Chapter 11: "Just a Family Spat"
"This may come as a shock to you, but the Gods of Olympus do exist and live on the 600th floor of the Empire State Building! You are a demigod or half blood, meaning you are a child of a god and a mortal. The Gods have migrated through each continent and area of the world for centuries to find the heart of 'Western Civilization', meaning…" I stared blankly into the screen of the TV, wishing with every fiber of my being that this stupid orientation film would finally be over. Apparently it was directed by Apollo, which, given how the content of the film is presented, I'm really not surprised.
The film is both out-dated and terrible. And the worst part about it is that I already know everything there is to know about the demigod world. I've lived in it. I also already watched the film, and I am absolutely perplexed on how I used to like this. I sighed in boredom, fidgeting with the frays of the old couch.
Bianca and the Hunters immediately left to go find Cabin 8, leaving behind their stalker...er, I mean Grover, much to his disappointment. I'm like 90% he still followed them anyway. Percy, Annabeth, and Thalia all went to their respective cabins, but not before leading me to the Big House and leaving me into the hands of a welcoming Centaur in disguise and a not-so-welcoming God.
Before I knew it, the film was rolling the credits of all of the nymphs and satyrs that acted in the movie. I turned off the DVD player and made my way outside to the front porch to "meet" Chiron and Mr. D. I opened the squeaky screen door to find the Centaur and the God once again playing a game of cards on the porch. Mr. D sipped his Diet Coke and shuffled through his deck, while Chiron calmly placed a card down on the wooden table.
Chiron looked up from his cards. "Ah, Mr. di Angelo. I see you have watched the orientation film. Do you have any questions?"
"So… Apollo really directed the film?" I asked innocently.
"Indeed, he did."
"That explains a lot," I said simply, and Mr. D snorted without looking up. Chiron held back a smile. I thought about the conversation I had earlier with Annabeth. About everything I confessed, from the quests leading up to each war, and reciting the prophecies that decreed them. An idea crossed my mind: I could confess my secret to the Trainer of Heroes and the God of Wine. This could definitely get me an automatic ticket to an audience with the Gods, if I play my cards right. Although another thought occurred to me: How would telling my secret affect the outcome of the events that I have so dependably relied on knowing to change the future? If I tell them, word will spread like wildfire. The demigods, the Gods, and the Titans would know. Perhaps Gaea and her Giants too. Is the world ready to know yet?
No. Most certainly not.
Knowledge is power, and this power, especially in the wrong hands, could lead to catastrophic outcomes—variables I simply cannot afford. Not with so much at stake. I need to keep this well under wraps. I must only tell if absolutely necessary, and only to those I trust.
Corruption seeds from greed, power, hate, and even survival. The people I trust most have to be better than this; above the expectations mankind has set out for all of us. I'm no saint, though Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase are the closest I've ever come across to saints. They're the star players, and have earned every right to be. They will be the front-liners and I'll be the steady hand that guides them to a better future. The Gods have lost their parts in this future.
Meaning so has Chiron.
I discarded the idea of a confession and instead decided to build up the persona of the boy I used to be. "Are you really the Chiron, Trainer of Heroes?" I asked. I chose to mess with Mr. D a little. I turned to him and put on my best in awe expression. "Are you really the Wine Dude?"
Chiron nodded in confirmation and Mr. D looked rather annoyed. "Nick Acacio, if I hear you calling me 'the Wine Dude' one more time, I'll transform you into a bottle of Merlot—or better yet, you would make a nice dolphin. I may even drive you mad while I'm at it. I haven't had that kind of fun in years. You may call me sir, or Mr. D. Anything besides that and you'll wake up the next morning with flippers and a cork. Do I make myself clear?" Mr. D glared intensely with his maddening purple-grape eyes. He tried to look intimidating but I wasn't phased. I've been turned into several plants before—a dolphin and a bottle of Merlot is nothing.
The mental image of a guinea pig eating lettuce appeared in my mind. There's Percy, I recognized. Guinea pig Percy scampered around a tall, motionless pine tree. There's Thalia, I thought. Right next to pine tree Thalia, a lone cob of corn grew from the ground, drooping slightly. An-n-n-d there's me. The cob of corn suddenly morphed into a single yellow dandelion in a small planted pot. A heinous shadow approached the defenseless dandelion. "It's just a family spat, Nico," my evil stepmother said. "Just. A. Family. Spat!" She bellowed at the quivering, traumatized flower. Although I grew fearful of the crooked queen, I have no regrets on what it said. Though at the time I wished for nothing more than to be human once again, to digest food properly, unlike the dreadful process of photosynthesis.
This? This is true terror. Bianca, Hazel, and Jason will never understand the meaning of metamorphosis until they have experienced the transformation for themselves, as all children of the Big Three have. Heck, I've gone through it twice! They will know true terror soon, if fate has a say in it.
