To Thals13- Nope! 52! And the rewrite has 53, if I remember right :P I love ToA (except for Burning Maze, that one hurt D: ) I think the more Rick writes, the more he expands with his characters and the narrative and I would love to meet him and high-five/slap him for all this torment he's put us through over the years. Remember when all we had to worry about was Percabeth in Tartarus? Those were the days! And that's so sweet, thank you! Kind of made my day that! ^_^
Resting was easier said than done. Apollo lay in his bed above the coffee shop, with a throbbing head and a stomach wound boiling through his insides. The room was peaceful, softly lit with the curtains drawn, but not enough to block the windowbox. Meg's irises were in full bloom now, swaying in a cool breeze. He watched them, lost in thought, trying to call on sleep and having it dance beyond his reach.
He thought of Hazel, and how she had credited Frank with washing away her curse. Everyone deserved someone that could wash away their curses by making them feel loved. That was not his fate though, not Apollo's. His greatest romances had caused more curses than lifted. Daphne. Hyacinthus. And then, later, the Cumaean Sibyl.
He could remember the day they sat on a beach, the Mediterranean stretching out before them like a sheet of blue glass. Behind them, on the hillside where the Sibyl had her cave, olive trees baked and cicadas droned in the summer heat of southern Italy. In the distance, Mount Vesuvius rose, hazy and purple. Conjuring this picturesque landscape was surprisingly easy, but he struggled on conjuring the image of the Sibyl. Not the haggard, grizzled old woman from Tarquin's throne room, but the beautiful young woman that had sat with him on that beach, centuries before.
Apollo had loved everything about her- the way her hair caught the sunlight, the mischievous gleam in her eyes, the easy way she smiled. She didn't seem to care that he was a god, despite having given up everything to be his Oracle- her family, her future, even her name. Once pledged to Apollo, she was known simply as Sibyl, the voice of Apollo.
It hadn't been enough for him. He was smitten. He convinced himself it was love- the one true romance that would wash away all his past missteps. He wanted the Sibyl to be his partner throughout eternity. As the afternoon went on, he had coaxed and pleaded. "You could be so much more than my priestess!" He urged. "Marry me!"
"You can't be serious." She laughed.
"I am! Ask for anything in return and it's yours!" She gave a slight shake of her head, twisting a strand of her auburn locks around her finger.
"All I've ever wanted is to be the Sibyl, to guide the people of this land to a better future. You've already given me that. So, haha, the joke's on you."
"But… but you've only got one lifetime!" He protested. "If you were immortal, you could guide humans to a better future, forever, at my side!" She looked at him askance.
"Apollo, please. You'd be tired of me by the end of the week."
"Never!"
"So, you're saying…" She scooped up two heaped handfuls of sand. "If I wished for as many years of life as there are grains of this sand, you would grant me that?"
"It is done!" He pronounced, instantly feeling a portion of his own power flow into her life force. "And now, my love-"
"Whoa, whoa!" She scattered the sand, scrambling to her feet and backing away as if he had suddenly become radioactive. "That was hypothetical, lover boy! I didn't agree-"
"What's done is done!" He rose, brushing sand from his hands. "A wish cannot be taken back. Now you must honour your side of the bargain." Panic flashed in her eyes, she shook her head again.
"I-I can't! I won't!" He laughed, thinking she was merely nervous.
"Don't be afraid."
"Of course I'm afraid!" She backed away further. "Nothing good ever happens to your lovers! I just wanted to be your Sibyl and now you've made things weird!" His smile fell. His ardour began to cool, turning stormy.
"Don't anger me, Sibyl. I am offering you the universe. I've given you near-immortal life. You cannot refuse payment."
"Payment?" She balled her fists. "You dare think of me as a transaction?" He frowned. This afternoon really wasn't going as he had planned it.
"I didn't mean… obviously, I wasn't-"
"Well, Lord Apollo." She growled. "If this is a transaction, then I defer payment until your side of the bargain is complete. You said it yourself, near-immortal life. I will live until the grains of sand run out, yes? Come to me at the end of that time. Then, if you still want me, I'm yours." Anger froze in his chest. All at once, everything he had loved about her, he hated. Her headstrong attitude, her lack of awe, her infuriatingly unattainable beauty. Especially her beauty.
