MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate
WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.
NOTES: Thanks to angel2u, MeganLeBlanc, chaSing b0b, Fangisnotmyfirstname and HGGirl97 for reviewing this chapter!
Brief Summary of Keeper of Fate: Dess, a daughter of Hephaestus, is asked by Apollo to defy the Great Prophecy in order to save lives. She agrees. She meets Luke, grows close to him, and then Percy Jackson shows up. Percy exposes him as the lightning thief and Luke leaves Camp after asking Dess to join Kronos' army, which she refuses to do. Thalia is freed from her tree and Dess and Clarisse wander into the Labyrinth in order to gather information about how to navigate it, and to find out what Luke plans are.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does. Also, the flashback was Apollo06's idea, and the Aphrodite-giving-Dess-a-makeover thing was Neela4232's idea.
Chapter 20: I Realize the Gods Need Serious (Group) Therapy
"I hate her," I seethe. "I absolutely hate her. She's going to pay for this one day."
We're walking down yet another corridor – still in the Labyrinth, unfortunately. And even more unfortunately, it's back to looking like a sewer. Same old red brick walls, same old muddy ground, and same old low ceiling. Damn.
"You know, Dess," says Clarisse, her voice uncharacteristically cheerful, "that attitude of yours is what got you into trouble in the first place."
"Shut up, Clarisse. Just shut up."
But of course she doesn't. Instead, she continues speaking as if I had never said anything: "I mean really, Dess, I thought even you would know better than to be rude to a goddess – even if she's just a wimpy love goddess."
"I couldn't help myself," I protest, my fingers clenching around the strap of my knapsack. "I was just so angry for nearly the entire conversation."
Clarisse gives me an odd look. "Well of course you were. People always get angry around my dad."
"Wait, so you're saying it's his fault?"
"Oh, don't worry, I'm sure you would've found a way to insult her on your own," Clarisse assures me, though for some strange reason this doesn't make me feel any better. "But yeah, that anger was my dad's influence. I don't know, he just has this power that really ticks people off. It makes sense. He's the god of war, after all. It's his job to make people want to pick a fight with others."
"What a lovely father you have."
"Don't I know it," Clarisse says wryly, and I'm surprised by how bitter her accompanying smile is.
I watch her carefully for a moment. "What exactly did you say to each other while I was talking with the love nutcase, anyways? You seemed real eager to get out of there afterwards."
Clarisse glares at me, but her eye twitches slightly like she's uncomfortable. "None of you beeswax."
"What an original comeback."
She lets out a long, drawn out breath and then admits, "We didn't really talk much. I tried not to look at him, and all he really said was that I'd better not make a fool out of myself on this quest or else he'd–" she stops short, just as I stop right in my tracks.
"Wait, did he threaten you?" I demand.
"Look, just forget it, okay?"
"No, I won't forget it! What kind of asshole threatens his own daughter? He better hope he doesn't run into me again, or I swear to the gods I will–"
Lips twitching, Clarisse informs me, "No offense, Dess, but I don't think my dad would be intimidated by a girl with Hello Kitty tattooed onto her cheek."
At the mention of the revolting, fake (it better damn well not be real) tattoo that appeared on my face not two minutes after we left Echo's old room, all of my anger at Aphrodite returns in full force.
"That bitch! I still can't believe that she did that! I mean, the makeover was one thing–the makeup isn't so bad, and at least we're clean now–but the tattoo is just going too far!"
Clarisse, who has already endured fifteen full minutes of me raging and storming, just rolls her eyes and gestures that we should start walking again, at the same time saying, "Get over it, Dess. I'm sure it'll fade soon enough."
"Oh, that's easy for you to say. You don't have a cute little white kitten on your face! It's so not fair!" I rant. "How come you don't have to suffer?"
Clarisse shrugs her shoulders, her features smug, and says, "Well, it could be that I wasn't rude to her. And I'm sure it doesn't hurt that my father is her lover, whereas as your father is the bane of her existence."
"Shut up, Clarisse. Just shut up."
"What an original comeback," she taunts, purposely throwing my own words back at me.
"Shut up, or I will hurt you."
"Real threatening, coming from Miss Hello-Kitty face."
"I hate you. I really, really hate you."
With one last smirk, Clarisse speeds up. I lag behind, discretely rubbing my cheek with the back of my hand, as if that will somehow remove the tattoo.
