Author's Note: Thank you for everyone's support! Updates may come a bit slower for a few weeks as I finish up an intense research fellowship project. But hopefully not! I hope you continue to enjoy what I bring you. My plan is to have this fanfic finished Christmas at the latest. Probably looking at about 60 chapters. I for one can't wait. Let me know how you're doing!
Chapter Sixteen | OPHELIA BYRD
OPHELIA ASSOCIATED CABIN 11 WITH MANY WORDS, but silence wasn't one of them. Staring up at the chipped wooden beams that crossed the overcrowded Hermes cabin, she counted each breath filling her own lungs. Usually she'd count Travis's rhythmic snoring or the tossing and turning of young Michaela on the floor. But the Stoll brothers had taken the cabin for a competitive scavenger hunt against the Apollo kids at dawn, leaving the dusty old cabin empty except for three.
Alex had left not long after. She'd not had a chance to talk to him about the Oracle's prophecy the night before. He'd crawled into his bed beside her in the corner and laid down in silence, facing the wall. Then that morning, he insisted he needed to go for a run. Chiron can wait, he'd said. As Ophelia watched a small spider crawl alongside a ceiling beam, she ignored the gnawing fear in her chest.
She'd never seen a quest issued. During the war, campers were sent off by Chiron without prophecies nipping at their heels. Luke certainly didn't use prophecies. She and Alex and Chris Rodriguez and any number of other demigods had been driven forward by loyalty alone.
Ophelia held no loyalty for the Oracle of Delphi.
Why should you?
With warm sun bathing her face in light, she sighed. She should get up. While she felt no loyalty to the oracle, she didn't want to see any more of her siblings and friends dragged down by misplaced love for Kronos.
If you don't get up, you leave Leah to the mercy of Zeus. And we both know what that looks like.
"Thank you, Eris, but I don't need you to remind me," she said.
Ophelia sat up, causing the wooden slats and old springs to groan. Kitty had left half an hour before. She'd said something about going for a swim before breakfast. So it was just her, a dozen empty bunk beds, the spider overhead, and gentle light filtering in through the windows.
By the time she'd pulled on an orange Camp shirt, black jean shorts, and her choker necklace depicting crossed torches, Kitty came tumbling back into the cabin, clothing damp from her dripping wet, blue hair and smiling like they hadn't just been issued their death certificates the night before.
"Sup?" Kitty said. "Haven't seen you wear that necklace in a while."
Ophelia's hand went to the carved pendant. Hecate's symbol. It hadn't seemed right to wear it as the war intensified. Disrespectful to her mother, more than anything. And Ophelia wouldn't do that.
"Hadn't felt right," Ophelia said. "Did you see Alex earlier?"
For a brief moment, Kitty stopped digging through her drawer. Ophelia couldn't see her face, just noticed her muscles tense and imagined, if she could see her mouth, that her smile had probably disappeared. Ophelia asked her what was wrong.
"Nothing," Kitty said. She turned back around, pulling a new Camp Half Blood shirt over her head. Leaning back against the dresser, she crossed her arms and played with a hair tie around her wrist. "He was running along the beach. Did you talk to him last night?"
"No."
He didn't want to listen to you. He's more like his brother than he will ever admit. Driven by rage.
Ophelia bit her tongue. Running her fingers over the sterling silver pendant, she ignored Eris. The goddess didn't know Alex like she did.
He's more like his father than he will ever admit. He hears everything but listens to none.
"Let's go talk to Chiron," Ophelia said. She slammed the old trunk at the foot of her bed which she and Alex shared for storage. "Alex will find us."
Kitty's eyebrow raised. But she didn't object. Before long, the two girls began trekking across camp from the Cabins. Ophelia didn't know what normal had been for Camp Half-Blood before the war, but she liked to think this was it. Nymphs tending to strawberry fields, Satyrs nibbling at trash that Cabin 4 missed on their latest Green Club sweep, distant cheers from the training grounds. Everyone looked happy.
When Ophelia saw the chipping blue paint of the Big House, she took a deep breath. The rest of camp didn't have anything to worry about. The siblings they knew were all here, all safe. They could continue to train and bond and prepare themselves for another school year.
But as she looked at Chiron standing on the wrapped porch of the Big House, his regal white flank shining in the morning sun contrasting his troubled, very human expression, she reminded herself that wasn't her lot in life. She and Alex had left Kronos's camp with the understanding that they would most likely not survive.
Kitty, though. Ophelia glanced at her as they walked side by side down the dirt path. Kitty hadn't signed up for any of this.
"Where's Alex?" Chiron asked.
Ophelia shook her head as they came to stand a few feet from the foot of the stairs. His frown deepened, eyes glancing left and right. He looked about ready to find the ramp and go after Alex when he relaxed.
