Hi! So happy that you guys are reading this, I don't own ANYTHING excect MY OC. all else belongs to...*looks at cards* RICK RIORDAN. I hope you enjoy.
PERCY WASN'T SCARED OF GHOSTS, which was lucky. Half the people in camp
were dead.
Shimmering purple warriors stood outside the armory, polishing
ethereal swords. Others hung out in front of the barracks. A ghostly boy
chased a ghostly dog down the street. And at the stables, a big glowing
red dude with the head of a wolf guarded a herd of...Were those unicorns?
None of the campers paid the ghosts much attention, but as Percy's
entourage walked by, with Reyna in the lead and Frank and Hazel on either
side, all the spirits stopped what they were doing and stared at Percy. A
few looked angry. The little boy ghost shrieked something like "Greggus!"
and turned invisible. Sage grinned at that, but Percy didn't know why exactly.
Percy wished he could turn invisible too. After weeks on his own, all
this attention made him uneasy. He stayed between Hazel and Frank and
tried to look inconspicuous.
"Am I seeing things?" Sage asked. "Or are those—"
"Ghosts?" Hazel turned. She had startling eyes, like fourteen-karat
gold. "They're Lares. House gods."
"House gods," Sage said. "Like...smaller than real gods, but larger
than apartment gods?"
"They're ancestral spirits," Frank explained. He'd removed his helmet,
revealing a babyish face that didn't go with his military haircut or his big
burly frame. He looked like a toddler who'd taken steroids and joined the Marines.
"The Lares are kind of like mascots," he continued. "Mostlythey're
harmless, but I've never seen them so agitated."
"They're staring at me," Percy said. "That ghost kid called me Greggus. My name isn't Greg." At that, Sage snorted and said "Yes it is"
"Graecus,"Hazel said, rolling her eyes. "Once you've been here awhile, you'll start
understanding Latin. Demigods have a natural sense for it. Graecus means Greek."
"Is that bad?" Percy asked.
Frank cleared his throat. "Maybe not. You've got that type of
complexion, the dark hair and all. Maybe they think you're actuallyGreek. Is
your family from there?"
"Don't know. Like I said, my memory is gone."
"Or maybe..." Frank hesitated.
"What?" Percy asked.
"Probably nothing," Frank said. "Romans and Greeks have an old
rivalry. Sometimes Romans use graecus as an insult for someone who's
an outsider—an enemy. Iwouldn't worry about it."
He sounded pretty worried.
They stopped at the center of camp, where two wide stone-paved
roads met at a T.
A street sign labeled the road to the main gates as via praetoria. The
other road, cutting across the middle of camp, was labeled via principalis.
Under those markers were hand-painted signs like berkeley 5 miles; NEW
ROME 1 MILE; OLD ROME 7280 MILES; HADES 2310 MILES (pointing straight down);
RENO 208 MILES, AND CERTAIN DEATH: YOU ARE HERE!
For certain death, the place looked pretty clean and orderly. The
buildings were freshly whitewashed, laid out in neat grids like the camp
had been designed by a fussy math teacher. The barracks had shady
porches, where campers lounged in hammocks or played cards and drank
sodas. Each dorm had a different collection of banners out front displaying
Roman numerals and various animals—eagle, bear, wolf, horse, and
something that looked like a hamster.
Along the Via Praetoria, rows of shops advertised food, armor,
weapons, coffee, gladiator equipment, and toga rentals. A chariot
dealership had a big advertisement out front: CAESAR XLS W/ANTI LOCK
BRAKES,NO DENARII DOWN!
At one corner of the crossroads stood the most impressive building—
a two-story wedge of white marble with a columned portico like an old-
fashioned bank. Roman guards stood out front. Over the doorway hung a
big purple banner with the gold letters SPQR embroidered inside a laurel
wreath.
"Your headquarters?" Sage grinned. Reyna faced her, Reyna's eyes still cold and hostile. "It's called the
principia."
She scanned the mob of curious campers who had followed them from
the river. "Everyone back to your duties. I'll give you an update at evening muster. Remember, we have war games after dinner."
The thought of dinner made Percy's stomach rumble. The scent of
barbecue from the dining hall made his mouth water. The bakery down the
street smelled pretty wonderful too, but he doubted Reyna would let him get
an order to go.