Two days later I'm still trying to get rid of the damn thing. I've done everything short of ripping the skin off my face, and nothing has worked. If it doesn't go away, I'm going to wear a paper bag over my head for the rest of my life. I'm not joking, either. I don't care if other people think it's weird, or if it gets in the way when I'm trying to eat or fight monsters or bathe. No matter how inconvenient that would be, it would still be preferable to showing off this awful tattoo every time I go out in public.
"For the love of Ares, Dess, just stop sulking, will you? I am so sick of it. All you ever do is complain," Clarisse bursts out.
What a liar she is. I don't sulk. That much. And I don't complain. That often. However, I don't really blame her for being annoyed. We've been stuck together for the past nine days. It's inevitable that we irritate each other and get into fights sometimes.
"Yeah, well–" I begin, glaring absentmindedly at the wall, but then I break off and suddenly freeze.
"What now?" Clarisse groans. "I swear, Dess, if it's another skull… You know there are skeletons in here, that's just how it is–"
"Shut up, Clarisse."
She looks like she's about to argue, but something in my face stops her.
"Dess, what–"
Silently, I gesture to the engraving of a little triangle, wedged between two bricks.
Daedalus' mark.
A way out of this hellhole.
Twenty minutes later, we're sitting on a bench, eating hotdogs, looking out at the boats in the harbour. It turns out we resurfaced near a waterfront. Which conveniently has a hotdog stand close by. And the owner happens to be a wimp. We didn't even have to pay for our food. Clarisse just threatened the guy. (Normally that would bother me, but hey, free food!)
Gods, having the sun beating down on my face has never felt this good before. I'm never going to take sunlight for granted ever again. Now I know how Grover felt when he got out of that Cyclops' cave.
"These–hotdogs," Clarisse begins, pausing to chew between each word, "are–so–damn–good."
I stuff the rest of my hotdog (which is about a quarter of my original hotdog) into my mouth whole. With my mouth full, I respond, "Eynoe, wighte?" which is supposed to be, "I know, right?"
Clarisse laughs, not at all grossed out, and for the next few minutes we talk about trivial things – "Are those supposed to be shorts? That girl looks like she's wearing a belt around her butt!" "Look at this! They've changed the colour of the NESTEA cans, what is the world coming too?" – because it feels good to pretend that we're normal teenagers for a while.
So we pretend that we're normal and carefree, and we avoid talking about what we're eventually going to have to talk about – the fact that sooner or later, we're going to have to find our way back into the Labyrinth. I'm half hoping that the mark that gave us a way out of the underground maze has vanished, but the longer we stay in the mortal world, the more likely it is that Luke will find us. We don't have a choice. We have to go back in.
Luke winds the screw into the machine he's making, using my favourite purple screwdriver. We're in the Armory today and I'm giving him forging lessons. He's not bad at it, of course, but he's not good either. He could certainly improve a lot. My brothers are so paranoid that they run off as soon as anyone who isn't an expert at forging steps through the door, so Luke and I are alone.
I study Luke for a moment – his eyes narrow in concentration, his hands careful as he begins to wind the last screw into the machine, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face – and the question bursts out before I can stop it.
"Why do you hate your dad so much?"
The screwdriver slips through Luke's fingers and hits the metal table with a loud clang!
Okay, so maybe this isn't the best time to ask. He could've been holding something dangerous. I should've waited until after dinner, when we go to what I like to think of as "Our Spot" – a clearing in the woods next to the creek, with a large rock that's always in the shade – but I'm too impatient to wait.
Luke is silent for a long time, and I almost wonder if he heard me at all.
Finally, he draws in a sharp breath and says, "I don't know. Why is the sky blue? Because it just is."
Somehow ignoring the harsh tone of his voice, I blurt out, "Actually, in the mortal world they have this whole scientific explanation for why the sky is blue. It has something to do with molecules and different strands of light and all this other crap and–" I stop short as I register the aggravated look on his face. Okay, definitely not the time. I blame the ADHD.
My voice small, I say, "Sorry. Forget I said anything. Hey, it's almost dinner, we should just pack up and–"
"No, Dess, I'm sorry." He exhales loudly and runs a hand through his unruly hair. "I just– I just get so angry whenever I think about my dad. I'm not mad at you. You know that, right?"
He's looking at me so earnestly that I have to give him a tiny smile and a, "Yeah, I know."
"Seriously, though," I continue, "let's just pack up. We're pretty much done here."
I reach for the screwdriver he dropped, but Luke grabs my hand and stops me. My heart is suddenly thumping a little too fast, and I feel like I've just stepped out of a space shuttle and onto the moon. No gravity. Just the sensation of my hand burning in Luke's.
