Ahem. So...Shrrg here. Sorry about the wait; we've both been REALLY busy. Seriously. You try juggling four writing projects at the same time and see how it works out for ya. Anyway, we won't bore you with a long author's note-enjoy!
In a word: School. Bleh. And aside from that, I decided to take a short break that turned into three weeks before I noticed that it had-and then it took another three weeks for us to get the chapter written because of aforementioned busy-ness. We're through it now, however (and many, many, many thanks to Shrrg for writing like... half the chapter with me), and should be back to the usual 'week-or-two' pace.
The Crusades?
It'd been over three hours since Marcus dropped that bombshell and I still did a double take just remembering the way he said it. I mean, ignoring the fact that I couldn't actually tell whether or not he was just lying for a laugh, how the hell does somebody talk about being eight centuries old like it's nothing?
I breathed out a long sigh, massaging my sinuses as I fell back to sit on the edge of my bed for the night. The din of the Hermes cabin's inhabitants making their last rounds of cons, petty thefts and terrible jokes at everybody else's expense had long since faded to dull background noise, and I thought back over the evening.
I had a lot to think about.
Marcus started heading back down the hill with a wave of his arm and one of his warm chuckles. "Come on," he called over his shoulder, metal clinking and clanking softly as his plate-and-mail armor shifted around. "They're bound to be getting dinner started by now. I'll take you over to the pavilion."
I just blinked a few times, digesting the idea that a man could be over eight-hundred years old and not look older than thirty, tops. I mean, I'd heard of old men who keep themselves in good shape, but this was just all sorts of ridiculous-and that was even factoring in the new definition of 'ridiculous' that I was starting to develop after everything that had happened to me today. The clink-crunch of an armored man walking through snow started to grow faint, snapping me out of my confusion long enough to hurry after the walking, talking thirty-year-old who was apparently older than the country he was walking around in.
"What do you mean 'the Crusades?'" I demanded, jogging over grass and softly crunching the dusting of snow atop it. "You don't even look as old as my dad, much less- how?"
I nearly bumped right into the man as he stopped, and soon the mail-clad giant was standing before me with arms crossed, looking me up and down like he was considering something. "You are very stubbornly curious for someone who almost died twice in one day," he pointed out thoughtfully, blue eyes looking me up and down with... well, I don't know what it was. Imagine the 'cut through the B.S.' look an experienced cop has, the kind of gaze your principal has when he's telling you he can be your friend or your enemy and the weight of experienced wisdom you can see when one of your grandparents starts telling a story, all wrapped up in just a little bit of the seen-too-much stare of a soldier in Vietnam from the pictures in your history books.
He repeated, "Stubbornly curious," almost to himself, neck-length hair waving back and forth as he nodded. A rough grunt escaped into the air, surprising me when I realized that it came from the man who, moments ago, looked like the friendliest son-of-a-... gun in the world. "I'll tell you what, Alexander," he said after a moment, voice softening a bit but startling me with the use of my last name, "I'll talk to Chiron tonight after dinner, get you to myself tomorrow afternoon. We'll talk and I'll explain a couple of things... but you'll need to do the same for me."
He turned away from me again, arms dropping back to his sides before he started leading me toward what I was starting to be able to recognize as a cluster of picnic tables-they were huge picnic tables around the biggest fire I'd ever seen that didn't involve a house, granted, but that didn't make them any less picnic-y. Marcus didn't say anything as we walked, and to be honest I was kind of glad; it's hard to talk to a man when he's got an air of hard thought and consideration weightier than even the most troubled king.
The corner of a pillow skimmed across my cheek, snapping me out of the day's events and back to the Hermes cabin. Chiron had decided to put me in here, after dinner, to keep up appearances of a new demigod. I suppose I couldn't really argue with it, what with mortals in the camp being rarer than an honest politician, but as I stretched across my bunk mattress to grab the fallen pillow, I wondered why-since the idea of taking me homehadn't seemed to have crossed anybody's mind-he couldn't have just kept me in the Big House.
