MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate
WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.
NOTES: Thanks to Neela4232 and Lygerastia for reviewing this chapter!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.
Chapter 10: Morpheus Moves Up on My Hit List
As it turns out, we do end up going to the campfire tonight. It's pretty late, but suddenly we're all too hyped up to sleep. So we sit around the flames and the Stolls tell us stories that they deem to be scary. The party ponies aren't paying any attention to the sons of Hermes; instead they're pestering Mr. D for details on all the wild parties he's been too. He looks like he's going to snap and vaporize them all at any moment, but that doesn't discourage them.
Chiron is behaving very differently than his fellow centaurs; it's nice to see him roasting marshmallows for his precious s'mores. Meanwhile, Grover is shoving tin cans into his mouth at lightning speed, occasionally looking up at the night sky like he's never seen anything so beautiful before in his life. Which makes sense, considering he was trapped in a cave for so long.
On either side of the satyr are Percy and Annabeth, both of whom also look delighted to be back at camp. Despite the fact that they did as much, if not more, in retrieving the Fleece then Clarisse did, they don't get any recognition. They don't get lifted up onto people's shoulders or get honoured with laurel wreaths. But I suppose leaving all the glory to Clarisse is a better option than getting turned into shrubs by Dionysus.
And speaking of Clarisse, she's walking up behind the son of Poseidon. I watch her warily, half expecting her to pull out a sword and behead him. But she just shoves him and whispers something–I'm guessing it's not sweet nothings–in his ear. He smiles at her reluctantly, like he just can't help himself. Then he turns back to the flames.
Clarisse, looking slightly irritated, goes to sit with Isabel. I think she's asking the younger girl something, but Isabel just gives her sister the wide eyes and bright smile combo that she has perfected. Seeming a little suspicious and skeptical, Clarisse persists with her questioning and receives only a vigorous nod in return. Looking extremely unwilling, the brunette lets the matter drop. Then she glances around the circle, until finally her eyes come to rest on me.
I grin back at her and she rolls her eyes. Clapping Isabel on the back, she comes over to me and promptly says, "Move your sweater. I'm sitting here."
I obey, placing the yellow hoodie between Jake and me. The boys are going on about some TV show they used to watch (something about rangers and power) so I've been pretty much ignoring them for the last ten minutes.
Clarisse plops down beside me and says, "So I was talking to Isabel." I give her a 'yeah-that-was-kind-of-obvious-I'm-not-blind-you-know' look and, after glaring at me briefly, she continues, "And I was asking Isabel about how the guys treated her while I was gone."
"And? What did she say?" But I have a feeling I already know.
"Nothing. You know her. She just gave me the 'I'm-so-innocent' expression and didn't say anything. So I asked her if they were good to her, and she just nodded. I figured I wouldn't get anything out of her, so now you are going to tell me how things went."
I'm dying to argue with her, just to make her mad, but since this is about Isabel…
"So what are you going to do to them?" I ask her, after I've given her a list of all the people who have insulted/picked on/hurt her little sister in her absence.
"Do? Oh, nothing, of course. I mean, it's not like I would cut off their fingers or anything. That would be against the rules." Her grin is so creepy that I scoot away from her.
She rolls her eyes at me again, which makes me smile because I kind of missed how she used to do that all the time. "Don't be such a wimp. Tell me about all the pranks you pulled on Brookes while I was gone. And there had better be a lot."
"Oh, there are," I assure her.
I tell her all about them for a few minutes, and, by some miracle, she doesn't interrupt me 'til halfway through my enthusiastic retelling of the sixth prank I pulled on Cheryl.
"–and there was this one time where I took a rubber snake and–"
"Hold up a sec."
She narrows her eyes at Sherman, who is grabbing the stick Isabel was using to spear a marshmallow. Clarisse stalks over to Sherman, looking ready to pulverize him. I notice, however, that he's just showing his little sister how to roast the marshmallow exactly right. Huh. Maybe he does feel bad about the incident. Which you already know about, so there's no point in me calling it the incident. Whatever. It's just more dramatic.
