The Eye of Gods

by: dnrl

Chapter Two: I'll Believe In Anything

"So…are you ready to do this?"

I shot my aunt a Look that stated, quite clearly, that no, I was not ready to do this, nor was I ready to get out of the car, nor was I ready to believe in the Greek gods. Seriously.

"Okay, then, that's a resounding no. What's the problem?" she asked, sipping a Slurpee and looking out the windshield at the hill that rose before the car.

"What's the – Aunt Bella!" I complained, hating how whiny I sounded. I took the deepest breath my lungs would let me and let it go. "It's too fast. It's changing too fast, and I can't keep up. I'm losing ground, I really am, and I don't know what to do."

She sighed, setting her drink down and running her hand along my arm. "I know that. I know that you're fourteen, and you've just lost the one person who meant the world to you, and that you don't really believe anything that I'm telling you. You're angry because I've kept this from you for so long – because your dad didn't tell you. I get that. But facts are facts, ometto." She paused and bit her lip. "It's a hard truth about the world: it doesn't stop spinning to let you catch up. So this truth leaves you with two choices. The first choice is to stop running. Let the world spin you around, lose who you are, your sense of purpose. It's the easy choice, and I won't blame you if you choose it, I really won't. But. Don't ever forget, even in the moments when your world is darkest, that there is another choice. Your second choice is this: you speed up."

She looked over at me, and there were tears in her eyes. "I helped your papa raise you, Prop. I was there when you took your first steps, said your first word, grew your first tooth. Your papa didn't know what the hell he was doing, and he called me, and he asked me to help, and I did. But you know your papa, better than anyone else. What do you think he would've done if I hadn't helped?"

I huffed a quiet laugh. "He would've gone to the self-help section of the library, like he did when he broke the dishwasher."

"Exactly. Your papa knew that there were two choices, always, in every situation. He would never choose the first. Never."

I felt my smile trembling as my eyes began to sting. "D'you know," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, "he never could fix the dishwasher? He bought so many books, asked so many people's advice, and he could never do it on his own."

"But he didn't give up, did he?"

"He called a repairman," I choked. "That counts as giving up."

She rolled her eyes. "No, it doesn't. He called a repairman, okay, so what? He learned from his mistake that you don't put that kind of soap in the dishwasher, and then he learned how to fix it. Did he do it again? No, he didn't. And he didn't let it keep him down. Ever. Your papa sped up. Every single time the world stated moving faster, so did he. He sprinted along as fast as he could, and he was happy."

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the burning trails on my face. Gently, Aunt Bella brushed them away. "Do you understand what I'm saying, ometto?""

I leaned back in my seat and clutched my hands into tight fists, feeling the nails digging into my palms. I just let myself feel for a minute – the light throb from my hands, the smell of a cherry Slurpee and used but clean car, and the fading scent of a coffee air freshener. The feel of cloth against my skin, of the ridges on the seat cover pressing against my t-shirt and back, and the softness of the leather under my hand as it rested on the inside of the door. I pushed away everything that hurt, everything that told me to shut up, lie down, and just stop trying so hard.

"Yeah," I said at last. "Yeah, I understand."

"Then get out of the damn car, I have an appointment in the city in two hours," she teased, prodding me in the side. I managed a weak smile and opened the door, stepping out onto the grass at the foot of the hill.

"You sure that this is the place?" I asked, shifting from foot to foot nervously. "I don't see anything camp-like."

"I'm sure," she replied, throwing me my duffel bag from the trunk. I missed it, and it landed in the dust of the road. "Nice catch," she said, and I could hear her eyeroll.

"You suck at throwing," I told her.

"True."

She came and stood next to me. We looked up at the tree on top of the hill for a few minutes, and silence reigned around us. She sighed. "Well, Prop, I'm off. Write me or call or do that weird floaty-rainbow-message thing that that Mr. Chiron person told me about, okay?"

"Sure," I agreed, and we both knew that I wouldn't do either until I was ready to go back to her apartment. She hugged me good-bye, giving me a little squeeze.

"I'll pray for you every day," she whispered in my ear. "Your papa'll be watching you, Prospero."

I nodded brusquely, and she slid across the hood and slipped into the driver's seat. She shot me the Vulcan hand sign. "Live long and prosper, short stuff," was the last thing she said to me before she sped away. I turned back to the hill, alone and more intimidated than I could remember feeling in…ever.

"Might as well just…get it over with," I told myself, attempting to fight away the nervousness that was rising like bile in my throat. "It's not that bad. It won't be that bad. It'll be like…summer camp."