"Very well." He said, voice turning as cold as the feeling in his ribcage. "You want to argue over the fine print of our contract? I promised you life, not youth. You can have your centuries of existence. You will remain my Sibyl. I cannot take those things away, once given. But you will grow old. You will wither. You will not be able to die."
"I would prefer that!" Her words were defiant, but trembled with fear.
"Fine!" He snapped.
"Fine!" She yelled back. He vanished in a column of flame, having succeeded in making things very weird indeed.
As the centuries passed, she had withered, just as he had threatened. Her physical form lasted longer than any ordinary mortal's, but the pain he had caused her, the lingering agony. Even if he had had regrets in his hasty curse, he couldn't take it back any more than she could take back her wish. At some point around the end of the Roman Empire, he had heard rumours that her body had crumbled away altogether, yet she still could not die. Her attendants kept her life force, the faintest whisper of her voice, in a glass jar.
He had assumed the jar had been lost sometime after that. That the Sibyl's grains of sand had finally run out. In his bed, back in the present, he grimaced, doubt niggling at him. What if she were still alive? He did not believe whatever faint whisper might still remain would be a pro-Apollo. If anyone hated him more than Louisa, it could only be the Sibyl.
He deserved the hatred, from both accounts. He saw that now.
Oh, Jason, he thought, I promised I would remember what it was to be human. But why does human shame have to hurt so much? Why isn't there an off button?
His thoughts of the Sibyl lead him to consideration of another young woman with a curse- Reyna. He had been completely blindsided the day he strolled into the Olympian throne room, fashionably late for the meeting as usual, and found Venus studying the luminous image of a young lady floating above her palm. The goddess's expression had been weary and troubled, something he did not often see.
"Who's that?" He had foolishly asked. "She's beautiful." That was all the trigger needed to unleash her fury. She told him Reyna's fate- no demigod would ever be able to heal her heart. But that did not mean he was the answer to her problem. Quite the contrary. In front of the assembled gods, Venus had berated him quite savagely:
"Unworthy, don't even breathe in her direction, do you understand me? Do you understand me? You little worm, you ruin every relationship you're ever in. Keep your sorry excuse of a godly face away from Reyna or I will curse you with such terrible romantic luck, your current situation will look like true love!"
The mocking laughter of the other gods still rang in his ears.
Had it not been for that encounter, he might never have known Reyna existed. He certainly had no designs on her. But he always wanted what he couldn't have. Once Venus declared Reyna off-limits, he became fascinated with her.
Why had Venus been so emphatic? What did Reyna's fate mean?
He thought he understood now. As Lester Papadopoulos, he technically no longer had a godly face. He was neither mortal nor god nor demigod. Had Venus somehow known this would happen to him someday? Had she shown him Reyna and warned him off knowing full well that it would make him obsessed? Venus was a wily goddess. She played games within games. If his fate was to be Reyna's true love, to wash away her curse as Frank had done for Hazel, would Venus allow it?
Um, hello. That funny little voice in his head was back. Are you forgetting the very scary, very powerful girlfriend she already has that already wants to kill you? Don't add to that!
He hummed, nodding once. That was a good point. It did raise some questions though.
If no demigod would ever be able to heal Reyna's heart… what the hell was Louisa for then? She was most certainly a demigod, a very pissed off one that wanted to stick his head on a spike and shove it up his father's nose- he had overheard that one on the way back.
He tried to find reasons why she wasn't a demigod- maybe she was an alien or a clone or a monster in disguise- but years of Poseidon and Neptune defending his daughter from the other gods' votes to kill her… no, she was definitely a demigod.
Since when has Louisa ever played by the rules? That voice questioned. She's only alive because Neptune doesn't want her dead yet.
Again, that was a good point. Why couldn't his brain work like this with something more important?
Louisa or not, he was a romantic disaster. He had ruined every single relationship, brought nothing but destruction and misery for those he had loved. How could he believe he would be any good for the praetor?
He lay on his bed, tossing these thoughts about in his mind, until late afternoon. Finally, he gave up on the idea of rest, now even further from his grasp with lovesickness, and gathered his supplies- his quiver and bow, his ukulele and his backpack- and headed out. He needed guidance and could think of one way to get it.