The crowd dispersed reluctantly. Some muttered comments about
Percy's chances.
"He's dead," said one.
"Would be those two who found him," said another.
"Yeah," muttered another. "Let him join the Fifth Cohort. Greeks and
geeks."
Several kids laughed at that, but Reyna scowled at them, and they
cleared off.
"Hazel," Reyna said. "Come with us. I want your report on what
happened at the gates."
"Me too?" Frank said. "Percy saved my life. We've got to let him—"
Reyna gave Frank such a harsh look, he stepped back.
"I'd remind you, Frank Zhang," she said, "you are on probatio yourself.
You've caused enough trouble this week."
Frank's ears turned red. He fiddled with a little tablet on a cord around
his neck. Percy hadn't paid much attention to it, but it looked like a name
tag made out of lead.
"Go to the armory," Reyna told him. "Check our inventory. I'll call you if I
need you."
"But—" Frank caught himself. "Yes, Reyna."
He hurried off.
Reyna waved Hazel and Percy toward the headquarters. "Now, Percy
Jackson, let's see if we can improve your memory."
"Uh..."
"Yes Sage, You'll be coming too"
The principia was even more impressive inside. On the ceiling glittered a mosaic of Romulus and Remus under their adopted mama she-wolf (Lupa
had told Percy that story a million times). The floor was polished marble.
The walls were draped in velvet, so Percy felt like he was inside the world's most expensive camping tent. Along the back wall stood a display of
banners and wooden poles studded with bronze medals—military
symbols, Percy guessed. In the center was one empty display stand, as if
the main banner had been taken down for cleaning or something.
In the back corner, a stairwell led down. It was blocked by a row of iron
bars like a prison door. Percy wondered what was down there—monsters?
Treasure? Amnesiac demigods who had gotten on Reyna's bad side?
In the center of the room, a long wooden table was cluttered with
scrolls, notebooks, tablet computers, daggers, and a large bowl filled with
jelly beans, which seemed kind of out of place. Two life-sized statues of
greyhounds—one silver, one gold—flanked the table. Reyna walked
behind the table and sat in one of two high-backed chairs. Percy wished
he could sit in the other, but Hazel remained standing. Percy got the feeling
he was supposed to also.
"So..." he started to say.
The dog statues bared their teeth and growled.
Percy froze. Sage looked shocked, like a statue just talked. (Well technically, it did).Normally he liked dogs, but these glared at him with ruby
eyes. Their fangs looked sharp as razors.
"Easy, guys," Reyna told the greyhounds.
They stopped growling, but kept eyeing Percy as though they were
imagining him in a doggie bag.
"They won't attack," Reyna said, "unless you try to steal something, or
unless I tell them to. That's Argentum and Aurum."
"Silver and Gold," Percy said. The Latin meanings popped into his
head like Hazel had said they would. He almost asked which dog was
which. Then he realized that that was a stupid question.
Reyna set her dagger on the table. Percy had the vague feeling he'd
seen her before. Her hair was black and glossy as volcanic rock, woven in
a single braid down her back. She had the poise of a sword fighter—
relaxed yet vigilant, as if ready to spring into action at any moment. The
worry lines around her eyes made her look older than she probably was.
"We have met," he decided. "I don't remember when. Please, if you
can tell me anything—"
"First things first," Reyna said. "I want to hear your story. What do you
remember? How did you get here? And don't lie. My dogs don't like liars."
Argentum and Aurum snarled to emphasize the point.
Percy told his story—how he'd woken up at the ruined mansion in the
woods of Sonoma. He described his time with Lupa and her pack, learning
their language of gestures and expressions, learning to survive and fight.
Lupa had taught him about demigods, monsters, and gods. She'd
explained that she was one of the guardian spirits of Ancient Rome.
Demigods like Percy were still responsible for carrying on Roman
traditions in modern times—fighting monsters, serving the gods, protecting mortals, and upholding the memory of the empire. She'd spent weeks
training him, until he was as strong and tough and vicious as a wolf. When
she was satisfied with his skills, she'd sent him south, telling him that if he
survived the journey, he might find a new home and regain his memory. He also told how he foound sage by hailing over a car, that turned out she stole, and helped him fight off the demon chicken ladies with a gun.
