Chapter Eighteen | ALEX GRIFFITH


WHO KNEW EIGHT WOODEN BEADS COULD WEIGH HEAVIER than the bronze sword Alex kept at his side? He looked down at the camp necklace in his hands. The beads almost glowed in the golden light of early morning.

Four painted beads ending with Poseidon's Trident represented the years he had spent at Camp Half-Blood with Luke. On the other end hung the bead he'd received last night, the Empire State Building surrounded by the names of the fallen campers. But between the beautifully crafted summer beads he'd strung three, black as night. One for each summer he'd spent with Kronos.

Those didn't glow in the light of dawn. They looked like tear drops made of tar, physical representations of his mistakes. Chiron had offered him a Labyrinth bead. But it hadn't seemed right. He'd fought the battle on their side, but not the war. Not back then.

In the sword fighting arena, Alex couldn't hear the hustle and bustle of departing campers. He didn't want to hear them. While they left for the real world, for middle schools, high schools, and for one or two, college, Alex knew he had only twenty four to forty eight hours until he had to leave the safety of camp.

These last few days had been the best days of his life since the beginning of the Second Titan War. Relay races, friendly sparring, campfire karaoke. Then the Oracle had spoiled it. The Prophecy of Reparation had reminded Alex that he had no right to rest.

He stood up from his stone bench in the amphitheater. Packed sand shuffled only slightly beneath his grey tennis shoes. He slipped the necklace back on and approached the nearest training dummy.

Made of straw and leather armor, the first looked comically like a kindergartner's interpretation of a Laistrygonian. Alex readied himself. He gritted his teeth, raising his sword to the proper height.

He remembered every lesson Luke had given him. Every parry, every thrust, every shifting of his feet. Luke had been there from day one to guide him and as he hewed at the training dummy, he focused on his brother's voice in his mind.

His arms burned. The pain fueled him. He finished off the Laistrygonian and moved to the second. Alex laid into it, slamming his sharpened celestial bronze sword down into the straw over and over and over until sweat dripped from his brow and his knuckles turned white. The body split in two.

Alex did the same to the third. His sword stuck between wood and straw, wrenching it from his grasp. White hot pain shot up his arm from hai wrist to his chest. He shouted both from the pain and from his rage.

Taking a moment to breathe, he left his sword stuck in the dummy. The sun crept up in the sky. Alex took a drink, water spilling out of the corner of his mouth and down his sweaty orange shirt. He closed his eyes.

He had to remember who he was doing this for. Not for himself. He'd have been fine with taking a lightning bolt to the chest on Olympus. But he had a job, a duty. He couldn't let his bitterness take control. Not this time.

"Hey, man."

Alex opened his eyes. He turned back from the training dummies, half of them lying in pieces. Percy picked his way down the amphitheater stairs. He looked refreshed, wearing a blue tee-shirt and jeans. He stopped a few steps up, frowning at the scene.

"Heading out?" Alex said.

Percy nodded. "Yeah. I'm going back to Goode High School for sophomore year." He flashed a lopsided smirk that always reminded Alex a bit of the pranksters in the Hermes cabin. "Same school two years in a row? A miracle."

Walking over to his stuff, Alex grabbed another water bottle. He drained it quickly. "Well. Good luck."

Silence stretched between them for a moment. Alex watched Percy from behind his water bottle. The kid kept eyeing the thoroughly destroyed training dummies like they would come to life and try to kill him.

"Anything else?" Alex said.

Percy shuffled in place. He took the last few steps to stand even with Alex. Percy stood several inches shorter and though he carried himself with the swagger of an adult, he still looked sixteen. The shock of greyish-white in his otherwise dark hair sent shivers down Alex's spine. The beginning of the end.

"Look, the gods suck," Percy said, "but don't do this again."

Alex stopped trying to get the last few drops out of his water bottle. He lowered if from his face. "What?"

"I just want to know that you're not going to go off and try to kill the gods, or something," Percy said. He took another steps forward. "I don't want to do this again."

Alex scoffed. "Are you done?"

"I'm serious," Percy said.

But Alex could feel the anger rising in his chest again. He felt his hands constrict and ribcage burn. Taking a couple steps towards Percy, he stared down at the sixteen year old. "We wouldn't be in this position if you'd asked for pardons for the half-bloods instead of their parents!"

Percy's eyes narrowed. For a moment, Alex wondered at the way he could look so cold. Those sea green eyes could change from calm to stormy in an instant. But then he took a step back.

"You stayed in Cabin 11, Percy," Alex said. He took another step forward, closing the distance again. "You know what it was like!"

Percy shook his head. He glanced over his shoulder. Then he turned back. He seemed to deflate just a bit. "I know! I'm sorry!"

Alex paused. The adrenaline coursing through his veins made him feel like he was on fire. But Percy looked sixteen again. He looked tired. As he stood there with his hands balled into fists, Alex took a deep breath. He wondered, for a moment, if fate had brought Percy to camp the same year he would be called upon as a hero to shield him from the bitterness building up in Cabin 11.

If Percy had lived even one full summer being toyed with by gods, alone and unclaimed, would he have stood on the other side of the battlefield? Luke had thought so.

"Good luck, Percy," Alex said. He took a deep breath and extended his hand. "I mean it."

Percy looked at his offered hand. It took a moment, but he shook it firmly. Alex could feel the same calluses on both their hands from swords and bows and climbing ropes.