That way I wouldn't be returning stray pillows every seventeen seconds instead of actually sleeping. "Nico," I called across the cabin, standing up for something like the third time in as many minutes, "Quit throwing pillows at...whichever Stoll that is." The kid was extremely touchy about his Mythomagic stuff, and hadn't taken kindly to having his miniatures scattered all over the place. "We can hunt them down tomorrow." I glanced around the cabin for a moment, making sure to catch the gaze of everybody looking my way before adding on pointedly, "I'm sure if anybody finds one before we do, they'll put it by your stuff."
I honestly didn't expect anyone to hold up that end of the arrangement, but it got Nico to abandon his newly acquired target. I watched with a bit of a sigh as the ten year old tossed the pillow onto the floor and pulled his blankets over his head, but I supposed harrumphing was better than yet another feathery civil war between the whole cabin-twice was more than enough for one evening. Another quick glance around to make sure nobody else was getting any ideas... and then I caught Steph's eyes for a second. What was she looking... oh, right. Yeah, I forgot about that: my clothes had mysteriously disappeared during shower hour, and unlike for Nico new pajamas hadn't appeared to take their place. (Apparently the pajama fairies didn't deliver to mortals. Jerks.) So there I was, stuck with what I'd managed to scrounge from the communal "cleaner-than-the-rest" laundry pile: sweatpants and no shirt.
Now don't get me wrong, I didn't think I looked bad or anything like that, I just... wasn't really used to actually being noticed like that. I guess that happens when you make a habit out of wearing a hoodie and loose jeans for something like five years. I cleared my throat, pulling the covers back up over myself and turning in the other direction.
Shut up, I was notbeing shy.
-
You wouldn't have thought Marcus had been anything but cheerful over the past however-long as we started closing the last few feet before the first table. His expression softened, stride becoming a little easier as he crunched a path through toward Chiron over the snow-dusted ground. There was a friendly greeting, a quick conversation, and soon I was led over to a table. Of course, given the food, cards and firecrackers all flying around, I'm surprised there was much table left.
"Hermes table, all the new kids get to sit here for a while," Marcus said almost apologetically, offering a shrug before ducking under the path of a flying sparkler. Where the hell did they getsparklers this time of year?
I checked to make sure I wasn't in the way of any more explosives before turning back to Marcus... who was now many banquet tables away from me and safely out of range of any explosions or flying barbecue sauce. The things I grumbled as he sat down next to a few golden-haired teenagers were probably best left unrepeated.
"...son of a kraken," I finished. I would have tried to sneak over and sit next to Chris at what must have been Apollo's table, but nobody in the Camp was colorblind and I couldn't dye my hair from black to blonde in under a minute. Then a flimsy sauce packet flew by and I started looking for an open seat so I could keep my hair from getting dyed barbecue.
"Hey, loser!" called a girl from further down the table. I bristled before I realized she wasn't talking to me. "Move your butt and let the new guy sit down!"
At a normalcamp, there wouldn't have been any need to move. There were only a handful of kids in the Hermes cabin-two guys who looked like twins, the girl who had shouted, a young kid in an over-sized aviator jacket who was fiddling with some sort of trading cards, and me-but somehow they managed to fill up the whole banquet table on their own. One of the twins pulled back a rubber band and sent it whistling at the girl's face, then moved over cheerfully.
I hadn't realized how incredibly, impossibly starving I was until I smelled the food.
Apparently, even at the epicenter of insanity people need to eat, and for the first time I actually believed that this place might be blessed by the gods. Dryads and satyrs (amazing what you can get used to in a day, isn't it?) scurried around the pavilion, setting down platters of hot ribs, fresh steak, grilled drumsticks and wagon-wheel-sized pizzas with the cheese still sizzling. My stomach made a sound I'd only ever heard in monster movies.
A nervous-looking goat-guy handed me a plate and a goblet, chirped "Welcome-to-Camp-Half-Blood!" and bolted before I could thank him. It was probably a smart reaction to anyone sitting at the Hermes table.
I helped myself to two slices of pizza and all the ribs I could fit on my plate, but before I could take so much as a bite, something stung me on the head.
"Ow! What the-"
I was cut off by a "HA!" of triumph and a condescending "Better luck next time, Steph!" Rubbing my temple, I looked down at my plate and found the rubber band that my neighbor-Travis-had shot down the table a minute ago. Apparently, its intended target had been generous enough to return it, with interest. Her aim could use some work, though.