You hated summer camp, my mind reminded me.

I told myself to shut up, resolutely shouldered my duffel bag, and made my way steadily up the hill towards the pine tree.

I really wasn't too fond of summer camps.

"Oh gods. Kid, are you okay?"

I was flat on my back, painful tingles running up and down my spine. I observed, with a somewhat clinical detachment, that they were probably caused by the smashing of my tailbone into the ground a few seconds earlier. My head was spinning – most likely because it was just smacked by a volleyball.

"Urgh," I mumbled, squinting as a person above me moved and the sun flashed in my eye. "Head hurts."

"Way to go, Jeff," hissed another one of the heads that hovered concernedly above me. "Hurt the new kid."

"It wasn't me!" defended the head across from the accuser. "I swear, I've never hit a ball that foul before. It's like he's jinxed or something."

A voice from outside the circle of hover-ers called out, "Guys, move, Chiron's here!"

They shuffled away, and then a steady, strong hand was pulling him up. "Easy there, easy. Come on up."

I staggered up to my feet, wincing as a pain lanced through my head. "Ow," I moaned, raising my free hand to touch the back of my head. It came back red with blood. "What…?"

"Rock," remarked the voice that belonged to the arm that had helped me up. I turned and looked up at – at a man-horse. A centaur. I didn't know much, but I knew what centaurs were. Up until about two seconds ago, I'd also been fairly sure that they weren't real. "You must've hit your head on it. It's not severe – it just needs to be cleansed and bandaged properly. Come with me, to the Big House."

"My – my bag," I managed to get out. I was disoriented, confused, staring a mythical creature in the face, and I was lost. I wanted my stuff. My stuff, at least, would remain my stuff. It was stuffed into my hand by an apologetic, rather beefy boy wearing an orange t-shirt – Jeff, I presumed, from his guilty expression.

"Come now," said the centaur, tugging me away.

I half-walked, half-stumbled in the wake of the trotting centaur, and found myself being led onto a porch and then inside a large, aging house. He guided me to a chair and placed my bag on the table. "Just sit for a moment," he said, hand on my shoulder. "I need to go get gauze and disinfectant."

He clip-clopped into another room, leaving me alone. Well, sort of.

Across the table from me, a debauched, pudgy man with a bulbous red nose, bloodshot eyes, and a decidedly bored look on his face stared at me with heavy-lidded eyes.

"You're a new brat," he said decisively after a few minutes of silence. "I haven't seen your sniveling face around here before."

"Um, yes si-sir," I forced out, swallowing reflexively.

"And who are you spawned from?"

My eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"Your parents, your maternal and paternal units, the two people who decided to do the dirty horizontal tango."

I fought down a blush. I was a boy, I wasn't supposed to blush especially not at things like mentioning sex. Bad Prospero. "Um, my dad is – was Nicollo Bianchi. My mom is, uh, apparently a goddess."

The corpulent man rolled his eyes. "No, really?" He sighed, snapped his fingers, and a Diet Coke materialized in his hands. I tried not to stare. "Do you know which one, Meatball?"

Meatball..?

He rolled his eyes again. Apparently it was a habit. "You're Italian, like spaghetti. Meatball."

Oh. "Um, my dad told my aunt that my mom was Nike."

That got a raised eyebrow. He took a sip of his Diet Coke. "Goddess of victory. God, bet you're just ace at sports, aren't you?"

"Um, no, not really," I said with a nervous laugh. "I'm horrible at sports."

This merited two raised eyebrows. "Well, then. What sort of things do you win?"

"Nothing," I replied. "I don't think I've ever won anything in my life."

He stared blankly at me for a minute. "Are you sure your aunt said Nike?"

I nodded, one hand clenching the fabric of my duffel bag, eyes downcast. "Positive."

He eyed me up and down before taking another sip of his Coke. "Good for you, kiddo. Apparently your mom doesn't love you. So sad."

"Mr. D," reprimanded the centaur, emerging through the doorway. He focused on me. "I'm going to make the assumption that you're Prospero Bianchi?"

"Yes, sir," I said, remembering to breathe deep. "I prefer Prop."

"Prop it is," he replied easily, smiling as he set a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a mess of bandages on the table. "My name is Chiron, and that is Mr. D. I see you two have already met."

"Yes, sir."

He flashed me a smile, gradually putting me more and more at ease. I felt my throat begin to un-tense, although Mr. D's presence still kept me a little bit on edge. He wasn't exactly sunshine and giggles. Don't judge, Prop, I reminded myself. He had a reason for being how he was. I shouldn't judge.

