A/N:
Hey guys,
This chapter is also one of my favorites. I'm curious to see your reactions on this chapter. Let me know what you think in the reviews.
-Echo
Chapter 23: the Sun, the Lighthouse, and the Stormy Sea
"The bane of Olympus? I'm not sure," Annabeth said, frowning in contemplation.
"So much for getting an edge on this quest! The Old Man of the Sea didn't even tell us anything!" Thalia exclaimed heatedly. "It was just a big waste of time! We're still no closer to saving Artemis!"
I began to twist my finger. "What did he say exactly? I might be able to help."
Thalia turned to me. "Oh, you won't be helping anybody. Not until you explain to us what the Hades is going on!"
I raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't curse his name if I were you. It tends to irritate him more than he already is."
"I don't give a crap what irritates Hades! Now tell me what you're hiding or I will electrocute you, Demon Boy!" Stray volts of electricity crackled along her fists.
I chuckled darkly. "You act as if I'm afraid of a couple jolts, Sparky. I've been through much worse," I said. I shrugged. "If you want to know the knowledge I possess, I suggest you cool down that temper of yours first. Or you won't be able to think clearly."
"I won't be told what I can and can't do by a 10 year old," Thalia said, glaring at me like there's no tomorrow.
I decided to pull the card. "Well, consider yourself being told off by an 80 year old then," I patted her on the shoulder. I turned to Percy and Annabeth. "I believe we have a train to catch?"
"I do believe so, yes," Annabeth replied quite casually.
Percy smacked his hand across his forehead. He looked to be contemplating his life choices, if the expression written all over his face was anything to go by. The body language could have been written in bold lettering and it wouldn't have made a difference: Why do I have to deal with this nonsense?
I smirked smugly as I watched a cherry-faced Thalia sputter complete gibberish. "What? how does that even—I don't—How did we skip from 10 to 80? Since when are you—Annabeth, are you hearing this?"
"Yeah, I'm really confused," Grover admitted. "I think Nico's confused too."
"I warned thou the boy has demon powers! He is not who he says he is! We mustn't trust him!" Zoe exclaimed.
"Hold up, time out!" Bianca made a time out gesture with her hands. She brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose and sighed. She turned to me. "Nico, you are not 80 years old. You don't have any secrets, you don't know everything, and you definitely don't have any creepy demon powers! But most of all, we are most certainly not children of Hades!" She hid her face in her delicate, bony hands. "Ever since Dr. Thorn's attack, I have been really worried about you, Nico. I mean, you just aren't yourself anymore! What happened to you?! It's like you changed all of the sudden! What happened to my little brother?"
"You've got a lot of nerve calling me your little brother after what you just did," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. The shadows retreated from their hiding places and collected at my feet, perhaps to somehow shield me from getting hurt again. I took a deep breath to calm the raging fire that's gradually rising. "You've got a lot of nerve to claim all of those things about me when you don't even know the whole story," I finally met her eyes. "You've got a lot of nerve to assume who our parentage, when you can't even remember."
Bianca frowned. "Who said anything about remembering? I can remember just fine."
"Really?" I raised an eyebrow. "What was our mother's name? Where were we born? What happened to our mother?" Bianca looked overwhelmed by the questions being thrown at her, but I wasn't finished just yet. "Has it ever occurred to you that there are tons and tons of blank gaps—holes in our lives that have been festering in our minds ever since we got out of the casino? Has the various 'new' structures out in Washington ever stuck out to you? Did the lawyer really give any sort of explanation whatsoever? Bianca, come on! Surely you've noticed it too!"
"Noticed what?"
"Bia," I placed a still hand on her shaking one and spoke as gently as I could to break the news. "There's a reason why we can't recall what happened a year ago. What… what we thought was a year ago."
"'What we thought?'" Bianca asked incredulously. "What is that supposed to mean?"
I stared forlornly at Bianca, debating whether or not I should say it. Is it really worth it? Bianca stared back at me with black, troubled eyes. Though there was an innocence to them, a certain spark of hope that shone through the darkness, like a lighthouse amidst a stormy sea. I finally understood why our father erased the horrid memory of our mother's death from our minds. He wanted to keep that spark of innocence alive; that childlike wonder that disappears as time, age, and experience dims the light of the tower. It seems Hades found a way to preserve that spark; to freeze it, contain it, and hide it away from the rest of the cruel world we would soon have to endure. Is the knowledge, the pain, the burden of knowing what a monster those above us can truly be really worth it to know? At the expense of perishing innocence? At the expense of blissful ignorance? Then again, is ignorance really all that bliss?
