Hey again! I've compiled a small amount of chapters, so here's some posting.
Note: "Etre blessé" is french for "To be wounded".
With that in mind, have fun.
Chapter 51: Être blessé
In the dark, twenty dice lay scattered in a circle. The game had begun.
The wind whips at my face as we ascend onto the rooftop. I lift my hand to try and shield my face, however futile. Jason stalks after Nico, who both seem at ease with their bitterness towards every single type of weather the world can throw at them. Thalia has yet to return with her 'snipers'. Something about them makes me uneasy.
The man who must have called Nico on the phone stands to attention. Nico waves him down. "Where's our man?"
"He's jut there, now. You can see his shape with the naked eye." He points towards the horizon, and I don't see anything. Nico and Jason squint to make out where the man points. "Can you be any more specific?" Jason asks.
Then, I see it: the black shape in the distance. "That's him?" I ask. The soldier nods. "How can you tell anything about him?"
"Where is he, Tris?" Nico asks.
"—about thirty degrees north of your arse, Nico." Thalia jokes as she appears behind us. "I can tell you're not a long-range fighter. There, on the horizon, a tiny black shape moving."
"Still nothing. He's alive, of course I can't see anything."
"Right." Thalia pulls her bow off her back. I glance over my shoulder and see two more people behind her.
To my horror, I recognise both of them: Uriah, and his post-Gaos mutant friend.
I look away, not wanting to make eye contact.
"Oh, I see him." Jason doesn't seem impressed. "I was hoping it would mean something more than 'oh, look, a speck in the distance!'"
"We have binoculars," the soldier says, "but they can't tell us much more than a silhouette."
"Good eyes shouldn't need help," Thalia says. "Do we shoot him?"
"Yeah, why not?" Nico shrugs. "No harm in being careful. If he's one of the kids, well . . . shit. But at 6 foot, I doubt it. Too risky."
"You betcha." Thalia pulls a single arrow from her quiver and presses it to her bow, drawing back with a grace refined through centuries. "The wind's annoying, but it shouldn't throw it off much."
Her blue eyes glare down the trajectory of her shot. She breathes out slowly, her arm still as it holds the bow drawn. 3, 2—
"STOP!" the yell is thrown towards us with a gust of wind, just as Thalia releases the arrow into it. Thalia's eyes are wide with horror. She turns back to who had spoken.
One of the nurses. She breathes heavily, her face bright red. She presses a notepad into Nico's outstretched hand. "The patient—no voice box—he wrote—give it to you—" she can't form coherent words with her panting.
Suddenly I know why I felt so horrible about this whole business. I don't even need to see what's written on the notepad. I know.
I turn back to the speck in the distance, however see it advancing towards us, undeterred by Thalia's arrow, even through it must have been dead accurate.
The sound of their footsteps echo into the dark. Annabeth didn't know what she'd been expecting, but she was pretty sure the Amazons were more practical than mysterious.
"So what's the deal with the dark?"
"Lightbulbs are expensive."
"Ah."
Their footsteps echoed in the tunnel.
"Isn't this a bit far? How did you even make this?"
"You don't need to ask questions. Besides, we're nearly here."
The slim fork of light severed the dark. Annabeth squinted, trying to make it out as clearly as she could. The woman grabbed her by the arm as they got closer, until they stopped before it.
"You're armed. You're probably strong, too," the woman said, "but make no mistake. Try and fight here and you'll be killed without question."
Annabeth nodded, calmly. She couldn't see the woman's face clearly, only the slightest gleam of light against her eyes and the tip of her nose. She was grim. She placed a hand against the wall and pushed it open.
The dark suddenly flooded with light, drowning away everything else. Annabeth winced at the sudden brightness. The grip on her arm tightened and she was pulled into the harsh light.
As her eyes adjusted she became aware of where she was: lit up like a warehouse, storeys upon storeys of stock stretched high into the cieiling. The long walk made sense, now. The huge cavern could never be supported beneath the city. It would collapse under the weight of San Francisco's sky scrapers.