"Is the gun here?" Reyna asked.
"Yeah" Sage tossed a gun onto the table.
"You can have his enchanted with never ending imperial gold bullets." Reyna nodded.
None of it seemed to surprise Reyna. In fact, she seemed to find it
pretty ordinary—except for one thing.
"No memory at all?" she asked. "You still remember nothing?"
"Fuzzy bits and pieces." Percy glanced at the greyhounds. He didn't
want to mention Annabeth. It seemed too private, and he was still confused
about where to find her. He was sure they'd met at a camp—but this one
didn't feel like the right place.
Also, he was reluctant to share his one clear memory: Annabeth's
face, her blond hair and gray eyes, the way she laughed, threw her arms
around him, and gave him a kiss whenever he did something stupid.
She must have kissed me a lot, Percy thought.
He feared that if he spoke about that memory to anyone, it would
evaporate like a dream. He couldn't risk that.
Reyna spun her dagger. "Most of what you're describing is normal for
demigods. At a certain age, one way or another, we find our way to the Wolf House. We're tested and trained.
If Lupa thinks we're worthy, she sends us south to join the legion. But
I've never heard of someone losing his memory. How did you find Camp
Jupiter?"
Percy told her about the last three days—the gorgons who wouldn't
die, the old lady who turned out to be a goddess, and finally meeting Hazel
and Frank at the tunnel in the hill.
Hazel took the story from there. She described Percy as brave and
heroic, which made him uncomfortable. All he'd done was carry a hippie
bag lady.
Reyna studied him. "You're old for a recruit. You're what, sixteen?"
"I think so," Percy said. "I'm Thirteen" Sage butted in.
"If you spent that many years on your own, without training or help, you
should be dead. A son of Neptune? You'd have a powerful aura that would
attract all kinds of monsters."
"Yeah," Percy said. "I've been told that I smell."
Reyna almost cracked a smile, which gave Percy hope. Maybe she
was human after all.
"You must've been somewhere before the Wolf House," she said.
Percy shrugged. Juno had said something about him slumbering, and
he did have a vague feeling that he'd been asleep—maybe for a long time.
But that didn't make sense.
Reyna sighed. "Well, the dogs haven't eaten you, so I suppose you're
telling the truth."
"Great," Percy said. "Next time, can I take a polygraph?"
Reyna stood. She paced in front of the banners. Her metal dogs
watched her go back and forth.
"Even if I accept that you're not an enemy," she said, "you're not a
typical recruit. The Queen of Olympus simply doesn't appear at camp,
announcing a new demigod. The last time a major god visited us in person
like that..." She shook her head. "I've only heard legends about such
things. And a son of Neptune...that's not a good omen. Especially now."
"What's wrong with Neptune?" Percy asked. "And what do you mean,
'especially now'?"
Hazel shot him a warning look.
Reyna kept pacing. "You've fought Medusa's sisters, who haven't
been seen in thousands of years. You've agitated our Lares, who are
calling you a graecus. And you wear strange symbols—that shirt, the
beads on your necklace. What do they mean?"
Percy looked down at his tattered orange T-shirt. It might have had
words on it at one point, but they were too faded to read. He should have
thrown the shirt away weeks ago. It was worn to shreds, but he couldn't
bear to get rid of it. He just kept washing it in streams and water fountains
as best he could and putting it back on.
As for the necklace, the four clay beads were each decorated with a
different symbol. One showed a trident. Another displayed a miniature Golden Fleece. The third was etched with the design of a maze, and the
last had an image of a building—maybe the Empire State Building?—with
names Percy didn't recognize engraved around it. The beads felt
important, like pictures from a family album, but he couldn't remember what
they meant.
"I don't know," he said.
"And your sword?" Reyna asked.
Percy checked his pocket. The pen had reappeared as it always did.
He pulled it out, but then realized he'd never shown Reyna the sword. Hazel
and Frank hadn't seen it either. How had Reyna known about it?
Too late to pretend it didn't exist...He uncapped the pen. Riptide
sprang to full form. Hazel gasped. The greyhounds barked apprehensively.
"What is that?" Hazel asked. "I've never seen a sword like that."