"Sorry," she called down the row, sounding remarkably insincere. She stood up, and I noticed people all around were doing the same thing.
"Come on," Travis said. "We have to make our offerings." At least, I thought it was Travis, before I realized that he was to my right and the voice was coming from behind me.
"Offerings?" piped the kid with the cards.
"Yep," the other Travis answered, indicating his plate. "Pick a rib, toss it into the fire, and dedicate it to whichever god your parent is."
I glanced down to my own plate, trying to determine whether I should sacrifice pizza or a piece of chicken as I asked, "And if we don't know who that is?" I mean, it's not like you could just ask them, so there had to be some kind of-
"Ask them!" one of the twins, now walking off next to each other, called out. The other one laughed, and I had a moment of silence for the last of my sanity.
I finally decided to put a piece of pizza to the flame while I extricated myself from the picnic table bench-those things are always a giant pain to get out of, no matter how agile you are-but that still left a major problem: Who was I supposed to make the sacrifice to?
My stomach kicked insistently at the rest of my body as if to say 'Hey, give me a sacrifice!', but I figured it could wait. After all, as much as it wanted tribute, my stomach wasn't an all-powerful being who could remove me from existence. As far as I knew.
Name. I needed a name. Did they frown upon blurting out the first god who came to mind? I mean, everybody knew who Zeus was...and the Hermes cabin had taken me in, but that was mostly because they had to...
And probably because I had stuff to ta-... How long had my phone been gone? I dropped my left hand and tapped the pocket, checking to see if the thing just didn't shift into a spot I couldn't feel it. Usually it rested right against my leg, and I knew I didn't drop it!
There was a familiar snicker from somewhere around waist-level. I looked down to find the little redhead from before, bright blue eyes sparking with mischief as she pulled a veryfamiliar shiny-black rectangle out of her pocket.
"I was wondering when you'd notice," she said casually, tossing it back. While I fumbled with the unexpected catch, she winked impishly and put a few of those silver girl scouts between us. Figures she'd hide behind all the angry uber-feminists before I could get to her.
"Ari." From somewhere in the silvery crowd came a tired sigh that didn't quite manage to keep out a definite note of affection.
Ari gave an unapologetic shrug, plucking a particularly juicy rib off her plate and tossing it lightly into the flames before dodging past another pair of legs and back toward her table. I looked up to find the same silver circlet and brown eyes from before, and this time they weren't glaring at me. Zoë actually smiled slightly as the little red and silver blur disappeared again, turning her attention to the plate in her hands. She glanced it over, decided on a thick piece of steak, and tipped it into the flame with a care that bordered on tenderness.
"Artemis," she murmured softly, and something about her voice caught my attention. The surrounding half-bloods had been respectful when they named their parent god; but it was the kind of respect you would give to any parent you looked up to. Zoë, on the other hand, sounded...reverent, like she was doing something a whole lot more important than burning a piece of steak.
I glanced around the sea of silver, watching each girl make her sacrifice with the same kind of care. They didn't really linger, tossing in their piece of food before heading back to the Girl Scout table-all except Zoë, who was watching the fire as if to make sure her steak burned in exactly the right way. It was a big change from the arrogant teenager who'd glared at me on the hill.
Zoë stole a quick look up high before heading back to her table. "Alright," I mumbled to myself, following her gaze up to the big, silver almost-full moon. "Why not?" I tossed my sacrificial pizza into the fire, murmuring the Greek moon goddess' name as I did. It wasn't that I was embarrassed about it, exactly, but seeing as the only other people who were tossing food in for her were the Girl Scouts, I figured being quiet about it wouldn't hurt.
Of course, once you turn around to find one of the silver Girl Scouts had been standing behind you the whole time, it doesn't really matter how quiet you were. "Ah... hi," I offered, lacking no amount of nervous awkwardness. I mean, what do you do when somebody who probably doesn't like you overhears you praying to their patron deity? Wars have been fought over that kind of thing!