"There he is."
Ophelia turned. Hair wet but well combed, camp shirt wrinkled but not sweaty, he wandered up the path fifty yards behind them. She bit her cheek. He had strapped his scabbard back on. The glint of sunlight off the hilt of the celestial sword caught her eye.
When he reached them, Ophelia grabbed his right hand. She laced her fingers through his even as he tensed at the movement. But she didn't want to let go. She worried that if she let go, he might grab for that sword. And then they'd lose this quest before it ever started.
"I had to shower," Alex said.
Chiron offered them a small, but tight smile, and gestured behind himself. Kitty went first. Looking to her left, she tried to gauge Alex's mood. He seemed tense, with that steady anger that seemed ever present in his sharp eyes and tense jaw. But he had control. He even flashed her a tiny smirk.
Someone had written the prophecy, double-spaced, on a large piece of paper. Chiron had laid it down on the coffee table in the center of the front room of the Big House, surrounded by several leather tomes and a pile of notebooks. Bookshelves lined the room. Ophelia had only been in the Big House a few times. Once, in the hours after the Battle of the Labyrinth, to explain to Chiron what she and Alex had suffered through.
A large, brown leather couch sat in the middle of the room. Across from the couch on the other side of the coffee table sat two matching chairs. Chiron settled into his custom wheelchair and had them each take a seat. Several moments of tense silence followed.
"As you are well aware, prophecies cannot be fought." Chiron move this wheelchair between the two leather chairs, facing Ophelia and Alex on the couch. Kitty, fidgeting in her pocket, still stood a few feet away. With a small sigh, Chiron shook his head. "Though the prophecy makes reference to all three of you, I fear, Alex, this quest is yours."
He's unpredictable. Watch him, Ophelia.
Ophelia felt warmth leave her as Alex sat up a bit straighter and removed his hand. Light from a nearby lamp cast half his face in shadow.
"I know. And I accept the challenge," he said. "And I'll win."
Chiron signed. "No one wins a prophecy, Alex. You can only complete the task and let the Fates work from there."
"And what exactly are we supposed to be doing?" Kitty said.
Ophelia turned, the cracking couch leather creaking as she did so. Kitty wandered over, still fidgeting in her pocket.
"That's why we're here now," Chiron said. "I've divined some of the prophecy, I believe." He turned to Alex. "We know you are the Herald's son spoken of, and we know the quest's purpose."
"To save the rebel children," Alex said.
Chiron nodded. "Then we come to the second stanza. 'Find the harp who minds could sway, which last of all led damned astray'. I have an idea of what it means but—"
"I believe I can help with that."
Ophelia had met gods. She and her mother had spent hours in silent companionship over the years, Ophelia honing her magic beneath the moon to prove to Hecate that she could control the Mist, that she could lead her half-siblings if called upon. She'd even met this god. But it still surprised her how normal the Olympians could appear when they wanted to.
Hermes wore winged Nike sneakers today. Black and white with golden accents, each slight beat of the wings glinted in the light. He wore black joggers, a white tee-shirt that accentuated his muscular frame, and a black unzipped athletic sweatshirt.
"Hermes," Chiron said. His voice wavered, glancing between Alex, stiffened on the couch, and the god now in the doorway.
"The harp." Hermes glanced at Alex, then at Ophelia and Kitty before focusing back on Chiron. "It's the Lyre of Orpheus."
Chiron signed. "I suspected as much."
"Wasn't Orpheus torn to pieces by Mr. D's Maenads?" Kitty said. She went to stand behind their couch, a few feet away from Hermes. "Like, not a fun death."
Ophelia almost laughed at the way Chiron straightened up in surprise. She saw a suppress a smile.
"So you did pay attention in my classes, Kitty?"
Turning to look at Kitty, Ophelia smirked at her tiny shrug. Too many people underestimated her. Kitty wasn't great with weapons or the smartest in the room—Athena's kids had a monopoly on that—but she had wit and street smarts. Another girl with a neglectful father forced to figure out how to survive.
"Why the lyre?" Alex snapped.
Hermes frowned. He straightened up. "I invented it. I outsmarted Apollo as a toddler." The god couldn't hide his devilish smirk, which made Ophelia pause.
They're all apples from the same tree, Ophelia.
"You stole his cows," Kitty said.
Hermes nodded. "Apollo had it coming. He spent all his time partying with the Sun Chariot and the Muses. He got really obsessed with one of Terpsichore's ballads. It had a good beat but not my style, even as a child. And he had terribly security. It didn't take long to pick the lock—"
A thunderclap echoed through the camp. The house shook. Ophelia caught her breath as they all stopped. Even Hermes flinched. Ophelia had never seen a god flinch.
