MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate
WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.
NOTES: Thanks to Iiidog5, Queen Alexandera's Birdwing, MeganLeBlanc, KittyKat, Neela4232, Mia lovely and Guest for reviewing this chapter!
In response to Mia lovely's review: There will be less focus on Dess' brothers and more focus on Luke and his relationship with Dess starting next chapter. Also, I'm not going to switch POVs at all in this story. I might do a few oneshots in Luke's POV eventually.
Disclaimer: I don't own the PJO series, and any dialogue you recognize was copied out of the Sea of Monsters, so obviously Rick Riordan owns it.
Chapter 8: Mr. D Throws the Cannibal Overboard
We're all gonna die soon. That's what's been going around camp. People are whispering about it, their faces grim as they prepare for the slaughter they think is inevitable. No one believes that Clarisse or Percy and Annabeth and Tyson will get back in time–or at all. Any day now Thalia's tree is going to die, and the rest of us will soon follow.
Cheerful outlook, isn't it? I'm not sure I completely agree with it. I think Clarisse and the others can pull it off–if they work together. Unfortunately, I don't think that's very likely. Oh well. I just thought of something; if we all die, who's going to burn our shrouds? Heck, forget burning them, who's going to make them?
…All right, so I might be catching the doomsday-is-coming bug. It's not my fault. The atmosphere around here is just so depressing; sometimes it's hard to resist the urge to simply give in. To give up on Thalia's pine tree, on Camp Half-Blood–on everything.
The sound of a conch shell being blown in the distance tells me it's dinnertime. I glance up and see that my brothers have abandoned their various metalworking projects and are leaving the Armory. The amateurs use Arts and Crafts to forge weapons, which sucks for them because the building burned down after a Draco Aionius attacked it.
I throw down the hair clip/Hunter's bow I'm currently working on (Apollo asked me to make something for his sister's Hunters in the last note he sent me, and even though I don't like them I feel it would be hazardous to my health to refuse) and head out the door after my siblings.
Eventually we join the mass of demigods and satyrs (though it's a smaller mass than usual, as many campers are in the infirmary) who are trudging up the hill to the mess hall. As we walk, I catch sight of a familiar head of dark-blond hair among the sea of orange T-shirts. I clap a hand on Gareth's shoulder and gesture to the girl who is stranded in the crowd of campers. At my brother's nod, I break away from my siblings and make my way over to the eleven year old who's head only comes up to my waist.
When I reach her I ask, "Need some help, Isabel? How come Elliot's not around?"
With a relieved tone she answers the first question. "Yes please."
As I assist her I ask again: "And Elliot is where, exactly?"
"Oh, Tantalus wanted to talk to him so he left the Arena early." Her words are accompanied by a bright smile.
"And none of the other boys would help you out?" The disgust in my voice is poorly concealed.
"Well they got me this far," she says. "But then they said they smelled food and they all ran off. It's all right, though, I don't mind."
Anger rises in me, directed partly at her brothers and partly at Isabel herself. I hate it when she does this. I hate how whenever people treat her like dirt she just waves her hand like it's no big deal. If Clarisse were here, the sons of Ares would have their heads bashed together. But Clarisse isn't here, and Isabel won't stand up for herself. I mean that figuratively, of course. After all, it's not as if she can in the literal sense anymore…
"You would think that at least Sherman would have the decency to offer a hand." The words are accusing; blame is injected into every syllable.
The younger girl is quiet for a second. "It wasn't his fault, Dess."
I cast a disbelieving look at her. "Not his fault? How can you say that? He left you alone in the woods with only a sword that you couldn't even lift to defend yourself."
"But he didn't know what would happen!" Isabel protests. "He didn't know that that Myrmeke would be there."
"He knew there were a lot of monster in there," I retort. "He knew there was a good chance that you would get hurt. He knew there was a possibility that you would die."
"But I didn't. I'm all right; I'm still alive. So it's fine. I didn't lose my life."
"No," I agree, and when I continue the bitterness in my voice is very apparent. "Instead you lost the ability to walk and you're stuck in a wheel chair for the rest of your life." I immediately feel bad for bringing it up, because Isabel's lip starts to quiver like she's about to cry.
"Don't get me wrong, Isabel, it's better that you're in a wheel chair than in a grave. But Sherman and your other brothers should taken better care of you. Chiron and Mr. D should have taken better care of you." 'I should have taken better care of you' is what I'm thinking, but I don't say it because I know it will upset her.
"Let's not talk about this anymore," she pleads.
I stare straight ahead. "Fine."
I continue to wheel her chair toward the pavilion, ignoring the roar of the silence.