I recalled the time my light went out. When the lighthouse of my innocence could no longer guide the ship of my heart back home through the dark, stormy sea of my life. It was the night Percy Jackson broke the news of Bianca's death, when the silver moon was high in the sky and a heavy misery seemed to linger in the cool midnight air. Then a thought occurred to me: My light went out long before that fateful day. It went out before I had the dream of my older sister dying and it went out before I experienced a dangerous encounter with the manticore, Dr. Thorn. No. My light was snuffed out nearly 70 years ago, when life was simpler—tragically simpler—but simpler all the same. When the sounds of bombs going off in the distance was a common occurrence, and when uneasiness and fear corrupted the once cheerfully exuberant air. Yet, I recalled the sunlight always sparkling off of the deep, hypnotizing canal, reminding the people of Venice that tomorrow is a new day. At least, that's the little details I can scarcely remember. I pictured the bustling hotel full of oblivious guests, the oblivious raven-haired children playing a game of tag around a fancy pillar, and the two lovers seated against the wall, the only ones well aware of the angry thunderstorm brewing in Washington from above...
I made a split-second decision. "We need to get going," I said quietly, tearing my eyes away from Bianca's pleading ones. "Or we're going to miss the train."
Without another word I walked away to the general direction of the train station, not even bothering to check if the others followed. I stuffed my hands in the soft pockets of Percy's jacket. I really should give it back to him. Though the oversized coat was a comfort of sorts, a way to escape the pressures and stress of trying to save the unsuspecting world from a very suspecting villain. I wonder if I snuggle deep enough into the jacket, can I hide away from all of my troubles? I doubt it. It would be like a child playing a game of hide-and-go-seek, thinking just because they can't see the seeker, the seeker can't see them either. It was foolish to even think of attempting such a fruitless task.
I heard footsteps gradually inching closer to me. I looked up. Annabeth joined me, keeping up with my rapid pace. She didn't talk and I didn't comment. The silence stretched for a vast amount of time, though it was far from deafening. It was the kind of silence that was comforting, a presence that was there but only sensed, nothing more. It was the kind of comfort that could be shattered with the utterance of a single word. For better or for worse, I couldn't be sure.
A couple of minutes later, an overly cheery clerk ripped off the perforation of the tickets and handed them back to us. Only for us to give it to an elderly man that looked to be having no interest in being here. I could relate. We boarded the train and all found seats. As expected, Thalia and Grover kept their distance in the corner booth, with Zoe and Bianca across the aisle from them, and Percy, Annabeth, and I two booths up. Their piercing glares on the back of my head didn't escape me.
I thought about telling the crew of my time traveling endeavors, but chose against it. Like the many phases of the moon, my ups and downs come and go. The thought of security in trust has long since been replaced by skepticism and exhaustion, and my only current motivation was to take another nap. At this point, I accepted the fact that there's no way to escape the nightmares—the darkness and death of my life playing over and over again, each time with more clarity. I steeled myself for another vivid dream and closed my eyes, snuggling into the oversized jacket and falling asleep to the consistent beating of the train tracks.
I opened my eyes to the scent of a familiar, yet foriegn smell: Coffee, hot chocolate, and a touch of ripe strawberry jam on fette biscottate. Breakfast.
Home.
I sat up and yawned, stretching like a cat along the olive green silk bed sheets. I looked around amazed. I was in a small bedroom with off-white colored walls, a wooden desk to the right of me with what looked like a sketchbook on it, a matching wooden dresser next to an oak wood door, and a wooden shelf was situated against the wall right next to the desk. The room was simple enough, yet had a certain old-fashioned elegance. Books were scattered along the shelves and I could make a few titles: The Little Prince, The Wind on the Moon, Fog Magic, Sherlock Holmes, and an Atlas Map book lined neatly on the shelves.
I glanced at the bedside table. A framed picture stared back at me next to a small lamp. I studied the photo. It was black and white and showed a small family of four, all with stoic faces encaptured in the lenses. A beautiful woman in a fancy satin dress, a man in a sharp, black suit, a young girl in a fancy dress, and a younger boy with bright mischievous eyes in an uncomfortable looking button-up shirt. I immediately recognized the people in the photo. My mother, my father, Bianca, and me. I tried to pick it up, but my body rejected the thought and made its way out of bed, completely disregarding my brain.
I quickly realized I'm not in control of my body.
I yawned a second time and slipped on some slippers before making my way out of the bedroom door, which was illuminated by golden light streaming through the window. I followed the inviting smell of breakfast to the kitchen table, only to find a woman humming and preparing food. She turned around and Maria di Angelo smiled at me. "Buongiorno, amore mio. How did you sleep?"
I smiled and dashed to the nearest seat, awaiting my breakfast. "Bene," I replied. It took me a second to register the fact that I'm speaking in perfect Italian. "I read a really interesting chapter about the mysteries of Sherlock Holmes. That man is truly a genius! I hope someday I can be half as smart as him!"
