Yay. It's update time! I cannot seriously believe how many words this story has gotten to. It's like mind-blowing. I've never really written this much before, and it really gives me hope for this story.
The Cusp of a Blade
"Wake up, wake up, wake up!" shouted an annoying familiar voice.
Connor shot like a cannon from the bed and clutched his ears like they were wounded. Immediately, he looked around for the culprit. Travis stood all innocent and doe-eyed by the foot of his bed, yet a certain bubbly happiness seemed to roll off him in waves as well.
"Ugh," groaned Connor. "You know, just because you're my twin doesn't mean that you can jump on me whenever you want." Then he sobered up a bit, registering Travis' current demeanor. "What's up with you?"
Travis did a little happy bounce. "Guess what day it is?"
Connor struggled to peel his eyes open. "Oh, I don't know," he croaked. He sniffed apathetically. "Wednesday?"
Travis pulled his lips together in a frown and replied, "No. The fencing tourney that's always there. It's today. Well, today is going to be Round 1."
Connor squinted. "And I'm supposed to care because…"
Travis pouted. "I just need someone to come accompany me. I want to watch, of course. I could learn a lot of good tips when I come back next year."
"What? Are you not good enough to compete this year?" teased Connor.
Travis narrowed his eyes in an unfunny way. "No. First-years aren't allowed to compete. Something about keeping reputations and lives intact," he muttered, looking down pointedly.
"You wouldn't actually kill someone, would you?" asked Connor, joking.
Silence.
"You wouldn't, right?" repeated Connor.
Another prolonged Silence.
"Travis?!" exclaimed Connor.
Travis cracked a lazy grin. "Nah, that kind of maiming stuff is illegal. We want to walk out gracefully in defeat, not be rolled off into a stretcher."
"Oh, I'm sure you do," insisted Connor.
Travis rolled his eyes, but the sentiment wasn't felt or given in mockery. Connor knew Travis too well for that. It was simply his way of showing affection— despite how miniscule it was. "Just hurry up and get ready. We're already 15 minutes late!" shouted Travis, looking down to his bare wrist dramatically.
"All right, all right!" Connor exclaimed, waving two placating hands in the air. How could anyone not get sick of this? Travis, clearly impatient, tried to parade Connor into the bathroom. "My clothes!" Connor screamed.
Travis sighed desperately. As if asking the world what it was going to do with Connor. Connor smiled apologetically, no, more ruefully and strode over to his pile of clothes to pick up a pair. He strode back over and froze himself back into position. "Okay, resume play," instructed Connor.
Travis raised two inquisitive eyebrows but continued on with the scene, and even remembered to lock the door for Connor. Connor saluted Travis on his way out. He sighed as soon as the lock clicked shut.
Now he was going to take one really long shower.
…
45 minutes later, a grumpy Travis trudged down the cement steps 20 paces ahead of Connor. Connor laughed to himself. Poor guy was still so mad.
When they got there though, Travis seemed to forget their little spat, and waited up for Connor. Why the sudden change? wondered Connor. Then he saw the crowd. The entire camp was here packed like sardines into every available seat in the arena. Even the steps were packed tight with tall loud boisterous people. Connor cast a sideways look at Travis who was intently scanning the crowd.
Connor took the moment to opportunely analyze the arena. It was like architected like a Greek amphitheater, although its purpose could not be any farther. Instead of Apollo's music reflected off the walls, sounds of grunts, sweat, and swords clashing together were amplified. The steps dug deep into the ground, and descended to the lowest part of the amphitheater. Two fencers circled each other, both nearly identical in their uniforms and stunts. Connor shook his head. How did he even know that? Travis must be getting to him.
Connor turned back to Travis. "What now?" he stage-whispered.
"What?" yelled Travis. "I can't hear you," he mouthed.
Connor blinked. "What now?" he mouthed back.
Travis shrugged, and seized Connor's forearm in a quick economical movement. Connor was so startled that he couldn't even jerk his arm away. Travis dragged Connor into the mess of people and Connor was overwhelmed by the smell.
Forget any of the actual competitors actually having sweat. This took the cake! Connor used his free hand to pinch his nose. Oh, gods. That smelled awful! Awful! Awful! Awful! he thought, categorizing every single person's individual stench. Wait, that deodorant was pretty and nice, girl! Smells like flowers, sighed Connor. He turned to try to get a glimpse of the girl, but lost her in the crowd. Ah, maybe another time. Until then, Connor would have to deal with— Awful! Awful! — and that annoying sharp grip on his arm.