I should probably stop thinking about this.
"Yes, for the sake of your mental health, you probably should," Mr. D advised, looking more than a little disturbed.
Of course he read my mind. It's the only thing Gods seem capable of doing these days.
"Yes, I did just read your mind. Something I will never do again, rest assured. Not after what I just witnessed," the god of wine muttered to himself. "Dear me, what did you do to get yourself turned into a dandelion and a cob of corn?" He asked, astounded.
"Just a family spat," I replied simply.
Mr. D was not convinced whatsoever that it was "just a family spat", but I decided to spare him the details. What happens in the Underworld will stay in the Underworld.
Chiron cleared his throat, looking quite perplexed between the whole exchange. "So, are there anymore questions, or shall I send someone to give you a tour around camp?"
"Nope, I think I'm all set. Thank you for answering my questions," I said hurriedly. No need to make this more awkward than it already is.
"Of course," The centaur said skeptically. "I do hope you enjoy your time here. We may, ah… experience some complications soon enough."
No doubt he's referring to unexpected quest #3, the next adventure of a certain troublemaking Son of Poseidon and deadly Daughter of Athena. "You know, I'm sure I can find my way around camp just fine. If I need help I can always ask a camper. Thanks again!" I said all too cheerfully, collecting my bag and practically bolting out of the scene.
"Watch out for that one," I caught Mr. D telling Chiron. "I have no doubt he'll be joining Jackson's crew soon."
Well, he's not wrong.
I thought about finding Annabeth and telling her my parentage, but something made me stop in my tracks. A weird vibe washed over me. I felt as if were being watched. I scanned the camp, searching for any wandering eyes. But everyone focused on their activities, seemingly unaware of my presence. So why do I have the feeling that I'm being watched? Something in the back of my mind told me to turn around and look up. I did.
Above, a gnarled hand clutched heavy brown curtains behind the window of the attic. The Oracle of Delphi gazed at me with glassy, lifeless eyes. Seeing the mummy host of the spirit of Delphi made me miss Rachel Dare, the new oracle. I wish she were here. Before this whole fiasco with Mother Earth started, Rachel and I were friends. She used to tell me visions she had, and if it weren't for her, I wouldn't have connected the dots on a lot of things. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have known I was Angel of the Prophecy of the Seven, that I alone possess the knowledge of both locations of Thanatos' doors.
I don't know what came over me, but suddenly my feet were walking on their own accord to the back porch of the Big House. As if in a trance, I made my way to the attic ladder silently, navigating every twist and turn with ease, following the invisible map etched into my skull. My hands unlatched the ladder for me as I climbed up to the dark, dusty attic.
I noticed the smell first.
The pungent scent of death, decay, smoke, and who knows what else lingered in the musty air. Around me, various artifacts and spoils of war lined the shelves. Claws, heads, bones, and more limbs of monsters floated in clear, labeled jars filled with sickly green liquid. Books, snow globes, and old rusty weapons seemed to have a home too along the shelves. Candles of melted wax lined the floor, leading a trail to the very back of the room where the dead Oracle of Delphi sat immobilized in an old wooden chair. I took a step forward and the candles flared to life one by one until the cursed corpse opened her glowing green eyes.
Approach seeker, her raspy voice resonated in my mind as green smoke filled the room, and ask.
I swallowed the bile rising in my mouth. It's not that I'm afraid of the host of the Oracle of Delphi. I've had tons of experience with ghosts, ghouls, zombies, spirits, and skeletons, with me being the Son of Hades and all. No, what's terrifying me is the prophecy I'm about to hear. I used to be confident that I could save everyone, as I already know the events that will take place for the next four years. I've planned it all out, and I was going to search for ways to execute the plan in the least damaging way possible. But being given a prophecy means changing the whole game by Fate's desire, not my own. This prophecy would mean I am yet again in the dark with the events that will take place, that I won't know how to save the people I love. I'll be back to square one once again.
Overcome and adapt, I thought to myself. That's the only way you will get through this. Find loopholes in the framework.
I took a deep breath. "How do I change the events of the future? How do I stop Gaea?"
Bianca, Percy, Annabeth, Hazel, Will, Jason, Reyna, and my mother materialized in front of me out of the emerald smoke. This isn't my family. Their grating voices as they spoke a line of the prophecy one at a time, in order, proved as much.
Angel of the Fallen, you shall heed to call,
You shall use your gifts of shadow to prevent a squall,
In four years time, the world shall rise anew,
Together you shall unite all half bloods and the Argo II,
You shall make a choice, both will cause unbearable pain,
In order to end Mother Nature's eternal reign,
A hero shall make a promise as they take their last breath,
To endure a fate far worse than death.