"Alright, I'm going to swab with the alcohol now, so it may sting a bit."

Sure enough, the alcohol bit into my skin. The tingling sanitizing feeling, along with the sterile scent, brought back warped memories of hospital rooms and stitches and sunny days in August. I blinked once, hard, and sent the images very, very far away.

"Ahem."

I tried to turn my head, but Chiron tugged at my hair so that I would stay still. "No moving," he warned me.

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"You're too polite," growled Mr. D. "What do you want, brother?"

"A vacation. I have a message to give to a Mr. …Prospero Bianchi. I'm assuming that you're him?" A man in a track suit stepped in front of my line of sight.

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Um, I bear greetings from Nike, your immortal mother, who so claims you, et cetera, et cetera. She doesn't actually have a symbol, and Zeus has her caught up in planning some event right now so she couldn't come claim you in person, but as her son she loves you and expects great things. Best wishes for your future." He looked up from the glowing PDA he was orating from and smiled at me. "Got it?"

"Um," I said, blinking, "I guess."

"Hey," he said, taking in the stricken look on my face, "just because she couldn't come in person doesn't mean she didn't want to, or that she doesn't love you. When Zeus wants something done, you get it done, and fast. He doesn't take well to lateness. She would've been here if she could. Cheer up."

"Okay, sir," I replied, biting my lip. Chiron smoothed on a bandage over the cut and stepped back.

"All wrapped up," he announced. "I'm just glad that I didn't have to cut any hair for this one."

"You have her hair – your mother's, I mean," the track-suited man explained. "Dark and wavy. Although I guess that applies to most of the pantheon, doesn't it? Dark hair."

"Your older, wiser sister is blonde," Chiron pointed out.

"Oh, and if I could get away with a dumb blonde joke," sighed Mr. D. "Kidding," he added, with a quick glace to the ceiling. "Only kidding, of course."

Chiron sighed, shook his head, and refocused his attention on me. "Very well, then, Prop, I'll call one of the other campers over to bring you to your cabin and show you the ropes, and you can just follow the schedule they give you. Alright?"

"Um…yes, sir." Satisfied, he trotted to the outside door and left.

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, someone's father raised him right."

"Thank you," I said, hoping it was a good thing. The man's smiles told me it was. He nodded to me.

"Pleasure meeting you, son of Nike," he said. "If you'd just look away for a moment…"

I did, with my eyes closed and head turned, and even then I could feel scorching heat on my face. A bright flash lit up the inside of my closed eyes, and my still-dizzy head was stunned again. A few seconds later, the light passed, and the man was gone.

"He was really a god," I told myself, staring at where he had been. "He was really…"

"Yes, he was, really." Mr. D gave me a look. "Get used to it, Priam."

"It's Prosper, sir. Prop."

"That's what I said, isn't it? Peter."

"I – no, it's not, it's…"

"Prop, right?"

I turned to the door, wary of moving too quickly, and focused in on the new speaker in the conversation. He was a tall kid with curly blonde hair and focused gray eyes. He wore the same neon orange t-shirt that the other campers wore. "I'm Aiden. Come on with me, I'll show you to your cabin."

I rose, steadying myself on the table and picking up my duffel. "Nice to meet you, Mr. D."

"Not likewise, Percival."

"No, it's – "

"Prop, c'mon." Aiden gestured for me to leave and I did as he suggested, lugging my bag over my shoulder. He closed the door behind me and we walked off the porch together. "Don't worry about Mr. D. He pretends that he can't remember anybody's name, no matter who they are or how long they've been here."

"The Coke thing – how does he do that?"

Aiden grinned. "He's a god."

"A god? Here?!"

"Yeah. He's being punished by the Big Guy in the Sky for chasing after a nymph. His sentence was a hundred years, but after the Titan War is was shortened to fifty."

"Titan War? Big Guy?" I was jogging to keep up with him; he was about a head taller than I was, and his height was in his legs. "What are you talking about?"

"Big Guy is the Thunderer. We don't use names casually here – they're powerful. For cabins, and sons and daughters of, and stuff, it's okay. Otherwise..." I nodded as he went on. "The Titan War was a war fought by the gods and demigods against the Titans."

"The – the parents of the gods, right?"

Aiden nodded, noticed I was lagging behind, and slowed his steps. "Sorry about that. Anyway, so there was this big prophecy, and a son of Hermes named Luke went traitor and gave his body to the Titan Lord Kronos. So the Titan Lord rose into power and almost destroyed Olympus. But these heroes – well, all the campers, really, but specifically a daughter of Athena named Annabeth and a son of Poseidon named Percy – they stopped him. Luke wound up dying a hero, because he took control from Kronos and was able to kill himself."