And then Connor got a gasp of fresh air. He sucked it in greedily. Everything cleared. Nothing like pure healthy oxygen that could help you like that. Once the oxygen had fixed up all the problems, Connor took a look around him.
"Wow," he breathed. Travis had dragged him to the front row, right next to the commentator's box. Every word that Chiron said was broadcasted over their heads with perfect clarity. And even better, realized Connor, the scoreboard or the match-up board was right in their line of vision. And if Connor just ducked under the restraints, he could actually walk on the field. Wow, indeed.
"You can thank me later," sang Travis. "But for now, let's see the matchup. Ooh, it's la Rue vs. Jackson. Oh, I know that guy. Percy's Annabeth's boyfriend!"
"What?" barked Connor.
"Nothing. Inside joke. Long story. Whatever. Do you know Clarisse la Rue?" Travis asked quite suddenly, turning to Connor.
Connor racked his brain, deciding whether or not to acknowledge that Travis was changing the subject or to truthfully answer the question. He went with the latter. "Yeah, she was my Cabin 5 counselor."
Travis nodded understandingly. He turned his attention back to the impending match at hand. It was pretty exciting. Connor decided to stop pretending he was bored because he was actually bored at pretending. Ah, the life of a pretender with many words at hand. Connor looked in (supposed) interest.
They'd just started the match, so Clarisse and Percy were just trash-talking.
"C'mon, Prissy, you too much of a wuss to take the first lunge?" she taunted.
"Oh, yeah, baby, lunge!" screamed Percy. Connor stifled a smile. From one innuendo artist to the next, he thought to himself ruefully.
Clarisse's eyes flashed dangerously and charged him (yes, quite literally) with the point of her epee. Percy easily sidestepped, and she almost went barreling into the crowd. She caught her step, though, and came for more.
Percy made his first attack with his epee, and Clarisse swerved to avoid the tip as it aimed straight for her stomach. She glared at him with the full force of her hatred, and Percy (God bless him) just grinned back, all lax and chaste.
Connor irked to pick up the epee, and show them how real fencing was done. In Connor's mind, they were taking too much time waiting, pausing, hesitating. He didn't see it as strategizing or perhaps, a more sophisticated approach—the sleight of hand. To Connor, this all looked like some strange form of flirting.
And that right there is the sole reason as to why Connor is no experienced fencer.
Rest assured, Connor still mildly enjoyed all this. This fencing thing wasn't too bad to watch. It was only worse when you were actually in the hot seat and you were losing—
"Oh!" cried Connor. Clarisse just landed a hit on Percy and was winning by a mere 2 points. It of course didn't help that they were to try to get to 10 first, and that Clarisse was holding strong with a borderline 9. Percy needed 3 consecutive points to win this round.
Connor felt Travis tense next to him. He got the feeling this was just as exciting— if not doubly exciting— for him as it was for Connor. "Who do you think's going to win?" he whispered harshly.
Travis shrugged. "Clarisse. She's more experienced and might be lacking in the brains department, but hey. This is Sparta, and Sparta won over Athens. And trust me, Percy is nowhere near as smart as the city of Athens back then."
Connor sucked in a breath. "You have no faith in our gender, do you, oh brother of mine?" purred Connor, waggling his eyebrows in a highly suggestive way. Travis swatted his arm without even looking in his direction the slightest. Never fear, Connor took it with grace. "5 drachmas Percy wins, because he's got some very nifty tricks up his sleeve," he whispered back.
Travis shot him an indecipherable look, before agreeing, "You're on. But I'm a little short on drachmas. How about a moneyless bet?" he tried.
Connor bowed his head, mocking disappointment. "You bend the rules of your own game. Travis, hon, don't take this personally, but you need help. In fact, your mental health is so bad that—"
Travis shoved him, and excitedly shushed him. "You're missing the best part!"
Connor turned around and assessed the tableau in front of him. The score was tied at 9. Clarisse and Percy got into ready positions, and the timer started. Percy lunged at Clarisse, to which she parried expertly, and scooted back. She tried to attack, but was counterattacked by Percy's quick and unexpected move. Clarisse was so taken aback by the intensity of his defense that she forgot to shield herself as he dove for an open spot on her midsection. The only spot that wasn't automatically defended by Clarisse's fighting stance.