Hermes cleared his throat. Ophelia noticed the wings on his Nikes fluttering without their usual consistent rhythm. He wrung his hands, pulling his cellphone from his pocket. On the antenna, two tiny snakes coiled tightly together.
"As reparations for stealing Apollo's sacred cows, I offered him the first lyre. He became so enamored by my invention that my crime was forgiven." The tiniest hint of a smile broke through his serious expression. "Though Artemis says my true crime was giving him that instrument."
"And he gave it to Orpheus?" Ophelia asked.
Chiron nodded. "Orpheus had the most beautiful voice I had ever heard. A voice worthy of his mother, Calliope. Apollo gifted him the lyre and encouraged him to develop his talent."
"I have never been so moved by music in my entire life," Hermes said.
A poignant silence fell between god, centaur, and half-bloods alike. Ophelia knew the rest of the story. Or some of it. Orpheus had sailed with Jason and the Argonauts. He'd fallen for Eurydice, the demigod daughter of Apollo. She died soon after, and Orpheus, so distraught, descended into the Underworld to find her.
"The lyre who could sway minds," Alex said. "The way it swayed Hades and the Sirens to spare him from death."
Hermes nodded. "Yes. But in the end, Orpheus failed. He couldn't resist the doubt and fear that all mortals face." He straightened up again, gripping his phone like a laser pointer. "Zeus will spare all children who rebelled against the Olympians if Alex can return to lyre to Olympus, where it will be displayed in the central courtyard."
"As a reminder that all crimes must be paid for," Alex said.
Ophelia saw his eyes hardening. Alex could do many things. He could blend into a crowd with ease. In the dark, he faded into the shadows as much as any mortal not of the Underworld could hope for. But he couldn't hide his anger.
"And the other stanzas?" Chiron said. "Have you any further insight?"
"Fortune's Favor untie fates of three' must refer to Tyche's daughter." Hermes turned to Kitty. "That's you?"
"Yeah."
He nodded. Taking the prophecy from Chiron, Hermes read through it again. He paused halfway through. Without speaking, he glanced up and stared at Ophelia. She shivered. He lacked Alex and Luke's blonde hair, but beyond that, Hermes resembled his sons in many ways. Sharp jawline, piercing eyes, a hidden intellect that shone through in the way he carried himself. No mere herald of the gods. Ophelia had heard stories of Hermes from Hecate. Many stories.
"You're Hecate's child," Hermes said.
Ophelia straightened up in her seat. "Yes."
"And yet the prophecy references you as Eris's." Hermes passed the prophecy back to Chiron without breaking eye contact with Ophelia. "Why?"
She felt Alex grab her hand between them on the couch. For a horrible moment, she questioned all the hours she'd concealed Eris's voice in her mind from everyone but him. They didn't need to know. Chiron knew someone in her bloodline had been a child of Eris. Why did they need more reasons to distrust her?
"I don't know," Ophelia said. "Someone on my father's side was her child."
If Chiron hadn't interrupted the silence with a cough and a request from a satyr for waters all around, Ophelia may have had to hold the god's distrusting gaze for several minutes. She didn't remember what side Hermes had chosen in the Trojan War, but somehow she didn't think he liked Eris very much for her part in it. Not that Ophelia could blame him.
"Ophelia is not a child of Discord," Chiron said. He smiled at her, and the room seemed to relax despite the storm clouds gathering outside the window. "She freely left Kronos's side despite knowing nothing of Camp Half-Blood."
Alex nodded. "What she did is more impressive than any feat you gods have done."
Heat rushed to her cheeks. Ophelia couldn't help but smile at him, grateful for the warmth of his hand in hers and the steady presence at her side. Ignoring the sword at his hip, she looked into his blue eyes and allowed herself to calm down.
"Great, good. All of this is fine." Kitty moved over to take the prophecy from Chiron. "But let's talk specifics. Where are we going? What's the time limit? There's always a time limit. I've seen Jackson get enough of these to know that."
Hermes nodded. He straightened up, shifting from oddly human-like to an immortal herald of the king of the gods in an instant. His voice deepened, grip on his cellphone tightened. "Zeus has decreed that you have until the Autumn Equinox to return the Lyre of Orpheus to Olympus. Should you fail, the demigod rebels will be sent to the Fields of Punishment to unlearn their betrayal for eternity. If you succeed, Zeus will suspend judgement. They will be permitted to join Camp Half-Blood or make their own way in the world where their fate will be determined by their deeds from then on."
"Autumn Equinox?" Ophelia said. "That's in about a month, isn't it?"
Chiron nodded. He rolled over to a calendar tacked up on a bulletin board. "Almost exactly a month from the day. September 23rd this year."
"As for where," said Hermes, "The gods will lend no aid, nor guidance. Alexander Griffith will succeed or fail on his own merits."