The words chasing themselves around my head, I could only stammer out, "I – I thought you couldn't kill an immortal."

Aiden's face was grim. "You can't. So we all have to be on the watch for signs of his remanifesting, because he's still out there, and he'll probably use half-bloods to rise to power again. Here, we're at the cabins."

There were about thirty of them, some newly built and some older than the rest. They differed wildly in construction, size, and styles. Aiden walked me around, telling me which cabin belonged to which god and making sure I knew what the god or goddess controlled. "This first one is Zeus' cabin. For a while, it was only for ceremony, because he wasn't supposed to have kids."

"Why not?" I asked. From what I remembered, if there was one thing Zeus did well, it was having kids. Why stop? I shook my head. Was I really believing all of this?

"Pact made by the Big Three – the three most powerful gods. Their children were to powerful, plus the prophecy – the one from the war – said that a child of the Big Three would either save or destroy Olympus."

"There was a son of…Poseidon, right?"

"Good memory," he complimented. "Yeah. Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon. He still comes around sometimes. He's about forty now, but he's still the best we've ever seen with a sword. He married the daughter of Athena – Annabeth. They have like three kids or something, they stop by for summers when they can. Speaking of the sea god – this is his cabin. There are four or five kids in there now; don't mention Percy in front of them, please, especially Natalia. They think that being related to him makes them the coolest kids on the block." He rolled his eyes. "As if. There's Hera's cabin, always been empty, always will be…"

We went on down the line, passing the twelve major gods that I knew of and then going on towards the newer cabins. "This is the Hades cabin," he said as we passed an amazing black stone cabin. "Four kids in there. They seem sort of creepy at first, but once you get used to them they're pretty cool." From there, we passed a cabin for Hecate, Persephone, Dione, Erebus, Eris, Eros, Hebe, and several others. We stopped in front of two cabins, both empty. One was darker, with tinted windows, dark bricks, and a set of scales over the door. "That's the cabin for Nemesis, goddess of balance. And that one," he said, gesturing to the smaller, lighter cabin, "is yours. Cabin for Nike, goddess of victory."

It was made of birch wood, with a smooth, small porch and big windows on the east and west sides of the house. I stepped in off the porch. There were six beds, lined up on opposite walls underneath the window. Places for trophies, niches for medals, had been carved out into the wall. I bit my lip. What if I can't fill any of those?

"Hey," Aiden called from the door. He waved a piece of paper at me. "Here's your schedule."

I had a sickening, vivid flashback to Mrs. Bridget – apparently the creature couldn't eat, or hadn't eaten, my memories of her. I drew in a sharp breath and took the paper with a wan smile. "Thanks, Aiden."

"No problem, man. There should be a map in there too, help you get to your activities. I have to go, I'm late for archery. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, later," I said, not really paying attention as I dropped my duffel next to the first bed and opened my schedule.

Camp-Wide Wakeup Call: 8:00 a.m.

Breakfast: 6:00 a.m. – 9:00 a.m.

Schedule for Nike Cabin, Week of September 1

I scanned the schedule for Monday – today – and caught myself up. It was still my free period for another hour, followed by dinner and then a(n optional) bonfire. I sighed, shoved my schedule under my pillow, and went to unpacking.

I decided that since I had the greater part of an hour of freedom left, I would explore the other parts of the camp. There were expansive strawberry fields, stretching from my feet to the horizon, and a huge forest that was divided, an Apollo camper told me, by a river. There was a lake, a climbing wall with hot lava, a beach, and an arena for sword fighting. Next to that was a large armory, smoking and steaming and hissing. I edged my way around that. Swords by themselves were bad enough. White-hot newly made swords weren't much better.

I met up with Aiden again outside the stables. He flashed me a grin and motioned me over to where he had been in conversation with a group of three other campers – two girls, one with black hair and one with brown, and one boy with hair as black as the girl's. "Guys, this is Prop, the son of Nike I was telling you about. Prop, this is Lucas Parry, son of Zeus," he said, gesturing to the boy, who gave me a stiff nod. "This," with a wave towards the raven-haired girl, "is Natalia Armstrong, daughter of Poseidon, and this," with a nod and smile towards the brown-haired girl, "is Kellie Perron, daughter of Demeter."