Buzz!
The machine registered the touch of skin and metal, and signified the end of the match. Connor smirked and turned to Travis. "Pay up," he demanded.
A dismayed Travis gave a weak promise of "Later" but continued to routinely focus on the participants. Connor saw Percy and Clarisse shake hands and bow customarily, but he also felt the hostility running through the gestures like a second skin. Nah, it must have just been Connor. Rivalries, come on give it a break.
From the bullhorn ringing behind them, Chiron's voice boomed, "And the winner is Perseus Jackson. He will advance to the next round. And for our championship match, we have Luke Castellan versus Perseus Jackson. Best of luck to you both, we'll be watching. May the gods be ever in your favor."
Connor and Travis exchanged a look. Our Luke, thought Connor. It seemed that both of them were learning new things about Luke every day. He was a very special person. From somewhere, Luke emerged onto the field uniform all neatly pressed and already put on. Clarisse gave him and Percy both a lingering withering glance before haughtily trudging away, her brown hair flying in the wind.
Connor saw Percy snap his fingers and make a face. "Luke," he mouthed. Then a word that probably shouldn't be repeated, followed by — "I'm going to get my butt kicked."
Luke shook his head, and winked at Percy. Percy gulped, and Connor couldn't help but laugh. It was so much funnier to see the actual competitors' interaction than the fencing technique itself. Although, Connor couldn't help but admit there was something gracefully appealing about the fencing way too.
They took their fighting positions and started. Luke advanced upon Percy, taking large strides. One could easily spot Percy's unease at the close range Luke's swipes were getting within. Even Connor had to cringe at how precise each and every single one of Luke's strokes was. It was as if the very shine of the blade could slice through its opponents. Percy's fort was going to collapse soon, Connor realized hastily. Luke's going to win. "Is Luke like the reigning champ or something? Man, this guy's been doing this forever," noticed Connor.
Travis offered a little input. "I heard that even though he's the best fencer, he didn't participate last year or the year before. Something about healing from injury," he muttered, lowering his voice toward the end of the sentence.
But Connor heard the words all the same. "Injuries?" he asked, his voice spiking. "No one said anything about injuries."
Travis gave a tentative shrug, and admitted, "That's as far as I know. It's the accident that gave him the scar. It used to be all everyone used to talk about, and now no one even remembers it."
"Weird," chimed in Connor.
"Yeah," echoed Travis.
Just then, the crowd, the constant buzzing noise around them, disappeared. The crowd fell silent, hushed itself. Connor and Travis looked around in amazement. Connor locked his eyes on the play. Percy with his epee held out at point blank, and Luke, sans epee and holding up two hands in surrender. Luke's face was flushed red, but it was from exertion. Luke's epee was making a nice home for itself in the sand several feet away.
Connor's guess was that Percy had pulled his biggest ace— the disarming maneuver— and had succeeded in ridding Luke of a weapon. It certainly seemed the case as Chiron blew a horn that signified the end of the match, and declared Percy as the winner.
Chiron wheeled himself down to the center of it all (with the assistance of a side ramp) and raised Percy's hand up in triumph. Percy and Luke shook hands, and clapped each other on the back. None of that previous hostility was there, but if Connor looked back over the match, he could tell something was off. Did Luke purposely throw the match so he wouldn't win?
In fact, Connor was about to voice his thoughts to Travis when Chiron and company started delivering speeches. Oh, man. They were stuck here for that. This was the only downside to having those coveted front row seats.
Luke was a very mysterious person, observed Connor, his eyes glued to Luke's sneaky figure.
…
The minute all formalities were finished, Connor yanked on Travis' arm and alerted him to follow Luke. He had a hunch, and wasn't going to let go of it that easily. Connor really wasn't that type of person to let go of things easily. He didn't hold grudges though; he always ended up forgetting about them. Connor was always such a happy person.
"What are we doing again?" asked Travis for the seventh time in a row.
"Following Luke," reminded Connor. "And besides, you've already breaking the first rule of following which is to not talk on our escapades. And you completely neglected rule number two, the one where you bring me doughnuts. So yeah, if I were you, I wouldn't be talking."