After saying a tense goodbye to Isabel I rejoin my brothers at table nine. Oddly enough, I'm not late for dinner. So I sit and wait for Tantalus to give his usual beginning-of-the-meal-speech which somehow always involves food and death and Percy Jackson. Honestly, I'm starting to think that guy is obsessed with the son of Poseidon.
However, to everyone's intense surprise, just as Tantalus opens his mouth to speak Mr. D gets off his lazy butt and unleashes a sliver of his pent-up frustration. "Yes, yes, we know; you like cheese omelettes and wish Jackson would die a horrible, painful death. So do I, but you don't see me announcing it at every meal. Now," he turns to the campers and snaps, "what are you brats waiting for? Just eat your damn dinner."
We obey, piling food onto our plates and then getting up, one cabin at a time, to throw part of our dinner into the bronze brazier. When it's my turn, I scrape the juiciest barbecued steak I have into the flames, which seems to surprise my brothers. Normally I just toss in the first edible thing I see. It's a wonder my dearest father hasn't vaporized me yet.
"Hephaestus," I murmur, and then add: "Hey, Pops, do me a favour for once in my crappy, miserable life and get rid of the cannibal for me, will you?"
No response except an intoxicating aroma which is some sort of combination of fresh coffee, chocolate chip cookies still cooling, and buttered popcorn that's in the process of popping in the microwave. Huh. Usually my burnt offering smells like a mixture of rotting fish and sewage. I hope my dad doesn't expect this wonderful fragrance from now on. I don't want to sacrifice the best portion of my meal to him EVERYday.
I take a seat between Zeth and Beckendorf and dig in. I cut my steak at lightning speed and then shovel the pieces into my mouth. I swallow them rapidly, barely pausing to chew–or breathe, for that matter.
"There she goes again." Beckendorf shakes his head in amusement. "Inhaling her food like it's going to disappear at any moment."
"It might. You never know," I respond with my mouth still full.
"Hey, wait a second," Jake objects. "If I had said that to you, you would've told me to shut my mouth."
"Well, yeah. What's your point?" I ask, though I already know where this is going.
Jake pouts, but he doesn't look too weird because he's still a child to me. "How come Beckendorf gets special treatment?"
"Because I'm just awesome like that." Beckendorf puffs out his chest, his words dripping with fabricated arrogance. Which is good. I don't think I'd be able to stand it if it wasn't fabricated.
Gareth speaks over his apprentice's fading voice, "No, it's because he fixed the showerhead in Tantalus' bathroom to spray liquid cheese onto the old guy's head. And we all know how much Dess appreciates it when people make Tantalus suffer."
"Don't we all? But that's not why she's giving him preferential treatment." Zeth nods importantly and then continues, "It's obviously because she's secretly started a band dedicated to Justin Beiber and she wants Beckendorf to play drums."
"Okay, first of all, even if I did start a band–which I wouldn't–I would never dedicate it to that Beaver guy. Second, you're all wrong. I'm not giving Beckendorf special treatment; I'm simply taking pity on him because he's going to be enduring a large amount of teasing over the next week." Well, that was a slightly longwinded speech.
"You're lying. You don't have anything on me," Beckendorf tries to sound confident, but uncertainty leaks into his voice.
"You're right, of course." I let out a regretful sigh, and Beckendorf looks thoroughly relieved. I then add, "Unless you count the three hour long video I have of you hiding in the stables, drooling over Silena Beauregard while she hangs out with the Pegasi."
"I–that's–wasn't–absolutely–drooling–ridiculous–" Beckendorf stammers, tripping over his words, until at last he exclaims triumphantly, "You're lying! You don't have a camera; how could you have possibly recorded that?"
"Borrowed Katie Gardner's. You know, that really expensive fancy one that she uses to 'document nature's beauty'? Super high-definition footage. Amazing high-quality sound. The works." I grin at my brother, whose face is now a brilliant cherry red.
Jake and the others immediately pounce on his embarrassment, jeering at him and catcalling. This earns us several odd glances from our fellow campers and a couple of sour glares from Tantalus and Mr. D, but my brothers don't really notice and I don't really care. I'm about to sit back and enjoy my dinner in peace, but of course Jackson chooses that very inconvenient (for me at least) moment to Iris-message camp.
My fork is halfway to my mouth when I notice the air in the middle of the pavilion start to shiver. How does air shiver? I don't know. Maybe shiver isn't the right word. It sort of flickers between the actual pavilion and an image of two boys conversing while a crowd of monsters and demigods observe.
There's a definite tension in the air, as if they're all waiting for a fight to start. In fact, a sword is appearing the hand of the boy who is facing us–Percy Jackson, without a doubt; his hair is black, his eyes green. And if Jackson is there… I scan the background and feel relieve when I note that Annabeth, Tyson, and Grover (yes, I was worried about Grover, but don't tell anyone, okay?) are there, too.