I don't like him, I don't like him, I don't like him, I chant in my mind. Oh, Styx, I sound like I'm in denial. Except that I'm not. But I sound like I am. But I'm really, really not. Really. He's just a friend. A male friend. An extremely gorgeous, kind, funny male friend…
"Dess?" Luke's looking at me with a mixture of amusement and mild concern. "Are you okay? I've been trying to get your attention for the past minute. Did you forget your ADHD pills this morning?"
He's still holding my hand.
Purposely making my voice light, I respond, "Yeah, I think I did. It's not my fault, though. I think they might've been stolen along with my orange hair band. Any idea where they went, Luke?"
"Me?" Luke asks innocently. "Of course not. I would certainly never steal from you."
I roll my eyes and repeat, "Of course not."
Luke smiles down at me and squeezes my hand. I smile back, but a sober expression suddenly steals over Luke's face.
He sighs, and then says, very quietly, "My mom's crazy."
Thinking I misheard him, I ask, "What?"
He shuts his eyes tightly. "My mom's crazy," he repeats, his voice loud enough that there's no mistaking his words.
"I–" For a moment I don't know what to say to him. Then, in a sudden fit of tactlessness and insensitivity, I question, "What do you mean she's crazy? Does she have schizophrenia or bipolar disorder or something like that?"
Luke lets out a hollow laugh. "No. Nothing like that. Although she's been diagnosed with both those things."
"Then what–"
He takes a deep breath, and then explains, "When I was really little – when I was a baby – my mom had an…accident. Sort of. She hasn't really told me all the details, but she did tell me that there was this job that she wanted – a special job."
I frown. What the heck does that mean? A special job… "You mean a job here? At Camp Half-Blood?"
Luke nods. "I know it's strange, considering she's mortal, and mortals aren't even allowed at camp normally."
"But she could see through the mist, right?"
I lift myself onto the table easily, my legs dangling over the edge. Without seeming to think about it, Luke repositions himself so that he's standing directly in front of me. He's still holding my hand, and I realize that I don't want him to let go.
"Yeah. It's almost funny, in a sick, twisted sort of way. Before all the things she saw were real, even though she thought monsters were fake. And now that she knows the monsters are real, the things she sees are fake."
He lets out a bitter laugh, and my throat constricts. The pain in his face…
"I don't understand," I whisper, my whole body feeling numb.
He runs his hand through his hair again. "Dess, whatever that job was, it drove her mad. Something went wrong. She has these–these fits now. Her eyes glow green. She blurts out all this shit about my fate. I–I didn't understand any of it. I still don't. And–and it scares me," he confesses.
He's not looking at me. His face is turned away. And his shoulders are shaking.
I hesitate for a second, and then tug on his hand and pull him into my arms. It's a little awkward, considering I'm sitting down and he's standing, but I can't bring myself to care. Luke releases my hand, but then he leans against me, his arms encircling my waist almost instinctively. His cheek is pressed against my hair.
I hold him for a few moments, and then he pulls back.
"Thanks," he says, smiling slightly.
"Anytime." And I mean it.
He studies my face for a moment. "So that's why I hate my dad. Because he knows – I'm sure he does – he knows what my mom means when she freaks out about my fate. He knows about the fits. He knows how she–how she bakes me cookies everyday, how she makes sandwiches and Kool-Aid because she thinks I'll be home for lunch…" Luke's voice breaks. "He didn't take care of her, and he didn't take care of me, either. He doesn't–he doesn't love me."
I touch his cheek and trace his scar with my thumb. "I'm sure he does." And even if he doesn't, I think to myself, I do. In a completely platonic way, of course.
Luke smiles at me sadly. "Yeah, that's what Thalia used to say."
Automatically, I start to withdraw my hand from his face, but he stops me, his hand keeping mine pressed against his cheek.
"I've never told anyone else about this, though. Even Thalia… It took me forever to tell her. And she had to practically pry the words from my mouth. I've never–I've never been able to talk like this with anyone else," he admits, and his cheek seems to grow warm underneath my palm. "I've never been this open before. It's never this simple, the way it is with you."
Oh, yeah, says a sarcastic voice in my head, your feelings for him are totally platonic. That's why his words make you feel like you're floating on air.
I ignore this, and instead say softly, "Yeah, I know what you mean."
He grins at me, and then an odd look comes over his face. It's so intense that I have to drop my eyes. My cheeks are burning. This room is suddenly way too hot. Luke moves closer to me, his hand still holding mine against his cheek. He opens his mouth to say something – but apparently Chiron thinks this is a good time to blow the conch shell to signal that it's dinner.