Women milled about around her, dressed in overalls and working. A few men were in the crowd, driving forklifts and generally looking afraid. Most of them would be outside, Annabeth supposed.
Her guide pulled her through the crowd. The women of all ages and appearance parted before them, as if they were a grand procession. New people obviously weren't common.
"I thought the Amazons went kaput," Annabeth noted. Her guide tugged at her.
"We can stick around."
They reached a small clearing towards the end of the warehouse, with a single door. An office. Gone were the thrones of the Amazons, apparently.
The guide opened the door and pushed her inside, pulling it closed after her. The room was dark and empty.
"All right," said the woman, "my name is Gwen. I'm the current Hylla. What do you really want here?"
"What?"
Without pausing to watch her, Gwen went to a closet and pulled out some of the attire Annabeth had expected to see an Amazon wearing. She shrugged off her dress and pulled her combative clothing over her head: camouflage cargo pants and a long-sleeve black top. She fastened the belt she had seen in Screech's mind around her waist. From a drawer in her desk she retrieved what looked like a small makeup kit. However, she took only a single embroidered cloth from it and rubbed her face with it.
As she put it down, Annabeth saw that it had changed her features. Everything was sharper, her features, though similar, were now the crisp image of what she had seen from Screech.
"Does this seem more fitting?"
Annabeth stared for a long time. Something was off. "You mean that act about the superior—that was an act?"
"Of course not. I have people I report to, but I am the Hylla."
"Hylla wasn't a title, that was her name."
"Yes, but it's not safe to address the leader as 'Queen' anymore." Gwen looked frustrated, as if that was obvious. "Now, what do you want? You seemed more series upstairs."
"My name is Chase. I was hoping to find the Hylla from the start of the war, but no biggie. I have a few questions regarding what happened in the War."
"Yeah? Okay, 'Chase'. Ask them."
"The world's population was over seven billion a hundred years ago. I know there are various settlements like Chicago all over the globe, but we could barely amount to one billion, nowadays. Why? Six billion people can't die in 90 years. At least, not in the way the records state."
"Six billion people isn't all that much, Miss Chase." Hylla sat down behind her desk. "People die. Ever heard of 'bombs'? Yeah, well, they can wipe out countries. Millions of people dead with the flip of a switch."
"But the civilians! Non-demigods! They must have had a war, too, but even they—"
"They killed themselves off, too. Those that remain are either in settlements or in our main forces. There aren't any gods to hide from any more, Chase."
"No, there's something missing." Annabeth slammed her hands down on the desk. "You're telling me, that out of every country in the world, everyone is dead? I've read the estimations: sixty thousand in Africa, ten thousand in Russia, one hundred thousand in Asia, one hundred thousand in North America. Those are the figures of the latest census. That means we have maybe a little more than 280,000 people around the world. Counting the forces of North America, we have six hundred thousand more. That's not even one million!"
Calmly, Gwen replied, "the figures surrounding other countries are not very accurate. We don't exactly have great telecommunication. Our bases around the world are—"
"Small, and dodgy. I know. But you're telling me that's all that's left? That's bullshit!"
"I would like you to pull up a chair." Gwen was very patient. "Normally, I wouldn't answer any questions unless you were going to join. Are you?"
"What's in it for me?"
"I wouldn't know. I've heard about you from Screech. He was crying like a baby."
"Good."
"Do you know anyone called Tobias Eaton?"
"No. Why?" the lie came easily. Her foot twitched.
"That was the last contact he had with anyone outside of the Wester realm. Works with the Watches, most likely. The idiots. One of my men, Screech, met him a few months back. He accepted a job, but after one or two he disappeared off the map. Now I get a telegram this morning saying someone named Chase beat the crap out of him. Tell me, why are you lying?"
"What do you mean?" Annabeth pressed her left foot against the ground slowly. It was all a game. Convince her with lies that she wasn't lying. Easy enough.