My heart sinks, though, when I realize that: one, Clarisse isn't with them; two, they all look like they've been to Hades and back; and three, they all look incredibly panicked, like they're in some kind of danger. Which is pretty obvious, considering there are monsters everywhere.
Then the boy who has his back to us speaks: "This is no time for heroics, Percy. Drop your puny little sword, or I'll have you killed sooner rather than later."
My blood freezes. I would recognize that voice anywhere, even though it's distorted by loathing and anger and bitterness; even though it's been almost a year since I've heard it. I recognize it–of course I do, it's more familiar to me than the sound of my own laughter–, but I don't want to. I want both of the boys to shut up. I want the Iris-message to stop. I don't want to see this, to hear this. I don't want to feel this pain.
But of course they keep going. "Who poisoned Thalia's tree, Luke?" Percy demands. I flinch when I hear his name. Maybe some part of me was still hoping it wasn't him. But there's really no denying it. All I can see of him is the back of his sandy-blond head, but I know that if he turns around his eyes will be blue; his face marred by a scar on one side.
"I did, of course." He snarls the words. "I already told you that."
I feel like someone has stabbed me with a knife. I knew that he poisoned the tree. I knew it. But I wanted so badly to believe otherwise. A hand falls on my shoulder–Zeth. It occurs to me for the first time that the other campers and Mr. D and Tantalus are all seeing this, too.
Every last occupant of cabin eleven–the Hermes cabin–has anger written all over their face. Even the unclaimed kids and the children of the minor gods looked up to Luke and were stung by his betrayal. The Athena campers are throwing anxious glances at Annabeth, worried for her. Meanwhile, Isabel and the sons of Ares are all freaking out about Clarisse's absence–they do care, even if they don't always show it.
The only people who are totally unaffected by what's happening are Mr. D and Tantalus. They both look bored out of their minds. Tantalus is trying to snag a cheeseburger and Mr. D is tracing the rim of his wine glass (which is entirely wine-free) with his index finger.
It's amazing how quickly the brain notices these small details. Luke doesn't even pause after his previous words and simply continues, "I used elder python venom, straight from the depths of Tartarus."
"Chiron had nothing to do with it?" Percy asks, even though we all already know the answer.
"Ha! You know he would never do that. The old horse man wouldn't have the guts," Luke sneers.
The second the words leave his mouth, I see red. The pain fades; anger takes its place. That bastard did not just insult Chiron using my nickname for the centaur. Zeth feels me stiffen and shoots me a warning glance, like he thinks I'm suddenly going to start screaming bloody murder at Luke and blow our cover. I ignore his cautionary look. I don't need it; I'm not that stupid.
"You call it guts? Betraying your friends? Endangering the whole camp?" Despite my mild dislike of Percy, I have to applaud him (silently, of course) for saying that. He's got his priorities straight: friends come first.
Luke makes a sort of upward motion with his right arm; I have a feeling he's lifting his sword. "You don't understand the half of it. I was going to let you take the Fleece…once I was done with it."
There's a slight pause during which we all ponder his words. Even from here, I can almost see the gears turning in Annabeth's head, like her mind is going at a million miles an hour. To my shock, Mr. D tenses, and I realize that he is paying attention. He looks like he's ignoring the entire conversation, but really he's listening intently and is absorbing every word.
Jackson is the first to snap out of his trance. "You were going to heal Kronos."
"Yes! The Fleece's magic would've sped his mending process by tenfold. But you haven't stopped us, Percy. You've only slowed us down a little." I know without being told that Luke's eyes are full of blazing triumph.
"And so you poisoned the tree, you betrayed Thalia, you set us up–all to help Kronos destroy the gods." I can tell that he's trying to incense Luke, to anger him.
I can practically hear Luke's teeth clench. "You know that! Why do you keep asking me?"
Percy responds immediately, his voice brimming with satisfaction: "Because I want everybody in the audience to hear you."
"What audience?" he asks, sounding extremely aggravated. He glances over his shoulder, and the second he sees the Iris-message hanging in midair he whirls around to face the campers that are staring at him in shock, horror, and anger. His flunkies follow his lead, but they all gasp and scramble backward as soon as they see us.
Looking mildly interested, Mr. D comments with a sarcastic tone, "Well, some unplanned dinner entertainment."
"Mr. D, you heard him. You all heard Luke. The poisoning of the tree wasn't Chiron's fault," Jackson addresses the campers as though we're the ones who accused the centaur of committing the crime and then fired him.
Dionysus lets out a long sigh, his face slightly doubtful like he can't believe he was wrong. Then he swallows his pride and says, "I suppose you're right."
I can practically feel the pressure in the campers. Chiron's name is cleared. That means he'll be coming back to camp. And if he's returning as our activities director, then that means...