I glance away from the war god's children and catch Tyson's eye. And by eye, I actually do mean one eye. He grins at me with crooked teeth and I smile back. I can't believe I was actually afraid of him before. He's such a softie. Tyson spent a lot of time in the forges, tinkering with bits of metal and wires, so by default he spent a lot of time with my brothers and me. I used to bring him jars of peanut butter so he could snack while he worked.
Tyson turns back to his half-brother and starts chattering at him excitedly. Percy laughs and nods and smiles fondly at the Cyclops. Then he leans around Grover to poke Annabeth in the back. She pretends to be murderously angry and, using her index finger, makes a gesture that looks like she's slitting her own throat. Her mock glare is so threatening that Percy holds up his hands apologetically.
I leave them to have their little moment. I look back at the fire and as I stare into the flames, I'm reminded of three years ago. I remember how I was so aware of Apollo's note in my pocket, like it was burning my skin through the fabric of my jeans. I remember how I let Apollo's words reassure me. It's all right, don't worry, you have another two years… That's what I told myself. But two years came and went. No prophecy-defying took place at all. Instead I just woke up one day, once again clutching a note from Apollo…
Strike one, missed your chance;
Wait a year and try again.
You've got two more shots.
That was all it said. Well, that and the request to make a Hunter's bow. So I messed up, I let my opportunity to change things pass me by. What opportunity was that? I don't think I'm ready to tell you. In case you haven't figured it out, whenever I say stuff like that it's usually because it has something to do with Luke.
But anyways, exhaustion eventually catches up with all of us. Chiron tells us to go to bed. Any protests from the campers are punctuated by yawns from Mr. D's twins (who have apparently forgiven each other).
So tired. I shuffle along behind my brothers and fight my drooping eyelids. The next thing I know I'm standing beside my bed. I stare at it for a second.
"You all right, Dess?" Jake asks.
"Sure. I'm just fi–" I'm halfway through the last word when, without further ado, I collapse onto the mattress. I'm already half-asleep by the time my brothers manage to put my blankets over me.
You know, I probably should have just explained the whole 'I-missed-an-opportunity-damn-I-really-messed-up-this-time' thing earlier. Because even if I don't, my dreams–or nightmares–will tell you anyways.
I wander through the forest, trying to make sense of everything that's happened in the last few hours. I feel so lost, and not because I took a random turn a few minutes ago and ended up on some dirt path that I've never even seen before.
It seems like the pain I'm feeling is so intense that I shouldn't be able to see through it, to think through it, to breathe through it. But my eyes still take in the image of green on grey; moss on rocks. Thoughts still buzz around my head like angry bees, hurting me more than actual bee stings ever could. And air still fills my lungs, still gives me oxygen, still keeps my heart beating rhythmically in my chest.
I hate this. I hate him.
Except that I don't hate him; I could never hate him. I want to. I'm supposed to.
But I can't.
Maybe he didn't do it, I think desperately. Maybe Percy was lying; maybe he staged the whole thing and he's the real lightening thief.
But I know better than that. Gareth was the one who saw him being dragged into the clearing by two tree nymphs. Gareth was the one who shouted for help because Percy was dying. And Gareth told me how the kid's hand was red and how it had yellow guck all over it. How his face was pale as chalk. There's no way Percy could have faked that.
And anyways, Annabeth believes him. She was friends with Luke for years; Luke was everything to her. He was the only person at camp who knew Thalia like she did. He was the only one who could talk to her about the daughter of Zeus, reminisce about the good old days when it was just the three of them on the run, a family… But when Percy told her and Chiron what Luke had done, she didn't doubt the son of Poseidon.