"Why wouldn't you know Tobias?" Gwen leaned forward on her elbows, eyes glistening. "You're from the Watchers. You said so yourself, with all those records you were talking about. You'd have to know him."
Annabeth couldn't fight the smile on her face. She laughed, and then she kept laughing. She clutched at her sides. "That's so hilarious! You think I give a damn about what the Watchers do?" she laughed harder, pressing a hand to her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes from laughing so hard. As it subsided, she sat back against the chair, stifling a giggle.
"The only time I've ever heard is name," Annabeth said, "is when an old friend of mine screamed for him as they cut her up."
Gwen was silent. Slowly, as her eyes widened, Annabeth realised she'd said too much. "That attack on Gaos—the Watchers—who were they . . . ?"
"Shut up." Annabeth's voice was a hoarse whisper. "Shut up. Don't say the name. Don't say the name."
"That Wraith guy . . . and those two kids . . . they were . . ."
"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up." Annabeth covered her ears, doubling over. She whispered her mantra over and over.
"Annabeth Chase . . . Jackson . . . Percy Jack—"
"Shut up." Annabeth fell silent. She sat up, staring at Gwen. She knew her gaze was empty, because Annabeth was already probing inside her head. Why do you know about me? Why do you know his name?
So you're into this sort of thing, huh?
Annabeth was catapulted out of Gwen's head. The woman's eyes glittered with amusement. "Annabeth Chase, you abilities will be useful. Care to join our ranks?"
"I have no intention of doing so." Annabeth gripped her wrist to keep her hand from shaking. She'd never been deflected so easily.
"What else can you do?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit." Gwen narrowed her eyes. "You can move things."
Annabeth returned her stare calmly. "I don't want to."
Gwen raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"It didn't matter when it needed to. I don't want to use it again."
Gwen opened a drawer and pulled out a paperweight. It was a small glass orb; a tacky thing from when Annabeth was younger, but a rarity nowadays, with the trade gone. Annabeth wondered how Gwen had hung onto it.
"Lift it."
Annabeth remembered the countless hours of training she'd undergone at the Order.
"No."
Gwen smirked. "Why not? Can't you do it?"
"It's not that."
Gwen's liveliness diminished, and she stood up. "Well, there's no reason for me to tell you, anyway. You don't join, I don't tell you why the population is so abnormally small."
Annabeth opened her mouth to protest, then shut it. She stood. "Thanks. But it seems like we can't have either, huh?"
"Don't misunderstand, Chase." Gwen smiled thinly. "You can't leave. You'll be a labourer with the men. You'll never see the sky again for as long as you live."
Annabeth sighed. "That's it, huh? Fine. I'll join."
"Good. Now, lift the paperweight."
"I don't want to."
"Oh, all those secrets I will never reveal." Gwen leaned back in her chair, fanning her chest as she cried out in mock pain. Annabeth bit her lip. "I wasn't trained to 'lift', but to 'throw'. You wouldn't want be breaking that, would you?"
"Oh? You were trained? By who?" Gwen's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Or . . . by whom?"
"The Order."
"Yes, yes, I know that. Sit down." Gwen waved her towards the chair. From her belt she pulled out a small knife. She stabbed it into the desk where it remained, hilt in the air.
"Hurl this at the wall behind me. I want you to show me you can aim. This spot right here"—Gwen stood and walked to the wall, where she pointed to a crack—"make it stay."
A split second later the metallic ring held in the air, and Gwen's eyes were wide as her hair was blown from her face. The knife did not so much has tremble in its spot.
"Forgive my quickness," Annabeth said, slowly. "I've always been told to make a statement with my actions."
Gwen smiled. "Well, I think that will suffice." She smoothed her hair back into place. "Now then, those questions about the population . . ."