Tantalus offers his opinion, though he's barely paying attention as he's still trying to grab his cheeseburger. "This Iris-message could be a trick."
"I fear not." He sneers at Tantalus, his voice dripping with disdain. "It appears I shall have to reinstate Chiron as activities director. I suppose I do miss the old horses' pinochle games."
I bristle at that. What is it with people stealing my nickname for Chiron today? Well, okay, Mr. D didn't copy me exactly, but still… Annoyed, I glance away from the wine god. Instead, I gaze at Annabeth and the others, at the monsters who are still standing there with their mouths hanging open, staring stupidly at the shimmering image above them.
My face tightens when I see all the demigods on the ship (at least I think it's a ship; it looks like one, from what I can see of it, only there's no large body of water in sight), the same demigods who deserted camp and joined Kronos. I pass over them quickly, trying to ignore the fact that I can see Clarisse's old crush, Chris Rodriguez, standing there with all the traitors. I disregard the urge to punch him. Normally I wouldn't even try to resist, but seeing as it's physically impossible for me to hit him through an Iris-message, I make an exception this time.
As I attempt to avoid looking at Rodriguez, I accidentally meet Luke's eyes. Anyone looking at Luke right now would just think he was staring at the campers in general. But I can see his eyes boring into mine across the distance.
We stare at each other, and I suddenly feel like I'm seventeen all over again. The space between us seems loaded with electricity; there's an intensity there that has nothing to do with all the horrible things he's done. In fact, his sins are the farthest thing from my mind right now.
Instead I'm remembering what it was like when we were dating (yes, I dated Luke, I'll explain it to you later), how there would be that almost tangible tension hanging in the air whenever we locked eyes, how the only thing that would grant me release was his touch.
And for a second I want all of that back. I want to go back to the way things were not even a year ago, when I was more certain that I could trust him than I was that the sun would rise the next morning (which is actually quite reasonable, considering that Apollo isn't the most reliable god around). But I can't. Being with him would be turning my back on Clarisse and Isabel and my brothers.
Luke is still staring at me, and I can't understand his expression. Filled with a sudden rage, I raise my hand and flip him the bird. His lips twitch upwards and he smiles just a little. Then he turns away. Instantly, all of the tension drains out of my body.
I look back at Mr. D just in time to see Tantalus grasp the cheeseburger with his thin fingers. He stares at it in awe, lifting it from his plate tentatively like he half expects it to leap out of his hands. Which is what's supposed to happen.
"I got it!" he crows with delight.
Mr. D's face is almost smug. "We are no longer in need of your services, Tantalus," he proclaims.
Tantalus blissful expression vanishes. "What? But–"
"You may return to the Underworld. You are dismissed." I can practically feel the pressure building, almost at it's maximum capacity.
"No! But–Nooooooooooo!" he howls. In a final, desperate attempt to eat food, he tries to shove the burger into his mouth, but it's too late. When he disappears, his cheeseburger doesn't go with him. And as it lands lightly on his plate, the pressure in the campers finally reaches its limit.
We explode all at once, cheering ourselves hoarse. The children of Athena start laughing like hyenas. The Stoll brothers do a victory dance while the Ares kids bellow, "Oh heck yes!" Katie Gardner bursts into tears of happiness and Lee Fletcher pounds on his table triumphantly. The Aphrodite girls squeal and hug each other, while Dionysus' twins climb onto their table and recite a chant that they came up with on the spot, which almost makes their father smile.
My brothers stand up and clap, and I follow their lead. Vaguely, I wonder if my father actually answered my prayer or if it's just coincidence that I happened to ask him to get rid of Tantalus right before Tantalus was kicked out of camp. I guess it doesn't really matter in the end, 'cause he's gone either way.
I meet Luke's eyes again, and this time I don't feel that strange, painful longing for a time that's already passed. Defiantly, I yell out, "Take that, you slimy, traitorous piece of Minotaur crap!" Which is probably the most pathetic insult I've ever come up with, but hey, it works. In fact, if his actions next are anything to go by, it works a little too well.
He lets out a roar of rage, then raises his sword and destroys whatever it is (a fountain, I think) that was creating a rainbow. The last thing I see is him glaring at me, and then the Iris-message dissolves completely.
Most of the campers stop cheering. I suddenly feel incredibly stupid. Because yes, I got the satisfaction of pissing Luke off, and yes, Tantalus is gone. But so is our only way of seeing what's happening to Percy and the others.
It's amazing, really, how fast the mood can change here. One second we're screaming ourselves hoarse with joy, and the next we're all exchanging bleak glances, blood freezing in our veins as we sit here with no way of knowing if our fellow campers are dead or alive.
Author's Note: I promise that I will most likely never reference Justin Beiber in this story again.
Reviews are appreciated.