A/N: RoyalTwinFangs- I do like that picture, but I think it will probably end up being more Greek style. Thanks for reviewing!
formerlyarandomreviewer (Your name is truly getting ridiculously long. I'm just gonna call you f.a.r.r., okay?) and Emerald Swordsman- At this point, it doesn't matter all that much exactly what Percy's Curse will manifest itself as, because it won't happen for a long time. But I love all your feedback! *wipes away seriously overdone tears of gratitude*
Now, all of my faithful readers, reviewers, and stalkers, I must apologise to you. School started a week ago, and updates will come even slower. I know, I know. I already update with all the alacrity (I got that spelled right on the first try! Go me!) of a brain-dead slug. But I do my best! So please don't give up on me! And never be afraid of telling me what you think, about my writing or plot (especially my writing), and don't be insulted if I don't use your ideas.
And thank you for your concern about the collective health of my family. I swear, I think some bad luck genie really has it our for my family, because not one week after my foot healed, I caught one heck of cold, and I was blowing my nose and sneezing my brains out all through my classes on Thursday and Friday. It SUCKED.
I promise I won't let it affect my writing. But... if you see more typos than usual, please let me know. I just hope this god-forsaken cold doesn't go to my brain.
Chapter 7
-Annabeth
The sun was getting dangerously close to the horizon by the time the leader of the bandits decided to stop. It was my second day of walking, and my whole body was one enormous bruise. Yesterday night, the man who seemed to be in charge of me – called "Purk" by his companions – had tied my hands to the saddle of their horse, which was a surprisingly effective way to prevent escape. The horse was a high-strung, nervous creature, and I couldn't reach the knot without disturbing her. Purk was a particularly disgusting individual, with greasy blondish hair, rough hands, a nose that held remarkable similarities to a piece of cauliflower and narrow, squinty eyes, in addition to the filthy bandage on his arm. As much as I desperately wanted to pretend he didn't exist and spare my corneas further damage, I paid close attention to him and all his habits.
After all, if I ever wanted to avenge Percy and leave Purk to bleed out in the dust, I had to know as much as I could.
Anyway, I expected that I would be tied to the poor horse once more, but instead I was bound loosely to a tree branch. If I hadn't been so tired, I would have been suspicious. As it was, I collapsed on the ground.
In my defense, I had been walking for nearly nine hours straight two days in a row in hot sun with little water and a few handfuls of half-cooked deer meat. I have better stamina than most, but I was still about three quarters dead.
The bandits set up camp, pulling out rations of moldy food probably stolen from innocent travelers a week or two ago and bottles of the cheapest, most rancid beer I have ever had the misfortune to be near. As always, they tossed vulgarities and dirty jokes back and forth as they worked. I tried to block them out, but my empty stomach refused to let me slip into the comforting depths of unconsciousness. This turned out to be a good thing, because not a half hour after we stopped, I spotted a caravan heading towards us.
It was reasonably large, with a half dozen wagons packed to the gills with enormous crates and a good twenty or thirty guards, all cut from the same cloth as my captors; greasy, muscular and cruel.
As the caravan approached, I sat up, interested enough to momentarily banish my body's various complaints. Looking at the crates, I got a lump in my throat. They were moving, as if whatever was inside was alive and wanted out. With sudden clarity, I remembered the bandit's words when I was first kidnapped. "Them slave traders like sub-humans, but they'll always take a pretty girl too, won't they, boys?" That was a slave caravan. I was a slave. Oh, crap.
(In retrospect, I can't believe it took me that long to connect the dots. Why did I think they bothered to keep me alive? Shame, Annabeth, shame!)
The caravan settled itself in a semi-circle, and now that I was paying attention I realized that the ground showed the caravan's tracks driven deep into the dirt. This was a meeting place, or at least an often-used campsite.
Purk grabbed my rope and tugged me to my feet. I considered struggling, but decided against it. Better to seem timid from now on. My new guards might get lazy, though if they try to put me in a crate, I don't see how lax security will help my chances any.
As Purk dragged me over to a gathering of the slave traders, I heard a snarling sound come from one of the crates. It was distinctly animalistic, probably feline. My heart skipped a beat. If I recalled correctly, then the bandit had mentioned that slave traders preferred sub-humans. Sub-humans? What had I gotten myself into?
One man stepped forward. Short, with long, red hair and a clever, sadistic face, he was clearly the leader, and stuck out like a sore thumb. He shook hands with the leader of the bandit group, a six-and-a-half foot brute named Hugo, and turned to me.
"She's all we got this time 'round, Red. We was in Crimea, mostly," Hugo commented. "So, no sub-humans. But we didn't want ta come empty-handed." He shook his head. "Poor pickin's there, nowadays. The merchants are gettin' smart an' hirin' guards. Mercenaries makin' trouble too. We was thinkin' we'd head out towards Daein, after we dropped 'er off with you." He gestured at me. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eyes. I'd never heard him sound that nervous before.
"Red" put his hands under my chin and turned my face this way and that. I only barely resisted the temptation to bite his fingers. "Humans are hard to sell," he said finally. "Especially ones that aren't much use in the fields. I can't give you much for her." His accent and grammar were considerably more sophisticated that Hugo's, but his tone was condescending and nasal.