And as I think of how Luke sometimes got so bitter, how he would sometimes have shadows under his eyes like his dreams had been plagued by horrors beyond imagining, how he was so jumpy on the way back from the trip to Olympus, I realize that I don't doubt Percy, either.
I'm just making excuses, looking for someone to blame, because I can't believe that I didn't see this coming. And maybe…maybe the reason I didn't see it coming was because I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to believe it.
How could Luke just turn his back on everything and everyone? On his father and this camp and Annabeth and Thalia and–and me.
I don't want to think about this anymore. I just want to go to sleep, to escape this pain. But I can't. I'm lost. I'm so, so lost.
Just as I think this, I stumble upon the creek. I recognize this place. This is where Luke and I used to go all the time. He would grab a couple of Cokes from his secret stash and we would sit on the large rock that would always be in the shade no matter what time of day it was.
Sometimes we would talk; sometimes we would just sit there in complete silence, just enjoying each other's company; sometimes we would get a little, um, carried away, if you know what I mean. And if you don't, then I'm not going to tell you. Your innocent little ears don't need to hear about all my late night rendezvous (that's supposed to be plural, obviously) with Luke. The details aren't exactly what one would call 'appropriate'.
Anyways, the point is that I recognize this place. And it's more than just where Luke and I would have our 'lover's trysts', as Cheryl likes to call them (I don't like to call them that, though; the word 'tryst' makes me want to puke); this is also the place where that hellhound attacked Percy.
It was right after the Capture the Flag game; Luke's team won because Clarisse ran off to get revenge when she and the other Ares kids should have been trying to take the enemy flag or at least defend our team's flag. Anyways, Luke managed to get the flag back to his side (though I'm very proud to say that I got a hit in with my sword before an Apollo guy–Will Solace?–stepped in) and then of course everyone on the blue (red is so much cooler, by the way) team started cheering.
But he must've already called the hellhound by that point. He must've already ordered it to attack Percy. That thing could've killed the black-haired kid. But Luke didn't look guilty or uneasy when his teammates lifted him onto their shoulders. And when they put him down and I stomped over to him to complain about how he'd totally cheated (even though he really hadn't), he just smiled and laughed and pulled me in for a kiss.
He didn't show any sign of remorse. Or at least, no sign that I could see. But maybe that's because I wasn't looking for it?
Ugh. My head hurts from thinking about all this. Which is good, in a way, because it stops me from thinking about how much the rest of me hurts. I know where I am now; I'll just take the most familiar route back to camp, and then I'll go to sleep and the pain will stop…
"Dess."
I freeze at the sound of his voice. Then I whirl around in shock. I'm ashamed to admit it, but the first thing I feel isn't anger. It's relief. Hope. He's okay, I tell myself. Maybe he's even changed his mind about working for Kronos.
He steps out of the shadows, just like he did two years ago when I first met him. Maybe it's the fact that his face is now more familiar to me than my own, or maybe it's the fact that a few seconds ago I thought I would never see it again, or maybe it's just the fact that he's older, but somehow he's even more good-looking now. Did I really once think that Apollo was more gorgeous than the son of Hermes that's standing before me?
He stares at me with those blue eyes. "I knew you'd come here. I've been waiting for you."
I should draw my sword. I should scream for help. But I'm frozen.
He strides towards me and then stops just a few metres away. I somehow manage to pry my lips apart and make use of my vocal chords.
"Wh–why were you waiting for me?" I stumble over the first word. My voice sounds so small.
He takes another step forward. "Come on, Dess, did you really think I'd just leave you here? I've been waiting for you because I want you to come with me."
I stare at him blankly. "Come with you? Come with you where?"
He rolls his eyes and his lips turn upwards slightly at the corners, the way they always do when I'm being exasperating and endearing at the same time.
"Where do you think?" he asks patiently.
My head is spinning. Where else would we go but here? This is our home. Camp Half-Blood. Right here, this small clearing with tall trees and water rushing over rocks and memories of his voice whispering in my ear and his arms around me.