"All right, then," Travis said, sounding very resigned. "But if you want me to stop talking, you're going to have to do it the sleazy way, because, frankly, you picked the worst partner in crime ever. Me, I'm not very good at shutting up, and I babble when I'm nervous and this is making me nervous and I've never told a lie in my life. This is really getting to my moral conscience."
Connor stared at him and right through him. "That last part was definitely a lie. Congratulations!" he said flatly.
A corner of Travis' mouth twitched irritably. The thought itself put a complacent feeling inside Connor's heart. In fact, Connor could see the wheels rolling in Travis' head and braced himself for whatever new curveball was going to be thrown in order to rain on his parade, but he was surprised by the immediate flash of concern and warning in his eyes. It was only a split second, and could only have lasted a split second. Yet somehow Connor had managed to perceive all that in one gaze. He might have been reading too much into the gestures.
Connor whirled, and flattened himself against the side of the nearest cabin. He motioned hastily for Travis to follow his lead. It took him only a moment's notice. Connor couldn't help but compare Travis' economical stealth movements to that of his own and those of Mitchell's and Jake's from such a long time ago. (Had it really only been that long ago? It had seemed like more.) Travis' body made no ridiculous crunching noises on the grass. Despite it being broad daylight, he even managed to blend into those nonexistent shadows. And yet, Travis held a kind of prevalent weight to his body. Travis seemed very aware of his surroundings like he had heightened senses or like he ran on pure adrenaline. Connor could help but think to himself, Now there's a fine partner.
As for why Connor had been so hasty, well— the answer as always pointed to Luke. Luke was alone, finally. Luke had just backtracked and lost almost all his other trails. He still had a laurel runner-up wreath roped into his blond locks, and his face was pockmarked with lipstick markings. Connor held so stiff that he didn't even make a face at that suggestive idea. Luke's arms hung limp at his sides, but his hands were curled into angry iron fists, altogether creating for a very purposeful stride.
Connor shared a suspicious look with Travis, and they tittered a good ways behind him. Once more, he looked back, but he shrugged it off again. Connor didn't know whether to flush that he and Travis were that good or to be even more cautious because this certainly wasn't going as hard as he planned. Nevertheless, Connor plunged deeper in.
Connor and Travis saw Luke swiftly change direction once more and head for the woods at the edge of the camp. Together, they shared a look. What was Luke up to?
Connor stopped himself from going just yet. If he continued following Luke, he might not like what he saw. But then again, if Connor somehow managed to turn his back on this, he'd never forgive himself. Connor would forever live with the pain of never knowing. Curiosity was something he could never control. Connor was fine with secrets; everybody had secrets. It was just a matter of finding them out, and then making the decision on whether it was worth keeping or just something that would make for more fun if it were mouthed off. Connor took a deep breath. In reality, there was only one route for Connor. And as usual, it was the hard way. No one ever said it was easy. Connor had to go and follow Luke down to the end of the world and had to find out.
Travis raised an eyebrow, questioning Connor's line of thought. Connor gave a silent prayer that he couldn't read his own personal thoughts. Connor composed himself, and gave a nod that directed Travis forward. They both stopped in their tracks when they saw the meadow in between them and the woods. The woods loomed over like a finish line.
Connor and Travis shared a look, and began to run.
…
It was by chance actually that they found Luke in the woods. They actually almost stumbled into him. He was standing in a clearing next to a big rock. Connor had heard about it; they called it Zeus' Fist although it bore no resemblance to a fist whatsoever.
Connor held a hand out to hold Travis back. Travis almost faceplanted over Connor's warning, but caught himself at the last minute. Connor let go of the breath he hadn't known he was holding. That was a close save. Connor squinted, analyzing the crouched figure in the clearing.
Luke knelt so that one armor-clad knee touched the ground, and his cape flowed over his back, shoulders. He wasn't facing Travis or Connor, but instead seemed to bow to the fist. Even from this distance, the sun glinted off Luke's hair. Luke's back was to both of them, and the hair on the nape of Connor's neck tingled like crazy. He got the strangest feeling that he wasn't alone in these woods. Which was crazy because for one, there was Travis and Luke and who knows who else.
Then the strangest thing happened. Luke spoke. "No one else is here. Come out and I promise I won't hurt you."
Connor froze in his tracks.
I love cliffhangers! They are literally like my only friend. Review?