Equipped with a memo pad and a pen, Clyde sat on the rooftop. He'd insisted he get better clothes than the hospital robe he had so he didn't freeze to death in the cold wind. He'd been sitting there for twenty minutes, watching that spec in the distance grow into a considerable blob. Still around a kilometre and a half away, Clyde was beginning to discern his slow pace, not to mention the very chill his presence carried with it.
It was a chill Clyde was too familiar with.
He was aware that Nico and the others recognised that chill—in fact, everyone except Tris probably recognised it, because she was too desperate to deny it.
It was the chill of a murderer.
Tris sat beside him. She hadn't spoken in a while. Her eyes were distant, watching the figure of the man she once knew.
Are you okay? He wrote. He tapped her arm with the pad. She read the question, paused for a moment, then smiled up at him. "Of course," she said. "Why wouldn't I be?"
She turned her gaze back to the horizon, the distance settling back into her eyes. Please, Tris, Clyde wanted to tell her, stop lying.
"Target is within visual range." The soldier behind Clyde announced. He heard the others shuffle and move to see: to look through the binoculars. Visual range meant that they could make out the distinct details of his person.
"Clyde, you saw him last. Come and confirm this."
Clyde tried to stand, but his legs shook. Tris helped him up. Her grip was strong for someone her height and build. He nodded his thanks, and she gave a thin smile in return.
The soldier passed the binoculars into his hands, which were clunky and heavy. He swallowed. He didn't need to confirm it; he already knew. The gazes he met were solemn: Nico, Thalia, Uriah, and Tris. But looking into Tris's eyes, Clyde could see only the vast expanse of the blank and all its emptiness.
She knew, too.
He pressed them too his eyes, watching the feed quiver for a moment, before it settled. He manoeuvred the field around for a moment, before he settled on the advancing figure.
Looking down at the ground, Clyde was greeted with a head of grey hair. His stride was slow but even, his steps tentative. Across both his shoulders were two rifles, and at his waist were three swords.
The young man, for a moment, stopped. Clyde's breathing stopped. He looked up, and Clyde saw with horror his paler complexion, from an age in the dark. His dark eyes did not seem haunted, but they were not the same as they had been. His face was smeared with blood and grime, and Clyde noticed it on the rest of his person, also.
But the most horrifying thing was he was staring right at the binoculars.
Slowly, the young man smiled, and he mouthed, I'm coming.
It was the smile of a wolf.
Then it appeared that time sped up and he was back to walking with his head down, loping towards them. In the wind Clyde could almost hear his hoarse voice whisper those dreadful, dreadful words.
With shaking hands, he lowered the binoculars. Clyde nodded in confirmation. It was Tobias.
They were silent and solemn, but they all nodded. Passing the goggles back to the soldier, Clyde scribbled on his memo pad: don't put away your weapons.
They agreed to that, too.
Tris's eyes remained distant. "I never told him, did I?" Tris whispered as Clyde sat back down. "When he left, I didn't want to even touch him. He tried so hard, too. And I didn't . . . I left him . . ." Tris's eyes filled with tears. "I abandoned him."
Clyde put a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, but it didn't seem to work. Tris covered her mouth with her palm, squeezing her eyes shut. Her small body shook as she tried to stifle her tears.
Clyde shuffled closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, her tiny sobbing as gut-wrenching for any onlooker as it must have been for her.
He felt his own eyes go watery. Honestly, Tris, he wanted to say, if you're gonna say you're fine, don't go crying all of the sudden. You'll make the rest of us cry, too. Idiot.
It seemed that fate didn't mind them, sitting in that moment, in all their tears and pain, so it went on for a long time.
The blond boy watched the events carry on, smiling. "It's perfect," he announced. "You had the chance to kill the boy before it was too late, C, my Lord Daemon, but you missed it! Now, all of your plans will fail.
"All of them."
"You should have killed the boy."
"It changes nothing."
"It changes everything."
His feet stopped at the walls. Even from here, he could hear the clicking and aiming of their rifles. Keeping his eyes down, he raised his hands in surrender.