Alex straightened. He stood from the couch, standing face to face with his father. Stories of Hermes flooded Ophelia's mind again. Irritation had rolled over Hecate in waves whenever she talked about him. Few gods crossed between Underworld, Mortal World, and Olympus. Their powers were tied to their spheres of influence. But as a god of travelers, Hermes could enter any domain. Hecate, goddess of crossroads, could do the same. Sometimes she wondered if her mother and Hermes hadn't been a thing a thousand years ago.
She was no child of Aphrodite, but Ophelia got serious "estranged ex" vibes from her mother when they talked about him. And based on the way Hermes hadn't stopped side-eyeing her except when acting as Zeus's herald… Regardless, Hermes was not an enemy Ophelia wanted to make. Not if Luke, Alex, or even the Stoll Brothers were any indication of a sliver of his power.
"Tell Zeus that we'll stand before him within the month," Alex said.
"If it were me, I would head south," Hermes said. "Go to DC一"
Thunder crashed outside again, lightning streaking across the now dark sky above Camp Half-Blood. No artificial weather control could hold off the wrath of Zeus, apparently. Ophelia watched Hermes's expression contort into a mirror image of Alex when facing his own father. He glared out the window, hand tightening around his cellphone as it began to shift into a three-foot golden staff. Twin serpents stretched and coiled around the center pole, reaching for the shining wings stretching out from the top.
"The gods will watch your progress," Hermes said. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the caduceus, the serpents, George and Martha, staying silent. "Good luck."
With a quick motion, he used the winged end of the caduceus to cut through the air. It rippled and parted. Sparing Alex one last look, he stepped through the rift and disappeared from view.
No one spoke. The same heavy silence that had filled Cabin 11 that morning settled over the living room of the Big House. Ophelia glanced around at the dusty leather tomes, the original masterwork paintings hanging over mantlepieces by Sandro Boticelli, Angelica Kauffman, and Artemisia Gentileschi, son and daughters of Apollo respectively. The shadows cast by lamps and overlights had lengthened since storm clouds began to cover Long Island.
"I am sorry that this falls to you," Chiron said. His voice broke whatever spell had fallen over them. "But have faith. You will succeed."
"And if we do?" Alex said. "What about the third stanza? 'For to Herald's home but one returns'."
Chiron shifted in his wheelchair. He looked at each of them, and Ophelia wondered how many demigods he'd shared words with before they went on fatal quests over the past several thousand years. He sighed.
"Prophecies rarely mean what they first seem," he said. "It is worse to worry over the Delphic words than to focus on your goal. Find Orpheus's lyre and return it to Olympus. The rest will fall into place."
"When do we leave?" Kitty said.
Chiron hesitated. "Ordinarily, I would encourage you to depart immediately. Tomorrow morning, for example. But after the battle in Manhattan, I think it best we send you out a bit better prepared. Give us a few days. Satyrs have been sent out to find any lost children of the minor gods, but also to see what monsters remain in New York." He turned to Alex. "But it is your quest, Alex. Waiting may delay you, but so might leaving now."
Ophelia looked at her boyfriend. He still stood by the entrance to the living room, back to where Hermes had stood but minutes ago. Crossing his arms over his chest, he furrowed his brow. Ophelia tried not to focus on the sword. He had held it together with his father. He would be fine. The quest would be fine. He could hold it together and do what was best for the other half-bloods.
"We'll wait. The last day of camp is in four days?" Alex looked up at Chiron. When he nodded, so did Alex. "We can wait until then. But after that, I'm going south."
"To DC?" said Kitty.
"Yes."
Chiron nodded. Picking up a slim black leatherbound book from a stack on the table, he handed it to Alex. "The Tragedy of Orpheus, compiled by one of Apollo's children many years ago. Perhaps you can glean some insight from it."
Alex took it gently in his hands. He ran a hand over the black cover, tracing the golden harp inlaid in the dark leather. How accurate a tale woven by a storyteller from Apollo's cabin was, Ophelia didn't know. But it was certainly beautiful.
Read it. This quest is as much yours as the boy's.
Ophelia looked closer at the book. Alex noticed her interest and handed it over as he thanked Chiron. Opening the front cover, she looked at the dedication: "to those who know how it ends, and still choose to tell it again." She took a deep breath in through her nose. Passing the book to Kitty, she looked out the window at the gathering storm.
Reparations. A lyre for a hundred lives. How the Olympians could see that as justice, Ophelia didn't know. Once, the lyre had been traded for cattle. Now, for the eternal salvation of misguided children. Cold settled over her chest as she watched the swirling grey skies. She never should've expected them to be better. The gods may have been better than Kronos and the Titans. But that didn't make them good.