Strangely, the pale blonde didn't seem to mind. After the initial shock passed, she gave a slow, pretty smile, cocking her head thoughtfully like she was inspecting me. "Hello," she replied cheerfully. There was something weird about her gaze-something just slightly off-but at least she wasn't trying to stab me with anything.
Then again, I thought as I heard an impatient woof, maybe she's not the one who'd be doing the stabbing. I followed the sound down to about level with my waist, and for a moment I had to ponder a very glaring question. That is, how the hell did I not notice the wolf?
"Wuff,"it said again, irritably.
"Oh, hush," chided the blonde. "You just want your dinner." Looking back up with a charming smile, she brushed a strand of hair back from her face and said politely, "I'm sorry. Owen's a bit touchy, he's not used to so many people. May I?" she added, holding up a half-rack of ribs and nodding toward the fire.
"Er, right. Yeah," I mumbled, stepping off to the side. The girl nodded to me, then stepped up and made her offering. Once again I was struck by the warmth in her voice, but there was something else as she spoke her goddess' name. It was like she was thanking Artemis for some huge favor that could never be fully repaid.
After a moment, she frowned slightly and lifted her head, looking around at where I'd been standing. Her wolf looked at the empty space, too, then seemed to decide that the barbecue sauce on her fingertips was more important, and also tasted better. Shrugging off whatever that had been, she wiped the wolf slobber off her hand and followed the creature back toward the Girl Scout table, scolding him lightly.
She slipped my mind the minute I sat back down at the Hermes table and took my first, huge bite of steaming pizza.
Chiron could keep his battery acid; thiswas the nectar of the gods.
Somewhere around the third huge slice, I came up for air. The pandemonium had resolved itself into a more normal atmosphere, even at the Hermes table; Travis, the girl with the rubber bands and Other Travis had apparently called a truce in favor of bringing out a deck of cards. Other Travis, in between bites of pizza, was explaining the rules of poker to the younger kid, Nico. I could only assume he had another deck slipped up his sleeve; not even a ten year old kid could be losing that badly in ten minutes.
Other Travis-Connor, according to Actual Travis-laid his cards on the table with a huge grin. "Royal Flush, all spades," he said to the others, drawing a frustrated groan out of Steph the rubber-band girl. The younger kid had been showing a remarkable lack of interest after the second hand, but who could really blame him with how badly the smirking twins were beating him? This time he looked down to his cards, back up to Connor's Royal Flush and down again a few times, like he thought he saw a problem but wasn't sure. I slid a little closer to look at his hand... an Ace of Spades!
"Find some extra cards?" I asked pointedly, tapping the kid's arm. He lowered his own cards to the table, giving an accusing 'Hah!' as he pointed to the Ace.
Both of the twins adopted offended looks, sweeping up the cards to re-deal. "I knew you didn't want to play, but cheating? I thought there was some hope for you, Nico!" one of them lamented as he shuffled the deck, making a big show of setting the duplicate Ace off to the side.
Steph wasted no time in jumping on the twins' mistake, grinning far too happily as she went on to become the ten-year-old's impromptu lawyer. I lost track after the first 'I object!', scooting back to my plate and the last piece of pizza, which had started to get cold. Thankfully pizza is one of those things you can eat at any temperature, so I had no issue with finishing off the slice.
For some reason, my goblet was empty; I don't know how the others had gotten soda, but it didn't seem to work for me. Given that I wasat the Hermes table, I felt exactly zero guilt about nabbing Steph's cup.
While I sipped my stolen Mountain Dew, I looked around the pavilion. Our table of five was actually one of the most crowded; most tables had only two or three people, the Apollo table had four only due to the addition of Marcus, and another table inhabited entirely by blondes seemed almost crowded by comparison, with six whole demigods looking deeply worried about something. One was empty. At least two tables served only one person, picking glumly at their food and casting wistful looks at the more populated tables.
Like them, my eyes were inevitably drawn to a table about two-thirds of the way down the row. The silver-clad Girl Scouts-Hunters, the others were calling them-probably amounted to all the rest of the tables put together, and were having at least twice as much fun. A couple of them were arm-wrestling, cheered on enthusiastically by several others. A certain red and silver blur was making off with bits of food; apparently it tasted better if you stole it. Even the wolf had a couple of racks of ribs to gnaw on. It was hard to believe they were carrying bows and knives around only an hour ago, even if the girl who kept winning the arm-wrestles looked like she could bench me.