"I–I don't–" I stammer.
"I know what you're thinking, Dess. But this place isn't home. I don't belong here, and neither do you."
That gets my attention, sparks anger in me. "What do you mean I don't belong here? Of course I do."
"No." He shakes his head. "You belong with me." He says the words with such confidence. He sounds so sure.
And he's right. I do belong with him. I love him. He's everything to me.
I take a step closer to him, and then another. He's only a metre away now. I'm about to take another step, but then a face fills my mind.
Jake.
My little brother. Only two hours ago he had his arms wrapped around me, and he told me it would be okay and that Luke was a big jerk but he'd come around, and somehow we would find a way to stop Kronos.
Because that's the right thing to do. Kronos is bad. Kronos is evil. He tortures, he manipulates, he kills.
I stop walking. "If you think," I say slowly, "that I'm going to go join Kronos' little vengeance-seeking brigade, than you're mad."
He jerks back in surprise like he can't believe that I'm refusing to come with him.
"Dess, I think you've got the wrong impression of Kronos…and of me." He smiles, but it's not his usual easygoing grin. His smile is indulgent, condescending. His tone is patronizing.
Rage floods through me. "The wrong impression? You set a poisonous scorpion on Percy Jackson and left him there to die! You almost caused a war between the gods! You almost destroyed civilization!"
His laughter shocks me. He sounds almost…relieved?
"Dess, you really do have it all wrong." His smile is more real this time. "I don't want to destroy civilization. That's not Kronos' goal."
Seething, I ask, "Oh yeah? Then what is his goal?"
"To bring down the gods," Luke answers, his voice low. He stares at me, but the intensity in his eyes isn't the same as it was even yesterday. It's not an energy-filled intensity, created by the overwhelming tension between us. It's a maniacal, almost violent intensity. He looks power-crazed.
"How will that solve anything? Civilization depends on the gods, idiot! The world will fall apart without them–"
He interrupts me, his eyes lit up not with joy, the way they were the first time I told him I loved him, but instead with a sort of mad, hungry light: "Don't you see, Dess? Those are lies the gods feed us. They try to poison our minds, to make us think that we need them, and we don't! The world would be better off without them! Civilization wouldn't fall apart; it would be strengthened. There would be peace and justice and no more corruption. What have the gods ever done for us, Dess? My father left me with my mother, knowing what she was like, and your father did the same!"
He closes the distance between us and says softly, his breath warm on my face, "Dess. You know. You know that it's your father's fault that you grew up with that pathetic excuse for a human being. Think of all those nights you spent half-starving."
My anger drains away, though I'm sure it's still there in my face. But I don't throw my arms around him or take his hand and declare that of course I'll go with him, I'd follow him to ends of the earth. Instead I stare up at him, hurt.
Because he's the only person I've ever told those things too. No one else knows what my mother did to me. I trusted him with everything, with all of my secrets, with all of me. And now he's using that against me, trying to get me to join not him, but his cause. He only wants another soldier. He doesn't want me.
I search his gaze, trying to see any hint of love there. Because he couldn't just make it all up. I was so sure. So certain. He loves me. I know he does, he's told me so so many times…
And then my angry mask is crumbling; all the walls are coming down. Because I can't lose him. I can't accept the fact that maybe I never really had him to begin with.
"Luke," I say, and my voice sounds wild with panic. "Luke, you can't do this, this is crazy, this is insane, please. Please." But if anyone sounds crazy and insane, it's me. I'm half choking on my words.
He stares at me with a fathomless expression and I continue, pleading, almost begging: "Luke, forget about Kronos. Come back to the Big House with me. We'll figure out something to tell Chiron. He'll forgive you. Annabeth will help us, you know she will, she loves you, I love you."
He starts at the last three words. Just for an instant, I see relief and uncertainty in his eyes, like he thought maybe I didn't care about him anymore. But even as I watch, those emotions fade.