My mother laughed lyrically. "Amore mio, you are already a genius," she held up a plate of fette biscottate, a cup of hot chocolate, and some fresh fruit. "Here, I made you breakfast."
She placed the plate in front of me and I dug in. I picked up a strawberry and, for some weird reason, dipped it in my hot chocolate. It was, oddly enough, delicious, like chocolate covered strawberries except warm instead of cold. I downed the hot cocoa in record time, inhaling the scent of chocolate, cinnamon, and a touch of strawberry before politely asking for more. I scarfed down the fette biscottate and drank my second cup of chocolate, and asked for another. My mother laughed again. "I think you've had enough hot chocolate for today," she said.
A sleepy Bianca made her way to the kitchen and she too downed her fair share of hot cocoa. Our mother turned to us with scrunched eyebrows and a pained look on her face. "I have some good and bad news. Your father is accompanying us while we…" The words seemed to get caught in her throat. "While we move to America," she informed us.
"We… We are leaving Italy? We are leaving our home?" Bianca whispered with wide, teary eyes.
"No!" I shouted. "No, we aren't! Italy is our home! We can't just leave it! You can go and tell Papi we are staying!" I stormed into my room, angrily wiping the tears streaming down my face, and slamming the door shut. Seriously what is wrong with me? Why am I acting like a 2 year old?
I practically flung myself into my desk chair and fished for a pencil in my drawer. When I found one, I opened the sketchbook to a blank page and began to draw. Surprisingly, the pencils strokes ran lightly along the paper despite my foul mood. At first, the lines seemed to be randomly placed, some strokes here and some strokes there. Then I began to see the connection. I saw the way the mediums blended into one coherent shape, the way the soft strokes of my pencil complemented the hard edges, and the way the various shadows casted at one particular angle shaded what looked to be a bustling street. I blended and shaded, leaving intricate and life-like details behind. I stopped to inspect my work.
A sketch of the Venacian Canal laid before me. After making a few adjustments, a stray line here or too dark of a shade there, I took out my colored pencils.
The colors spilled out of the wooden box and flooded my otherwise bland-looking desk. I organized the colors into hues and shades respectively. I picked up maroon red and dark red before coloring in the red bricks, using the dark red to cast shadows or shade in off-colored clay. I used various shades of brown and all the vibrant colors of the rainbow to color in the street vendors, their ripen fruits, tomatoes, and fresh bread. I colored in the bridge and boats with a dark oak brown, making sure to use black to highlight the way the sun was facing the bridge. My hand hovered over the sea of blue before picking out a few select colors. An ocean blue, cobalt, royal purple, and sea-green. I blended all of the colors in, oblivious of the importance two of those shades would soon hold. I began creating the canal. I grabbed a rather bright yellow and incorporated it into the mix to depict the light reflecting off of the water. I grabbed a sunny yellow, sky blue, pale pink, deep purple, and ivory to paint the dawning sky.
A knock sounded from the other side of my door. "Come in," I answered, still in a daze.
My mother opened the door with a calm expression on her face. She hovered over me, looking impressed. "Very realistic," she commented off-handedly. "We need to get you in an art school as soon as possible. Perhaps there are good art schools in America?"
"I prefer the art schools in Italy," I quipped.
A tired sigh escaped my mother's lips. "Nico, I know you do not like this idea. But it is not safe for us here anymore. The world is changing and we must be relentless enough to change with it. Or this war will destroy us all."
I frowned. I dropped the colored pencil and spun my chair around to face her. "Mama, why do we have to go through this war?" I asked, already knowing the answer, yet still hoping for another. "Why do men have to fight over power?" I sat on my bed. "Why can't we all just get along? We are all human beings, we just come from different places."
"Oh, amore mio, how I wish others could see through your eyes. I believe we all need a new perspective," Mama admitted with dark, tired eyes. "We have let greed and power get the better of us, and the corruption is only festering. That is why we must move away to America," she said as she sat down next to me. "It is the only place that has retained its light, even through the dark shade of this war."
"But, Mama, Italy is our home! We can't just leave it!" I argued. "So what if men are greedy? That shouldn't mean we have to leave because of them! Besides, if we stay, maybe we can keep the corruption away from Italy."
A deep sadness seemed to take hold in her sharp eyes, a kind of misery I'm all too familiar with. "Nico, the corruption does not just spread physically, it spreads within us all," she said wisely.
She sighed again. "You must understand, Nico there is no light and dark. There is no black and white. Only the grey area. We are all capable of good and evil. But it is the side we give into—our darker selves—that truly makes us evil," my mother looked at me dead in the eye. "You must promise me that you will never give into the bitter lies wrapped in pretty words. That you will never kill in the name of peace and that you will always follow your heart—no one else's. Or you too will spread corruption and chaos will reign."