Luke lets our hands drop, but he keeps his hold on mine. He jerks me off the table so suddenly that I stumble into him. He steadies me, laughing while I glare at him.
"Now, Dess," he says, grinning wildly again, "you don't have time to kill me. You don't want to miss dinner, right?"
"I could eat you and then leave your remains in the forest. No one would ever know."
"Whoa there, Dess," he exclaims, backing up. You'd think he would let go of my hand at this point, but he doesn't. "No need to go cannibal on me. I would taste awful. It would be like eating burnt rubber."
Like he knows what burnt rubber tastes like.
"Yeah, whatever, Luke." I roll my eyes. Then, without thinking, I raise my head up and kiss his cheek. "Thanks for telling me all that stuff. I'll be around if you ever want to talk again. And…you'll be around if I ever want to talk, right?"
He squeezes my hand and smiles down at me gently.
"Of course."
As I walk, my foot hits a stone and sends it skittering across the dock. I run over to it and snatch it off the ground just before it tumbles into the water. I clench the rock in my fist, wondering why that memory is coming back to me now, after all this time.
But I can't deny the fact that I've been doubting the gods a lot lately. I mean, Hermes just abandoned his son. And even though I was hurt when Luke said it, the truth is that my father did the same thing to me. Both our moms were unfit to take care of us, but did our dads do anything about it? No. Of course not.
I've only ever actually met five of the gods before (Artemis, Dionysus, Apollo, and now Aphrodite and Ares) but they were all so… I don't know, hypocritical and self-important, I guess.
I spent nearly two weeks with the moon goddess and her hunters, and they were just so sexist. Every time Artemis said anything about the opposite gender, it was insulting. It's ridiculous. I don't think any of her hunters realized that if they were spontaneously turned into boys – even if they retained their personality and acted the exact same way as they did when they were female – the oh-so lovely Lady Artemis wouldn't give a damn about them anymore. Like just being male somehow automatically makes people worthless.
Dionysus – well, do I really need to explain? He treats all half-bloods like dirt. He couldn't care less if we all dropped dead. And think about the way he refused to heal Chris Rodriguez. How cruel do you have to be to let someone fall into madness and eventually die from it when you know perfectly well that you could save that person without even lifting a finger?
Ares threatened his own daughter just because he wants to protect his rep. Aphrodite doesn't even care about all the awful things Luke has done. She just wants a good love story (or a tragedy). We're like little toys in a sandbox to her.
As for Apollo – well, Apollo is the only one out of the five of them that I can stomach. Yes, he left me a very difficult task, but he at least he was honest about it. He told me straight up that I probably wouldn't be able to handle it. And all he's really trying to do is stop people from dying. He's doing what Hermes isn't brave enough to do; he's interfering with fate in order to save the people he cares about.
I sigh, tossing the stone in my hand into the water. Isn't it funny, how Aphrodite will interfere with her stepdaughter's love life, and yet the gods won't interfere when their children are dying or when they're on dangerous quests? If Ares was a good parent, he would've gotten Clarisse out of the Labyrinth as fast as he could. But no. He just wanted to make sure she wouldn't embarrass him.
"Whatever it is you're sulking about, get over it," Clarisse advises, coming up behind me, a newspaper in her hand and a grim expression on her face. "We've got bigger problems."
Before I can even ask her what the Hades she's talking about, she shoves the newspaper right in my face. I squint at the headline on the front page.
"Um, should I care that there's a guy going around mooning whoever walks by?"
"What– No! The date, look at the date!" She jabs a finger at the top right hand corner.
I roll my eyes, but obey. Immediately, my blood freezes in my veins. Panic courses through me. We entered the Labyrinth in the last week of August, and it feels like it's been about eight days since then. But according to this newspaper, it's nearly October. How the hell does eight days turn into more than a month?
I glance up at Clarisse and say, my voice desperate and pleading, "This isn't today's paper. This is a joke, right?"
"Sorry, but it's for real." Clarisse scowls and crumbles the newspaper up into a ball. She prepares to throw it into the water, but something – a tentacle? – is suddenly wrapped around her wrist.
And before either of us can blink, it's pulling her headfirst into the water.
Author's Note: All that stuff Dess said about the gods—I don't necessarily agree with her. So if you're a big fan of Artemis or Dionysus or Hermes, don't kill me. I actually love all those characters, but Dess doesn't. She doesn't really know them and she doesn't have the right to judge them. Realizing that will be part of her character growth.
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