He smiles slyly, his eyes gleaming wickedly. "Dess." He moves even closer, placing his hand on either side of my waist to pull me forward so that I'm pressed up against him. He buries his face in my hair. "Dess, you know I love you, too. I just want to be with you," he murmurs in my ear, his tone persuasive.
He pulls away and brushes my hair back. He kisses my temple softly. His eyes bore into mine, but that's okay because his hands are on me and his touch is making me weightless.
His eyes search mine. "Is that really so wrong?"
He doesn't wait for my answer. Instead he leans in and kisses me.
And his kiss is just the same as it's always been; he tastes of ginger bread cookies. His lips are soft and gentle, pulling against mine. His hands are in my hair and then sliding down the sides of my body and then stopping to rest on my hips.
I run my fingers through his hair, and for a moment all I can feel is him; his hands on me, his lips on mine. For a second I fully comprehend exactly what I'm giving up by choosing to do the right thing. And for a second, for just one short second, I'm not sure doing the right thing is worth losing him.
But you never really had him, did you? my mind whispers. He never really loved you. It was just a game.
So I push him away and step back.
"Leave," I say, and my voice is full of fury. The mask and the walls are reforming; the hurt and the desperation are gone from my face. I know that even without seeing my angry expression reflected in his blue eyes.
He seems to realize that I mean it. I half wonder if he's going to kill me now that I'm of no use to him, but instead he just starts slowly backing away. I watch him back up into the shadows. Any second now, he's going to turn around and disappear.
And suddenly I absolutely cannot stand the idea of him being the one to walk away from this. My pride flares, and I undo the clasp of the golden bracelet that he gave me for my birthday a year ago. The movement makes him stop more than my belated "Wait." does.
I clench the bracelet in my fist for a second and then throw it at his feet.
"Here," I tell him. "You can have that back. I don't want it. It means nothing to me now."
I turn my back on his frozen face and march down a different path then the one Luke and I always used to take when we came here. I feel like I've triumphed, knowing that I was the one to walk out on him. But the feeling doesn't last as long as I thought it would. By the time I've reached my cabin, remorse and regret and pain, so much pain, are weighing me down, more so than locking eyes with him ever did.
I sit up in my bed, gasping for air. That's strange. Just a second ago I was so sure that I couldn't breathe… Then the panic fades as I remember that I was just dreaming. Dreaming of something that actually happened, but still. It's times like this when I really hate Morpheus.
So anyways, now you know. I've never told anyone that Luke came to see me just hours after he almost killed Percy, because I knew that everyone would be angry with me. Especially Clarisse. And Chiron would be disappointed, because I didn't do anything. I walked away. I didn't even make sure that Luke actually left afterwards. For all I knew he could've snuck into one of the cabins and murdered someone.
That was the opportunity that I didn't take. I had my sword. Those moments when he was standing so close to me, when he was kissing me… I could've taken my sword and killed him. He probably would've seen it coming and stopped me, but still. I could have tried.
But I didn't, because as angry as I was, I still loved him. I comfort myself with the knowledge that if I was put in that situation again, I would at least try to fight him or scream for help. Because I don't love him anymore. And don't you dare tell me that it sounds like I'm in denial. I think I would know if I still loved him.
Like Apollo said, though, that was strike one. My brow furrows as I remember that the second line in the haiku told me to try again in a year… It's almost been a year. Did I miss another chance? Was I supposed to sneak out when Percy Jackson did, was I supposed to be on that boat when the Iris-message came?
But if that's the case, surely Apollo would've sent me a note by now. I glance at my hands, half expecting paper to just appear in them. Of course, nothing happens. I take a deep breath and lie down again. I can deal with this later, in the morning or tomorrow or a week from now. I'm still tired. I need sleep.
I pull the covers over my head and close my eyes.
Author's Note: Reviews are appreciated.