"Be careful," Percy said. "Quests suck. They're honestly just the worst."

Alex couldn't help but let out a small laugh as they stepped apart. He glanced over Percy's shoulder at the top of the amphitheater and wondered where Annabeth was. Probably waiting for him.

"And Alex. Your dad…" Percy trailed off, but then held his gaze. "He's a god. They'll never understand us. But he's trying, now. More than a lot of them. Maybe more than any of them."

It took all his self control not to physically bare his teeth. Odd that Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, would have a better relationship with Hermes than his own sons. A cruel joke, maybe. But he knew Percy and even if they were best friends by a long shot, Alex knew he wasn't stupid. So he stuffed down the fire raging in his veins again.

"I'll believe that when I see it," he said.

Percy nodded. He didn't press any further, just glancing over Alex's shoulder at the training dummies one more time. Then he nodded. With a final good luck and goodbye, Alex watched as he disappeared up the steps and over the arena's top.

Wind rushed through the arena. Alex stood in the quiet, closing his eyes to listen to the birds in the forest nearby and the occasional playful shrieks of departing campers. He wanted one last moment of peace before he had to go on a quest for some god who had turned his own daughter into a tree. He heard the beating of wings.

Alex's heart fell. He opened his eyes. Standing in front of him was an all too familiar face: Hermes. Blending in with a jogging outfit yet again, he stood with his arms over his chest almost exactly where Percy had been mere minutes before.

"What do you want?" Alex said.

Hermes took a deep breath. Alex could see the god trying to maintain his composure, fingernails digging into his arms. But he took a step forward.

"Take this." He held out his right hand. A small rope, a bracelet, dangled in the air. "Zeus declared that the quest would fail or succeed by your own merit. This changes nothing."

Alex glanced at the bracelet now in the palm of his father's hand. A golden caduceus spanning the width of Alex's wrist sat between the two sides of the rope. Simple but beautiful, it sparkled in the sunlight.

"I don't want to wear that in your honor," Alex said. "You can't buy my loyalty."

Hermes took a deep breath. "It's a weapon, Alex. A tool. Not a proof of allegiance."

A weapon. Alex glanced up from the caduceus to his father. Then back. What kind of weapon could fit on a bracelet? But Alex had seen all kinds of magical weapons, not least of all Riptide. He glanced up at his father one more time. He didn't want to take any help from this god. But then again, he had a job to do.

Alex took it. The ran his fingers over the smooth metal. Upon closer inspection, it was indeed celestial bronze. He glanced up.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" he said.

Hermes smirked, flashing him the devilish grin that Alex saw day after day on the faces of his half siblings. "Think of a sword."

Alex cocked an eyebrow. But he did as instructed, willing the caduceus to be a sword. At once the pendant changed. The top wings formed a winged cross guard and the twisting serpents flattened tight along the caduceus staff until Alex held a celestial bronze broadsword in his right hand. Perfectly balanced.

He looked up at his father. Hermes's smirk deepened. He snapped his fingers and the sword returned to bracelet size. "Command it, and it'll respond." He pointed to it. "Now turn it into a bow."

"A bow?" Alex said. But Hermes was serious, so he tried it.

Instead of becoming a cross guard, the wings straightened themselves into a celestial bronze, curved bow. The snakes latched onto either end, thinning into a pliable string. Instead of a central pole, the shaft of the caduceus became a single, celestial bronze arrow.

"You'll have to carry a quiver if you want more than a single shot at a time," Hermes said. "Couldn't quite figure out a way around that one. Just take them from Apollo's kids."

Alex couldn't speak. He held the bow in his hand, another perfectly balanced weapon that glittered under the midmorning sun. Standing with a smirk on his godly face was Hermes. Was he trying to buy back favor? Alex gripped the bow harder. He wouldn't let him. Not that easily. But he bit his tongue. He needed all the help he could get. And he couldn't let Percy's words turn into reality. He couldn't make the same mistakes as Luke.

"I came up with the blueprints centuries ago," Hermes said, eyes lighting up in excitement. "Hephaestus built it." He pointed to it as Alex reduced it back to a bracelet. "Apollo wants to name it Vindication. Feel free to come up with other ideas."

"What's the price?" Alex said.

Hermes took a deep breath. Gesturing behind Luke at the decapitated, disemboweled, and otherwise destroyed training dummies he smirked. "Do that to any enemy who stands between you and my lyre. Apollo's lyre," he amended, as if someone had scolded him.

Alex ran his fingers over the polished metal again. Simple but beautiful, he had to admit he liked it. Alex fastened it loosely around his wrist.

"I'll do it. Not for you, and not for Zeus," he said. "For everyone the gods abandoned."

Hermes nodded. He didn't get angry or object. He just looked around the empty arena. Then up at the clouds, which had begun to gather overhead.

"That's my cue," he said. "Good luck."

Hermes disappeared without fanfare, leaving Alex in an empty arena, the symbol of the father he cursed every day dangling around his wrist. He repeated to himself what he'd said to Hermes. Not for the gods. For their children.

He ripped it off his wrist. Vindication shifted into a blade, hilt moulding to his grip instantly. With a swing, Alex cut through the half destroyed straw dummy. It crumpled under his weight. Alex's old sword clattered to the ground. With a deep breath, he focused on his heartbeat. It pounded in his ear.

For the children, not the gods.