The smoke dissipated along with my friends and family. The flames of the candles snuffed out as a sudden gust of wind blew through the attic. The mummy grew stiff and silent, and I realized I'm now alone. I inaudibly mouthed the words of the prophecy, capturing the unsettling lines into my long term memory. Through all of the confusion the prophecy just produced, I dimly realized this is the first prophecy I've ever received.
I took a shaky breath, attempting and failing to collect my thoughts. I really need to tell Annabeth about this. I took one last look at the mummy sitting only a few feet away from me. So this is the Oracle my father cursed.
I thought about the vision I received instead of a chat with my mother's ghost. I thought about what my father had said when he cursed the Oracle to what could very well be eternal restlessness.
I swear, as long as my children remain outcasts, as long as I labor under the curse of your Great Prophecy, the Oracle of Delphi will never have another mortal host. You will never rest in peace. No other will take your place. Your body will wither and die, and still the Oracle's spirit will be locked inside you. You will speak your bitter prophecies until you crumble to nothing. The Oracle will die with you!
Although my father spoke harsh words, I could tell he actually cared about my mother's death. He cared that his children would never be treated as "normal", even among their own kind. He cared about the fact that there was seemingly nothing he could do but watch as Zeus eliminated us one by one. To the King of the Gods' eyes, we were merely obstacles in the way of his glory, and my uncle was determined to make sure every last child of his brother was no more by the age of 16.
No wonder Dad wants nothing to do with the Olympians, I thought. Their King murdered his children and his lover.
Mother…
Is that what I used to call her? Did I call her Mom? Or maybe Mama? Another answer I will never know, thanks to the River Lethe. I couldn't help but wonder about her. What was she like? Was she always as stubborn as I saw her in my vision? Her exchange of words with my father echoed in my mind.
Certamente. We will stay together. Zeus is un imbecile.
My mother was brave. I know that much. With the little information I could gather on her, I know Bianca's a splitting image of her, right down to the smile and, from what I can tell, personality. Except the eyes. One of the few things I inherited from my mother appearance-wise is her sharp, dark, yet soft eyes, and her olive skin tone. Did I inherit anything from her personality-wise too? It's likely. But then again, people didn't use to recognize me as the Son of Hades by just my appearance. My very aura is one of death—heck, I even smell like death, according to Percy's cool pegasus, Blackjack. Although I wasn't always morbid and, well, on the brink of insanity. I used to be cheerful— annoyingly cheerful— and I wouldn't be surprised if Percy, or anyone really wanted to strangle me more than a couple of times. But grief and loss changes a person and I am a prime example of that.
But really, what do I know about my mother? What did she like to wear? What was her favorite color? Did she bake Bianca and I cookies when we were feeling down, or read us bedtime stories when we weren't tired? How did my father fall in love with an angel like her? Where did they meet? Was she kind? Was she selfless? What did she like to cook? Did she like cooking at all?
My mind was going a million miles an hour with all of these thoughts. No matter how many questions I asked, no matter how many times I searched, I would never know. The answers would forever be washed away with the Lethe. Even if I'm bold enough to ask my father, would he even tell me? Should I even bother him about this at all? He is a busy god, I don't think he would appreciate such questions. But still… I can't help but wonder. Maybe I got my mother's stubbornness after all.
Even with all of these thoughts, the most important question still remained: Where did Maria di Angelo go when she died? Elysium is definitely a strong possibility, and though it sounds ridiculous, the Fields of Asphodel might be likely too. But the Fields of Punishment? Out of the question. There's no way an angel like my mother could end up there, just like Bianca, Hazel, Percy, Will, Jason, Annabeth, Frank, and even Leo. It's simply not in their nature to end up there. Too heroic. Too selfless.
I sighed. It doesn't do to dwell on these dangerous thoughts. Especially for someone like me. I have a track record for searching, thinking, doing, and feeling things I shouldn't. And yet, I still let my curiosity run wild every time. I really should stop, but I just can't bring myself to do it.
And so, as I lay in my sleeping bag on the ground of the Hermes Cabin, I lie awake and continue to wonder. Only do I fall asleep to the soft, distant lullaby playing in the depths of mind. The lullaby is in Italian, and the voice singing it truly does sound like an angel.
Maybe it's just my wishful thinking, but the song sounds familiar, like I've heard it before. A dream, perhaps? Or maybe… maybe it runs deeper than that. Was this how my mother helped me fall asleep? No, it can't be from her. The Lethe washed her and her memory away.
But even as the song drifted me to sleep, I knew it was her. Somewhere, somehow, my deceased mother's voice filled my head with the sweetest of melodies.
I closed my eyes and slept peacefully, free of dreams for the first time since I can remember.
