AN: I'm running out of things to say up here. Hmm. Thanks to all my loyal readers and reviewers. If you've read this story from the beginning or are just checking in, please, drop me a review. I own nothing, not even a superawesome magic sword.
Camp Life, Chapter Thirteen
First Blows/Deteriorating Microcosm
She watches the twilight paint the sky a vivid golden color. Clouds, dark but small and isolated, add asymmetry to the spectacle, while the mountains far below turn cherry-red, the snow reflecting the fading sunlight brightly.
This is her favorite time of day.
The apple trees rustle softly in the wind behind her. The dragon snorts softly and rolls over slightly in his sleep. Her sisters glide about the Garden, doing this, doing that, but not really doing anything.
She turns her attention back to the sky, and wishes she could reach out and touch it.
The King of the Gods watches the twilight paint the sky a vivid golden color.
He sighs. He used to ache for the moments he knows are coming, but right now he just wishes he could sit back in his chair and spend a quiet evening with Hera, every day for the rest of time.
It's a shame his wife rarely feels like talking to him these days.
He hears the soft footsteps behind him and tenses.
"Lord Husband," Hera murmurs, snaking her arm through his and gazing out at the skyline high, high above New York.
"Lady Wife," he returns gruffly, a little surprised by her apparent meekness.
"Aeolus' agent hasn't checked in, but it doen't matter. It is time to begin," she says quietly. But there is a fierce undertone in her voice, and for a second he wonders if she would let him take her to bed-
But no. They have a job to do.
Sighing again, he turns.
"Tell my son to go," he says.
"We're fucking lost already?" snaps Lou-Ellen, sitting on the hood of the white Camp Half-Blood van. "I oughta-"
"We're not that lost," says Castor, flinching away from the daughter of Hecate's black motorcycle boots. "We know where we sort of are, just not where we, you know, we specifically are."
"This is all going to end in tears. Mark my words." mutters Gardner Peck, sitting in the back seat of the van with his arms crossed, a sullen expression on his face.
It should probably be explained that this van is not an ordinary van on the inside.
On the outside, the van looks like an ordinary, large people-mover, twelve seats with no large amount of leg room.
On the inside, the van closely resembles a tour bus for a rock band- long and spacious, with thick carpets on the floor, a sofa facing a massive bay window, a bedroom, a small bathroom, a massive TV and a refrigerator
Basically, it's the ultimate road-trip machine, all thanks to Lou-Ellen's mother.
"Don't be so gloomy," says Malcolm, cheerfully munching on the last of the doughnuts they'd bought from a gas station near camp.
"We're going to be attacked for sure," Gardner snaps, "And since you idiots dragged me along with you, you have to protect me. I may be prodigiously talented, but for my part I am no warrior."
"Gee, you're such a nice friend, Gard," says Miranda brightly, bent over the road map with Castor.
"I hate you all."
The early morning sky is grey and misty. The van is sitting on the side of the road near an intersection in the apparent middle of nowhere. A road sign near the van says, 'Pittsburgh: 93 Miles'.
Lou-Ellen kicks Castor again. "I don't see how this is so freaking hard. There's only two roads."
"Imbeciles." This was from Gardner.
"Hey," says Malcolm, peering off the road out into the rocky wasteland. The scenery is dotted with a few trees to relieve the monotony, but it's still pretty empty.
"Let's just drive," groans Lou-Ellen. "And let me this time. Castor's driving is so boring."
"I believe that statement just disqualified you from holding the post of driver. Mr. Kirke's driving is not what I would call 'boring'."
"Guys . . ."
"My driving is awesome! How old are you, anyway?"
"I think we missed a turn back here . . ."
"Guys."
"I'll turn you into a frog if you don't let me drive! And then I'll kick your ass!"
"No one's kicking anyone's ass! This was supposed to be fun!"
"GUYS!"
Everyone turns and stares at Malcolm.
The son of Athena points. "I think that's the Nemean Lion . . ."
Ana sighs and rubs her temples wearily.
When her mother takes over the world, she thinks, she will not have to deal with this srt of bullshit.
"You already lost to Percy Jackson once," she says, "And that wasn't even in open combat. Why would this time be any different?"
Geryon spreads his arms wide. "Yes, little lady, but that was trickery. And besides, wouldn't you want ole' Geryon in your little war host? Never knew an army that turned away willin' soldiers."
Ana sneers. "Well, perhaps, but I have seen armies that turned away potential traitors."
Geryon blinks, wounded. "Traitors? I'm no-"
"You were taking money from every side during the last war- Kronos, Luke Castellen, Apollo, Hera, Echelon- and you were just released from Tarturus and just happened to show up here? I don't think so, mate."
She smiles. "Boys."
Geryon never gets a chance to scream. Agamemnon's maul crushes his left body, Lycaon's claws rip the heart from his right, and Wes's rifle puts a crater in the middle of his center body. He dissolves into a fine golden mist seconds later.