"Put down your weapons!"
Slowly, he complied. He dropped the rifles from his shoulders. Then, he unbuckled the extra belt he had stolen and watched his attained swords fall. Unarmed, he placed his hands behind his head.
"Step away from your weapons!"
Tobias took several steps back. Two guards hurried around the corner, on the ground, and gathered them up. One pointed the gun at him while the other grabbed his wrists and bound them with handcuffs. His shoulders twitched, desperate to tear free of his bindings, but he restrained himself. He wasn't their enemy.
For now.
The guard behind him pressed the barrel of the gun to his back and steered him inside.
The corridor was unusually empty. Even as he stared at the tiles beneath his feet, he couldn't help but notice the sheer emptiness around him. In the edges of his vision was the same empty landscape of a deserted corridor.
They took him to a cell, blindingly white, where they had him chained to a table and seated in a chair. He sat there patiently. They couldn't leave him too long. They would be far too curious.
You have to go out and fight, he told himself. Go out there and make sure no harm can come to Tris.
"Tobias Eaton," the sound of Nico's voice filled the white room. He turned and watched the dark-clad man approach from behind him. "Nico di Angelo," Tobias said politely. Behind him came another figure: Clyde.
The redhead nodded only, remaining silent. Tobias was mildly curious as to why.
Nico and Clyde sit down opposite him at the table. Clyde looks thin and blanched, with hollows under his eyes and cheekbones. He has the pallor of someone who recently came off medication.
"So, Tobias," Nico began. He clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward attentively as he spoke. "Where have you been?"
"I was held prisoner by someone named Jason."
"Jason Crayne?" Nico asked. Tobias nodded.
"And what were the conditions you were kept in? What did they do to you?"
Tobias swallowed. He had expected the question. It wasn't unreasonable. It was Tobias's fault, after all.
"A man has to have his pride, Nico."
Nico didn't seem amused, but he brushed it off. "Did they do anything that would affect the safety of the Watchers?"
"No."
"I see." Nico ran a hand through his hair. "Clyde tells me the link between you two is nearly dissolved."
"Just about."
Nico pressed his lips together. "It gave us quite a start, seeing you walk up like that. Why did you come back so suddenly?"
"What else was I going to do?"
"I'm not sure, honestly." Nico rubbed at his chin, noticing the stubble he'd neglected. "But now that you're back, integrating back into your position will be difficult."
"If it means you're always sending me away from base," Tobias said evenly, "I can deal with it."
"Good," Nico said, almost too quickly, "because that's what will be happening. You've a night's recovery ahead of you. Just for tonight, we've given you one of the good rooms." Nico slid a key across the table, and undid Tobias's handcuffs. "You'll be needing a medical checkup—"
"No," Tobias said. "I won't be needing one."
"You don't get to make the calls here, Tobias."
"Fucked if I care. I'm not going." Tobias's hands clenched into fists on the table, where Nico hadn't completely undone his cuffs yet. "Eaton, listen—"
Clyde tapped at Nico's arm, writing down something on a memo pad. Nico pouted as he read it, unimpressed. "No, he still needs one."
"I can walk, I can talk. That's enough," Tobias insisted, not wanting to start conflict. God knows how many men had already died that day, and he didn't want to kill Nico.
But he would, if he had to.
"You need to have your head checked, Tobias."
Tobias stood, ripping his hands free. He felt the familiar warmth on his hands where he had torn the skin off in his haste. He rubbed his wrists, getting rid of the feeling of bindings. "I'm fine."
"How many people's blood is that on your top, Tobias?"
Tobias stared at Nico, feeling the familiar rage start in his gut. "I'm fine."
Clyde stood between them, arms outstretched to stop conflict. He held up the memo pad to Tobias, where he had written CALM DOWN before turning to Nico and showing him a different message, as he turned the page. Nico closed his eyes and rubbed them tiredly. He was always tired, Tobias noted. Always.