"I have," Reyna said darkly. "It's very old—a Greek design. We used to
have a few in the armory before..." She stopped herself. "The metal is
called Celestial bronze. It's deadly to monsters, like Imperial gold, but even
rarer."
"Imperial gold?" Percy asked.
Reyna unsheathed her dagger. Sure enough, the blade was gold. "The metal was consecrated in ancient times, at the Pantheon in Rome. Its
existence was a closely guarded secret of the emperors—a way for their
champions to slay monsters that threatened the empire. We used to have more weapons like this, but now...well, we scrape by. I use this dagger.
Hazel has a spatha, a cavalry sword. Most legionnaires use a shorter
sword called a gladius. But that weapon of yours is not Roman at all. It's
another sign you're not a typical demigod. And your arm..."
"What about it?" Percy asked.
Reyna held up her own forearm. Percy hadn't noticed before, but she
had a tattoo on the inside: the letters SPQR, a crossed sword and torch, and
under that, four parallel lines like score marks.
Percy glanced at Hazel.
"We all have them," she confirmed, holding up her arm. "All full members of the legion do."
Hazel's tattoo also had the letters SPQR, but she only had one score mark, and her emblem was different: a black glyph like a cross with curved
arms and a head:
Percy looked at his own arms. A few scrapes, some mud, and a fleck of
Crispy Cheese 'n' Wiener, but no tattoos.
"So you've never been a member of the legion," Reyna said. "These marks can't be removed. I thought perhaps..." She shook her head, as if
dismissing an idea.
Hazel leaned forward. "If he's survived as a loner all this time, maybe
he's seen Jason." She turned to Percy. "Have you ever met a demigod like
us before? A guy in a purple shirt, with marks on his arm—"
"Hazel." Reyna's voice tightened. "Percy's got enough to worry about."
Percy touched the point of his sword, and Riptide shrank back into a
pen. "I haven't seen anyone like you guys before. Who's Jason?"
Reyna gave Hazel an irritated look. "He is...he was my colleague."
She waved her hand at the second empty chair. "The legion normally has
two elected praetors. Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, was our other praetor
until he disappeared last October."
Percy tried to calculate. He hadn't paid much attention to the calendar
out in the wilderness, but Juno had mentioned that it was now June. "You mean he's been gone eight months, and you haven't replaced him?"
"He might not be dead," Hazel said. "We haven't given up."
Reyna grimaced. Percy got the feeling this guy Jason might've been more to her than just a colleague.
"Elections only happen in two ways," Reyna said. "Either the legion
raises someone on a shield after a major success on the battlefield—and
we haven't had any major battles—or we hold a ballot on the evening of
June 24, at the Feast of Fortuna. That's in five days."
Percy frowned. "You have a feast for tuna?"
"Fortuna,"Hazel corrected. "She's the goddess of luck. Whatever
happens on her feast day can affect the entire rest of the year. She can
grant the camp good luck...or really bad luck."
Reyna and Hazel both glanced at the empty display stand, as if
thinking about what was missing.
A chill went down Percy's back. "The Feast of Fortune...The gorgons mentioned that. So did Juno. They said the camp was going to be
attacked on that day, something about a big bad goddess named Gaea,
and an army, and Death being unleashed. You're telling me that day is this
week?"
Reyna's fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger.
"You will say nothing about that outside this room," she ordered. "I will
not have you spreading more panic in the camp."
"So it's true," Percy said. "Do you know what's going to happen? Can
we stop it?"
Percy had just met these people. He wasn't sure he even liked Reyna.
But he wanted to help. They were demigods, the same as him. They had
the same enemies. Besides, Percy remembered what Juno had told him: it
wasn't just this camp at risk. His old life, the gods, and the entire world
might be destroyed. Whatever was coming down, it was huge.
"We've talked enough for now," Reyna said. "Hazel, take them to
Temple Hill. Find Octavian. On the way you can answer Percy's questions.
Tell him about the legion."
"Yes, Reyna."
Percy still had so many questions, his brain felt like it would melt. But
Reyna made it clear the audience was over. She sheathed her dagger.
The metal dogs stood and growled, inching toward Percy.
"Good luck with the augury, Percy Jackson," she said. "If Octavian lets
you live, perhaps we can compare notes...about your past."
Sage just stared off into the distance muttering somethings about ducking sticks. Or maybe even something stronger.