. We're gonna get through this. We're the unbreakable ones, remember? We've been through so much, and we haven't broken yet. We've bent. Yeah, we've bent a lot. But we were never broken, and we're not breaking now. We'll do it like we always do. together. And that's how I know it'll be okay; because I've got you."
"Okay," She says, "You and...and me. It'll be...okay..." I nod.
"Always." I tighten my arms around her and get gingerly to my feet, taking care not to slam into any trees or jostle her too much as I bolt for the camp infirmary. My super-speed and I have a love-hate relationship. On one hand, I can get Artemis to the infirmary faster. On the other hand, I can't see for shit. Everything's just one big blur. I trust my instincts to get me to the infirmary, and burst through the doors.
It's dark. A few patients groan, some snore, and others are silent. Cots are laden with bloody or ill campers running all the way to the back of the room, but a few mattresses lie empty here and there. Asclepius, the camp doctor, sits in a spinny chair (I love those things) in his office, asleep. Artemis groans in my arms, reminding me of the matter at hand. I lay her down on an empty cot before running over to Asclepius's office and bursting through the door.
"HELLO!" I cry loudly, slapping his arm. He jolts awake, the spinny chair rocking back and forth wildly as he struggles for his balance.
"What happened?!" He demands.
"Artemis," I tell him. "She's hurt." That's all I need to say. Asclepius and I bolt out of the office, and I lead him to the cot she lays on. The white sheets below her are stained with red, and she groans and twists in agony.
"It's five in the morning!" He cries, "How did you manage to get her stabbed at five in the morning!"
"I don't know," I reply, "I guess I'm just really productive." He turns and glares at me.
"The last time you came to the infirmary to help out, it took you an hour to stop poking somebody's pussing wound and get me some bandages," He points out.
"Less intelligent comebacks, more fixing my girlfriend!" I counter. Asclepius rolls his eyes and sets to work. He pulls up her shirt, then orders me to get him the emergency first aid kit from his office. There are no pussing wounds to poke, so I do this in a pretty timely fashion. First, he cleans out the wound with rubbing alcohol (He helpfully points out that if I drink it I'll die, which was probably a good idea, considering when I'm bored I tend to just eat everything.). Then, he gets some gauze and a needle, and tells me to hold her hand. "Why?" I ask.
"This is gonna hurt, and you said she's your girlfriend. She might like the comfort," He replies, distracted. I recognize what he's going to do from my own experience with stab wounds. I kneel down beside her and take her cold, limp hand in mine.
"Hey," I mutter, "he's just gonna stitch you up, okay? Then you'll have one of these." I lift my shirt and show her my thin, white line, with small dots surrounding it. Puncture marks, from where the stitches once were. "It might hurt a bit. But I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you." Artemis moans in agony and curls in on herself as he makes the first stitch. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm right here. Can you hear me?"
"Yeah," She replies weakly.
"Good. Just listen to my voice, alright? That's it, squeeze my hand. I know it hurts. It'll be okay. I've got you," I tell her, repeating these words over and over, a meaningless, yet comforting mantra. After about fifteen or so minutes of this, Asclepius cuts the thread.
"Done!" He announces. "It'll be sore for a bit, but we'll give you some pain medication. Just try to rest, now." After getting Artemis situated comfortably in the cot, he takes me to his office. "Alright," He says firmly, "how'd it happen?"
"It's complicated," I reply, "you see, when I was at Brightwood, Mnemosyne-actually, it's too complicated. Prometheus did it."
Asclepius nods. Of course, he knows about the war. He starts talking about how we must all prepare, for this war will be bloodier than the last, bloodier even, perhaps, than Troy. The Trojan War hasn't happened yet, but we all know how it ends. Achilles, dead. Hector, dead. Ajax, dead. Patroclus, dead. Odysseus left to wander for ten years before finding his home. Troilus, dead. Lots of people, dead. But this one, Asclepius says, will leave more people dead. When I don't ask him why he thinks this, he tells me it is because Prometheus is the wisest of all the deities. Smart enough to steal fire from the gods, and smart enough to escape the punishment bestowed upon him for that. Furthermore, he says, it'll be hard to get the mortals on our side. They're thankful to Prometheus for fire, women live in peril Zeus will choose them as his next broodmare and then leave them subject to Hera's wrath, blah, blah, blah. I tune out, my mind flying back to the hands I felt push me aside.
"She took it for me," I say, out of nowhere.
"What was that?" Asclepius asks, looking a bit peeved to have been interrupted in his vivid descriptions of the wounds he'll, no doubt, have to treat.
"She took it for me," I repeat, "that knife was headed for me. She was asleep, and I was barely holding him off with a tree branch. They both knew I wouldn't have survived it."
"And why not?" Asclepius asks, "Stabs are bad, yes, but I have full confidence Artemis will recover."
"Because it would've been the second time," I reply, lifting up my shirt and revealing the scar, "in the same place." Asclepius only looks a bit surprised at this.
"From Prometheus, I assume," He says, "he really wants you kids, dead or alive." I shake my head.
"It's not from Prometheus," I tell him. He raises his eyebrows.
"Who, then?" He presses. I hesitate.
"Um, my mom."
Silence. His mouth drops slightly open, his eyebrows remaining in their raised position.
"Oh." I shift uneasily. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry to hear that."
"It's okay. She's dead now." He nods, seemingly not knowing whether or not he should be sorry for my loss of an abusive parent. "Well," I mutter, "I guess I'll get going, then." He nods again, and I step out of his office. I pause at Artemis's cot and kneel down beside her still body. Asleep, she stirs slightly as I grasp her hand. "Thank you," I tell her, "you saved my life."