"Why won't you say anything, Clyde?" Tobias asked. Clyde turned back to him, gold-rimmed irises shining in frustration. Tobias looked down at his collarbone, where there was still some bandages.
"Oh," he said. "I see."
Tobias held Clyde's gaze for a long time, staring down at him, Clyde feeling very small even though they were the same height. "He got your voice box."
Tobias snatched the key and turned on heel, walking out the door. "I won't be needing a check-up, Nico. Maybe you should go."
He closed the door without looking back.
There is no training for me, tonight. I retire to my room, sitting on my bed, alone in the dark. It's almost hilarious, how I always find myself in that same position.
Alone in the dark.
The pipes strain and growl as the water rushes through them. Of course; it's bath hour. I'm not usually in at this time.
Leaning back against the wall, I hug my knees to my chest. I've been crying too much. I thought I'd stopped that bad habit.
Except none of those tears were for me.
"I'm delighted, you're crying over me. It's your fault, after all."
I'm almost happy to hear his voice again, even if he's just a figment of my own mind. "So you're not dead, huh?"
"My existence is as immortal as your guilt. And that hasn't died, either."
I don't have the energy to be angry. Angry at myself, at the Watchers, at the fake Tobias, at the real Tobias, and the world and fate and every one of its cruel twists and turns.
"It's more painful when they live, isn't it?" Tobias muses. I see him sitting on the ground, leaning at the bed not far from my feet. I stare at the back of his head, his hair still dark, in my mind. "Sometimes, it would be so much easier if they died."
"I'm not doing it again," I say. I hug my legs tighter. "I'm never losing myself like that again."
Someone knocks on the door. "Tris?" It cracks open, and I see the thinnest profile of Jason Grace. He's backlit by the white light, but with my watery vision it looks almost yellow. It illuminates the gloom that I lie in, and he looks around. "Is anyone else in here?"
"No," I say. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. I must look so gross right now.
Jason sighs. "I head you talking and I thought there was someone in here, but . . ." Jason closes the door after himself, coming to sit next to me on the bed. "I guess you were just talking to the most knowledgeable person present, huh?"
"I guess."
Jason breathes out into the dark, relaxing against the wall. "I heard some good news from the lab, today. Apparently there's an advance on Piper's condition, and they could be operating to remove the dagger within two weeks."
"That's great news, Jason!" I try to sound happy for him, which I am, but I doubt my voice sounds it. No wonder he's being so kind at the moment.
"I didn't come just to brag, though." Jason wraps an arm around my shoulders. The second time today, I realise. He presses his cheek into my hair. The feeling is so parental and loving I almost tear up again. "I'm always such a cold person, Tris. I'm sorry. I'm just so scared that I'll lose people."
I'm just so scared that I'll lose people.
"I know," I whisper. "But . . . it's not the worst feeling . . . is it?"
Jason gives my shoulders a squeeze. "No, it's not. It's worse when they come back. Because even though they're alive, you miss them so much and you'll never find peace." He says it and I know he means it, because he knows the feeling.
"It's all my fault," I whisper. "If I had just . . . if I hadn't been so cold . . ."
Jason draws me into an embrace. I press my face into his shoulder. "I'm such a horrible person, aren't I? I should be celebrating, but instead I'm mourning."
"It's not your fault, Tris," Jason tells me. "It's not. Please don't blame yourself. Please. You've already been through so much."
How can he say this to me, when he's gone through more?
"Tell me about them," I say, "your friends. When you were younger. No one ever talks about them."
"It's because they're hard to talk about," Jason admits. "But you see, my involvement with the Last War started when I woke up one day on a bus with two strange misfits, and I had no idea who the hell I was."
"You may not know it, yet," Gwen said, "but around the time Chicago was founded, two people came back from the dead, only to disappear again. At the time, we called it 'The Disappearance'. Two million people around the world, suddenly gone. Our fighters. Our technicians. Our tacticians. It was a major blow to our forces, and it started the Great Stillness."