"Huh," I mumbled to myself. Maybe they actually were more like Girl Scouts once all the fighting and emergencies stopped. I finished the last of Steph's soda, setting the goblet down as I glanced over the last few people at the Hunters' table. The last one caught my attention, a little glimmer of silver right above brown eyes that must have been wandering around the same way mine were. Except... they didn't move.
No, this was the Girl Scout-Hunter, from both times before. With the feeling I got from meeting her eyes even this far away, I suddenly understood why the latter was a much better name. I could feel the same ancient experience from Marcus' eyes in Zoë's and a very dark, predatory quality that made her just as threatening. Like a wolf watching... whatever the high school senior surrounded by god-kids amounted to.
Unlike before, she didn't look through me, and the look in her eyes wasn't unthinking dismissal. She didn't seem to be embarrassed that I'd caught her watching; on the contrary, she met my look evenly, like she was evaluating me. She almost looked pleased when I didn't look away. The weird blonde girl from earlier was talking to her, leaning in earnestly, hands folded, light blue eyes wide and passionate. Her gaze still looked oddly off-focus, and she didn't seem to notice that her conversation partner was staring intently at someone across the room. Zoë's eyes were...oddly open, I realized. There was no haughty mask, no detachment; she looked like she was trying to find the answer to something terribly important, and I was it.
It was actually kind of uncomfortable. I cleared my throat awkwardly and looked away, breaking the contact to check in on the impromptu trial, which had predictably devolved into petty name-calling. Nico was eating Connor's pizza while Steph questioned Travis' masculinity, so I figured her career as a lawyer was off to a good start.
I glanced back at Zoë, but she'd looked away again, this time talking to a different blonde while cutting what had to be a cold steak by now. She nodded in a businesslike manner, glancing down the table to the smaller of the two arm-wrestlers.
"That's Zoë Nightshade," someone said quietly.
I looked down. Nico, oversized aviator jacket and slumped shoulders making him look like a very sad sort of teddy bear, was pushing the crust of Connor's pizza around his plate. He was watching the Hunters too, but he looked depressed instead of curious. "Nightshade. Alright, the name explains why she keeps looking like she's thinking about killing me," I muttered, stealing another quick glance back up. "When did you run into her?"
He perked up slightly. "That's my sister!" he said proudly, pointing to a girl halfway down the Hunter's table. "Bianca." She was one of the ones who'd been arm-wrestling before. She'd apparently given up in favor of helping herself to some chicken, but she was laughing too hard to get it anywhere near her mouth. The (much) bigger girl was grinning widely and ruffling her hair.
"And she joined the Girl Scouts?" I asked, feeling a confused frown tug at my lips. I scanned the table again before pointing out, "They don't seem like the little brother type."
Nico deflated slightly. "Yeah," he muttered. "I can't come with them. And they don't come to Camp much, either."
I reached over to brush a few pizza crumbs off my sleeve, frowning a little harder as he said that. "I guess it can't be that bad, can it? Can't be much worse than having to go back and forth between parents: couple weeks, maybe a month apart?" I finished, reaching over to give the kid's shoulder a squeeze. He mumbled something that sounded kind of like 'Guess so', fiddling with something he'd pulled out of his pocket just a minute ago-a steel Mythomagic miniature. "You know, my brother and I play together whenever we visit each other," I said conspiratorially, grinning as I pointed out the bow-wielding figurine. "Every couple of weeks, maybe a month."
The ten year old looked back up with a bit of surprise, asking if I really did play Mythomagic. I'll admit that Nico played a lot more than I did, but the common ground cheered him up enough for us to start talking and telling stories-and let me tell you, for a ten year old kid Nico di Angelo had a lot of interesting stories.
Whump.
A pillow thumped into the mattress again, but I didn't bother turning around to move it. I was much more focused on the one beneath my head, less and less able to focus at all with each second.
Any bed was comfortable after a long day, and today had been anything but short.