"What's up?" asked Kellie, smiling at me. She was by far the sweetest and most approachable of the three; I tried to stop myself from noticing her dimples when she smiled, but of course my mind then focused on her curves instead. I blushed.

"H-Hey." I tried for a smile, and I sort of succeeded. She seemed to appreciate the effort, her hazel eyes sparkling.

"Kell, we need to go," said the one with the curly, black hair – Natalia. Lucas put his hand on her arm.

"Wait. You're the son of Nike?" he asked, and he was looking at me in almost the same way that that thing had, but instead of hunger there was…anger, shimmering below the surface of his face. But why would he be angry at me…?

"Yes, I just said that," said Aiden exasperatedly.

"Give him your sword."

"I – what?" Aiden asked, eyebrows threatening to disappear off his face. "Are you nuts? He hasn't even been here a full day, he doesn't have training in dodging, much less actually swinging a sword!"

Kellie apparently agreed. "Lucas, back off, okay? Enough is enough."

He ignored her and turned to Natalia, who rolled her eyes and handed him a sword, which he threw at me. I fumbled for the hilt, slicing my palm open on the blade, but managed to get a hold on the handle. The not-pointy end. Whatever it was called. "Um, Lucas, I don't know what you want me to – whoa!"

Instinctively, I crashed the sword I held against his as he attacked, clumsily. The blades connected on an askew angle and the vibrations from the metal shook my arms and I almost dropped the sword again. "Hey, c-c'mon, I don't know what I'm doing h-here!" I pleaded, backing up as he advanced for another attack.

His eyes were blue, hard, and cold. "Chiron says you killed a limos. I don't believe it."

"That – that thing – I didn't mean to kill it – well, okay, I did, but I had a reason! I don't want any fights!" I had an okay handle on the sword now, but it was slippery and hard to hold because of the blood from my palm. Aiden stepped forward.

"Enough, Lucas," he said, his tone commanding. Lucas shot him a disdainful look.

"It's not your fight, Conelly."

"I'm a senior counselor, Parry," spat Aiden furiously. "Prop hasn't done anything. You're out of line."

"I'm a senior counselor too, in case you forgot. I have my reasons for what I do."

"Put down the sword, Lucas."

"Why are you even worried, Aiden?" laughed Natalia. "He's a son of Nike. He's going to win. Calm down."

I started to breathe more quickly. I'd never won anything in my life, not a race or a fight or anything. I was last picked for every event, academic and otherwise. If Lucas was going to fight me until I won, I was going to end up dead. I tried to say as much, but I could barely breathe. Speaking was out of the question. Unfortunately, the argument was swaying my one protector. Aiden bit his lip and looked at me. "Is that right, Prop?"

I shook my head violently, the world blurring, my wavy hair falling into my eyes. "N-n-no," I forced out. "I never win. E-ever. At any-anything."

Aiden turned back to Lucas, who threw his sword down with disgust across his face. He bridged the gap between us and yanked the sword away from me. He tossed it to Natalia, picked up his own weapon, and left, giving Aiden a dirty look and me no acknowledgment at all. That was fine with me.

Aiden looked at me, confused. "What was that all about?"

I just shook my head to tell him that I had no idea, sinking to the dirt and cradling my right hand. It was bleeding worse than I had thought it was, a sort-of deep slice across the broadest part of my palm. Aiden hissed in displeasure. "Let's get you to the Apollo cabin," he said. "Chiron's all the way across camp, it's easier to go there." He pulled me to my feet with my left hand and walked with me.

"I'm sorry about that. Lucas is sometimes a pompous jerk, but he's never acted like that around anyone else." He looked puzzled, his eyebrows knitted together in thought. I gave a little laugh with an edge to it – bitter or hysterical, I couldn't tell which.

"It's me," I explained. "Bad luck. It follows me like a cloud. I've never won anything in my life. I've never succeeded in anything, even. And the people that try to be my friends get bad luck too, until they get away from me. I'm like a human jinx," I said, trying to smile. Apparently I wasn't doing so well, because Aiden slung an arm around my shoulder and gave me a smile of his own.

"I have enough good karma to keep you around," he informed me. "Let's go get that hand fixed."

We made our way to the Apollo cabin, but in my mind I was back outside the stables, sword in hand, watching Lucas strike at me with anger in his eyes. What had I done to deserve that kind of rage?

A/N

Speedy update is speedy. :D I really, really like this story. Like, I don't like the writing itself - the words. But I love my characters, and I love the act of writing, and it's just...it's just fun, dammit. I don't know. I haven't felt this way since I wrote my last novel chapter. I wish I felt this way more often. XD