"I've never heard any of this."
"The Order keeps it all hushed up because of its business with the Daemon," Gwen admitted. "They think it was some divine sign. A little while after was a great skirmish, but then everyone fell silent into a bit of a truce. The battles we used to fight compared to the stuff you've seen is like a war compared to an argument. The reason the sky is so polluted is because of all the chemicals in explosives, you know that, right?"
Unfortunately, Annabeth knew. "Yeah, I know."
"Yeah, well, noticed any explosives lately? That's right. None."
Gwen pulled out a map of the globe and showed it to Annabeth. It showed a bloated continent, and then two smaller ones, like small islands. "North America separated from its southern counterpart an fused fused together with Russia pretty early due to the gods mucking around, so there was a huge shift in water as the land rose. All of that went up and down. The water that went down swallowed up Australia and all the smaller islands like Fiji and Hawaii. The South pole expanded and froze over." Gwen pointed to the first of the smaller islands. "Southern Africa detached and its climate change as it moved towards the equator, where it fused with South America."
Gwen pointed to the smallest island, which appeared to be smack bang in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. "We haven't established much contact with this new continent, but it was one of the last to appear. Huge earthquakes caused a volcanic eruption beneath the ocean—in fact it was such a great eruption a whole trench was ripped through the seabed, spewing magma up from the magma layers of the planet. Increased warring activity meant all forms of flora and fauna moved there, despite being founded on hardened lava. It's one of the final sanctuaries for non-combat humans. We haven't made contact in over a decade."
"These maps . . ."
"I had them made by Amazons. They're the most accurate we have. I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't see them at the Order. The higher-ups everywhere don't like people knowing about tectonic movement."
"Shit," Annabeth muttered. "How do you know anything about that new island?"
"We sent Pegasi," Gwen said, as if it were obvious. Annabeth's eyes flew wide.
"Pegasi?"
"You've probably gotten used to the whole lacking of magical things, but the Amazon has a great farm of them. We send people over there. It's a long flight, but people make it. Also, dragons."
"Dragons?!"
"Yeah. We tamed them."
"You can't just 'tame' a dragon!"
"Camp Half-Blood had one at its tree, or did you forget?" hearing her home's old name sent a shiver down Annabeth's spine. "Yeah. I forgot. How many do you have?"
"Ten dragons and thirty-seven Pegasi, however expecting two more, soon." Gwen smiled proudly. "You may recognise one of them. I believe you ran into him earlier, back when your boyfriend was still kicking. Blackjack. The big black one."
Blackjack is alive?
Annabeth stared at her hands, letting the words wash over her. "You've fine warriors, food stocks, weaponry, transportation—and you've just sat here? What the fuck are you doing?!"
Gwen's proud smile didn't disappear. "We're not interested in fighting a worthless battle, miss Chase. When the armies fight themselves into the ground, we'll appear and take over the continent. Then, we'll start anew. The shitty climate has ruined any hope of crops, but if we make enough trades with Russia, who still have their farms, we can set up a trade route. They'll want the Pegasi, for sure."
"Then what?"
"Then, we'll start a dragon breeding program. We have the finest, here. Using them, we'll get to the continent of New Africa and set up a new trading system. We'll focus on making vehicles. We need some of those."
"You, the Amazons, are just going to sit and wait?"
"Exactly, Chase," Gwen said. "And you're going to help us do that. Your background may help you with the horses, so we'll assign you there for now. In your spare time, go training. If you're bored, I'll assign you a spying mission in the bar. Dress scantily and dodge men, all the while listening to what they have to say.
"Don't rely on men to solve your problems, Chase," Gwen smiled. "You let them think you need them, but you can cast them aside okay. That's what a strong woman is, don't you know?"
So . . . yeah.
Have fun.
2 days left of holidays. If I'm lucky chapter 52 will be out soon.
Please R&R,
-Owl