Hugo looked indignant. "She was hard to come by. Travelin' in a group, she was. Her boyfriend put paid to four of my boys afore Purk got to 'im." I noticed that Hugo had credited my two kills to Percy, for which I was thankful. I didn't want Red to know just how good I was with a dagger. Involuntarily, I cast a dark look in Purk's direction. I couldn't help it. He was puffing out his chest, an unbearably smug look on his face. If Percy had been a full strength, he could have torn every one of these imbeciles to scraps!
From the amused smirk on Red's face, I gathered that he was more observant than my previous traveling companions. I glared at him, which earned me a superior chuckle. "Not my problem, Hugo. But I like her spunk, so I'll give you a hundred fifty gold for her." Hugo immediately began to protest, but Red silenced him with a wave of his hand. "I'm not finished. I'm short a few boys as well, so I'll hire you and yours. Wages are fifty gold and a flask of good, Begnion beer a week. Interested?"
Apparently he was, because he and the others practically fell over themselves to accept the offer. My rope was secured to the tree branch once more, and the men wandered off to celebrate their new good fortune. Standing over me, Red sneered. "Like I said, your ilk is hard to sell. You're hardly worth a hundred fifty, love, but if we don't find a buyer we can always feed you to the Feral Ones."
Meeting his eyes squarely, I took the bait and asked. "What are the Feral Ones?"
He leered at me. I realized that if he cleaned up and got a haircut, Red could have actually been handsome. Maybe he had been, once, but his face was now firmly set in an ugly sneer. He grabbed my rope and dragged me towards the very last wagon, painted a dark reddish color. A peculiar odor wafted from it, sickly sweet with a harsh, bloody undertone. I dug my feet into the dirt, panicking now, but he was much stronger than me. Tortured growls emanated from the iron-enforced crates. There were four cages on the wagon, each with gaps in between each wood-and-metal slat. One was heavily damaged and empty, but the others…
An enormous saber-toothed tiger stared at me with blood-crazed eyes, drool spilling from his half-open maw. It thrust a paw through the gap closest to me and clawed the air desperately. In another cage, a dull yellow cat about the size of a leopard gnawed on a meaty bone, cracking it easily in half to lick at the marrow. An over-sized black bird reeking of carrion cawed at me angrily, pecking at the door of its crate. It was horrible.
"They make horrible slaves, the Feral Ones," Red said conversationally, gripping my arms and holding me directly in front of the tiger. "But once they're trained, they make excellent soldiers. The problem is their appetite. Our hawk escaped, and went through a half-dozen of my men before I put an arrow in him." He nodded towards the empty cage, and I spotted gouges in the metal that could have been from talons, if a hawk's talons were the size of daggers. "I'll have to take one of the sub-humans and make a new one soon."
Unable to stand the awful stench any longer, I bent over and started retching. My head spun as Red pulled me backwards, laughing. My legs gave way, and he literally dragged me back to the tree and tied me back up, checking each of his knots twice. I choked down some food and water and collapsed on the ground, shaking with leftover adrenaline. My dreams were vague that night, filled with nightmarish images of the Feral Ones. But before I slept I thought about my oath to kill Purk.
I decided that I would kill Red too.
-Nico
Despite Thalia's discovery of dragon tracks, we remained in the little clearing, resting and regaining our strength. I started to experiment more with my powers and discovered that even though my Shadow Travel didn't work at all, I could still control shadows, at least a bit. Rocks didn't respond to me at all, but the whispers of the dead grew stronger with each day. They were loudest at night, but even then I could only pick out a word here and there. I couldn't access the Underworld or sense the Judges, but I could feel the presence of restless spirits. In a few more days, I might even be able to see them, should I happen to encounter any. I doubted there were any this high in the mountains, so I'd have to wait and see.
Thalia had no such luck. Though she still was unusually prone to shocking people (me) with static electricity, she couldn't manage to create actual sparks. Her Hunter abilities, however, were intact, except for her ability to magically vaporize her bow and knife. Now she had to carry them on her back, which she didn't seem to mind very much.
It was actually kind of fun. Thalia taught me how to set snares for my food, and we cautiously began to experiment in which plants were safe to eat. I already knew how to build a fire, but she taught me how to cook my prey over it, and it turned out I wasn't as bad in the woods as both of us had thought.
I guess we should have known it wouldn't last.
Our third night at our little camp was quiet, except for the ghostly murmurs only I could hear. Then, Thalia straightened up, looking around suspiciously.
"What is it?"
"I thought I heard – "And then the night was shattered by a thunderous, reptilian roar. A dragon plunged through the tree tops, red scales glittering in the moonlight. I barely caught a glimpse of it before a clawed foreleg blindsided me and I went flying into the trees. My head slammed into the trunk of a pine tree and I saw stars. I landed with my arms and legs at awkward angles on the ground, blood trickling down the side of my skull and my side already throbbing from the dragon's blow. I managed to push myself up onto my hands and knees, but then the world spun dizzily around me and everything went black.
When I woke up, Thalia and the dragon were gone.
A/N: DUN DUN DUN! I just love my cliffhangers... muhahah- ACHOO! *scrambles for a tissue, completely destroying any impression of evil intelligence or dignity*
-FAIL-
dang it...