I nodded vigorously. "I promise," I said. Then a thought occurred to me. "Is that what happened with Germany? They listened to the pretty lies?" I whispered. "Is Germany evil now?"
"Not so," Mama answered. "Most of the people of Germany fall for the pretty lies because they need to believe in something good. They cannot stand the bitter truth that is right in front of them, a mistake that has been repeating for centuries."
"What is the bitter truth?" I asked innocently.
"We have no one to blame but ourselves," Mama replied thickly. "It is only with the help of those with the clearest of consciousness that the world can be led out of the dark. They are the saviors who challenge the pretty lies with the undenying light of truth."
"Who will be the saviors?"
"Those who truly believe in the power of order and refuse to give into the temptations of chaos will ultimately save us all," she answered. Some knowing force seemed to sparkle in her dark eyes. A glint of gold around my mother's neck caught my attention, something I've never noticed before. It was a pendant with a strange, unique shape.
I stared at the necklace curiously. Mama noticed. "Ah, you are curious about my necklace?" She unclamped the chain and showed it to me. "This is a symbol of a force greater than ourselves," she said. I studied the pendant. It was a circle with a cross running down the bottom of it. An invisible power seemed to radiate off of it.
"What does it mean?"
"It means you and Bianca will have more than one home," she answered cryptically.
I frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"You must understand, amore mio, that our home is not Italy. It is not this house," she gestured all around us. "and it is not even America. Home is not a physical place. It is our family and the love that we share for each other. Home is something no war can take from us."
"But Italy is—" Mama interrupted me.
"A place we merely live in," she stated. "Nothing more."
"So… It doesn't matter where we go? As long as we are together?" I asked.
Mama smiled. "Exactly. No matter where we move, the most important thing is to stay together," She pressed a soft kiss on my forehead and her strawberry scented hair tickled my face."You and your sister will change the world someday," she whispered. "I am certain of it."
"In a good or bad way?" I asked, snuggling into her hug.
"Good," she answered unwaveringly. "You will change the world for the better," she paused and smiled coyly. "Now, I think it's time to make lunch."
"Lunch?" I asked incredulously. "What happened to morning?"
My mother's laugh was musical. "You were in your room for quite awhile, amore mio. Come, help me make some food," she said. "I need my little chef's food tasting expertise."
I laughed, and the sound felt right on my lips. "Coming, Mama."
My eyes snapped open as I jolted awake. My chest rose and fell quickly as I looked around. The sky was a deep shade of blue, almost black. I could barely see the flurries decorating the frosty window. Everyone in the train was asleep and snoring softly. I shifted on something pointy and quickly recognized it was a shoulder. It suddenly occurred to me that I fell asleep on Annabeth. She stirred and said, "Nico?"
"I saw her, Annie. I saw my mom," I whispered quietly.
She stared at me for a moment then she hugged me closer. "Tell me what happened."
I quietly recounted the memory I thought was lost in the river. The snow drifted down outside and all the tiny flakes slowly but surely melted when they hit the glass. As the snowflakes became droplets, I realized that each one could represent the innocence of a person's life. All the tiny, unique branches that shrouded the world in white slowly melt, as all eyes slowly open to see the world for what it truly is. A cruel, cruel world wrapped in all the prettiest colors, all the prettiest lies. The blame breezes along the wind through each country, across every sea, but where does it come from? Ourselves. We are to blame.
My mother understood that. She was one of the few with the clearest of consciousnesses who had the capacity to not only see the world, but to accept it. That takes strength. To accept such faults and embrace them? That takes courage. My mother saw the darkness in every heart, the corruption in every soul, and the chaos connecting us all. She saw it and found the solution. Not just any solution. She found the right one. She knew those who had the highest moral standards could save this world from itself.
I wonder if deep down, I knew that too, even when I forgot everything of my mother. I wonder if my heart knew it, for my mind was wiped clean. Can I carry on her lesson? Can I save this world from itself? Can I purge it of chaos and corruption? Will I ever find my second home?
As Annabeth hugged me, I realized I already found my second home. I thought about the mysterious amulets glinting in the sun around the mysterious boy and girl's necks. Around my mother's.
The sun will rise again.
I have an inkling feeling there was more meaning to that statement than a literal sense. So that leaves the question: What are my dreams trying to tell me?
I looked out the window at the inky darkness surrounding us. I swear I can see a tinge of red gathering in the clouds high above. Perhaps a storm is coming.
Those who truly believe in the power of order and refuse to give into the temptations of chaos will ultimately save us all, my mother's voice echoed in my skull.
The sun will rise again.
The real question is: Where did the sun go, and who's going to bring it back?