Ana stretches and stands up. The few chairs they had were wooden and uncomfortable ones they'd pillaged from the nearby village. She hated them, but it wasn't very dignified to sit on the ground when you were the general of an army.
She nods at Agamemnon and Lycaon, and the two wander off. She has no idea what they actually do when they aren't her bodyguards, but she doesn't particularly care either.
With a sigh she glances at Wes, who stands completely still, rifle at his side, waiting for her to do something.
Out of all her brothers- the human ones, anyway, she hates her Giant brothers and she's never met any Titans- Wes is her favorite. Probably her favorite sibling altogether. A young boy from rural Montana, his upbringing had been completely different from hers- he'd been raised by his grandfather in a minuscule town with about five other kids, his .22 hunting rifle his only companion. As a result, he was a crack shot with terrible social skills. Luckily he also adored her and rarely left her side.
She, on the other hand, had been born in beautiful, storied Alexandria, the Mediterranean lapping at the shores of Mother Egypt right next to the ancient city. At twelve her father had brought her to London, where she'd been living ever since a year ago when she entered her mother's service. She had rarely been outside of a massive city before; and she hated camping here in the middle of nowhere. If she didn't get a shower soon she was going to kill someone.
Ana reaches over and tousles her brothers messy brown hair and he smiles.
"The others seem restless," he murmurs, looking down shyly at his hiking boots. "I think they might do something . . . rash . . . soon."
Ana sighs. "Come on, then."
"Drive faster!" Lou-Ellen screams, pounding on the drivers headrest frantically. "It's gaining on us!"
"I hate all of you," mutters Gardner. "I really do."
Malcolm, a piece of beef jerky sticking out of his mouth, is trying to aim a javelin from out the back window of the van. "Can you stop swerving, please?!"
"Sorry," says Miranda, swerving frantically. "This bastard is fast."
"When it eats us, I know Lord Hades will see I would have lead a sterling and conscientious and well-dressed life. It's not my fault I ended up with you hooligans."
"Okay," says Castor in the passenger seat, studying the map, "There's a left coming up in two miles . . . take it."
Miranda glances in the rearview mirror. Just pass Malcolm's head, the Nemean Lion's bright yellow teeth snap hungrily.
She looks out the window. The panorama is empty but for a few trees, branches still bare from winter. The road is just as deserted.
"Fuck this," she says, and grinds the gas pedal into the floorboard. The engine roars and the speedometer needle hovers over the 150 mph marker.
"Are big vans supposed to go this fast?" asks Castor, peering at the dials anxiously.
"Um . . . no," says Miranda, watching the needle slide past one seventy-five. "No, they're not. Is this from your mom?" she asks the girl behind her.
Lou-Ellen shakes her head. "No. I think it's 'cause Argus likes to tinker with the engines in his spare time. He's always in the garage, anyways." She gets a thoughtful look on her face. "Do you think he has eyes everywhere-"
"I hate you most of all."
A wounded roar comes from the back of the van as Malcolm stabs the Lion's face with his javelin, deftly reaching for his Skittles bag in between thrusts. "Can you speed it up?" he yells.
"Godsdamnit," snarls Miranda. She swerves again, and the Lion's snout recedes in the mirror.
"Okay," Malcolm calls. "Hold her still!"
Miranda does.
There's a pause, and then Malcolm grunts and flings the javelin out the window at the Lion, who roars in pain.
"Oh, good," Lou-Ellen hisses. "You gave it a toothache-"
There's a bright flash from behind the van, and a loud boom.
The van slows, then stops in the middle of the highway. No-one says anything.
The demigods get out of the van, staring at the smoking crater in the pavement. A few hairs and a brown leather jacket float down gently.
"Huh," says Castor.
"Where'd you get that spear?" asks Miranda.
Lou-Ellen sighs. "Randy, there's only one person who would have a javelin with a bomb on it. One person."
Malcolm shrugs, peeling a banana. "The lock on the Armory is really easy to pick. I mean, no-one would dare go inside if Rust might be right around the corner, but . . ."
Castor reaches down and picks up the jacket.
"Who wants it?"
Ares finds Pelorus stomping around a lake in Pennsylvania, muttering about stupid hidden underground mazes.
The war god shakes his head, brakes his Harley and sets the kickstand, leaving the bike on the beach. He was tempted to don the Spartan warrior's armor and robe like the last time he beat the shit out of Pelorus, but it would look weird wearing that and riding his chopper.
Reaching into his leather jacket, he produces an M79 grenade launcher, flips the sight up and aims at the Giant's head. Pelorus still hasn't noticed him.
Whith a thump, the grenade explodes agains the Giants head; with a wounded bellow, he falls backward into the shallows, creating a massive tidal wave.
Ares watches him flail around with contempt. Pelorus isn't exactly the thinker of his family. Sending him to look around for a labryinth entrance - how do they not realize the entire thing is gone? - in the middle of nowhere is just the sort of thing Ares would do if he was Pelorus' commander.
Finally Pelorus gets to his feet, blinking, dripping, and looking around wildly. When his eyes finally focus on Ares, he roars with rage. "YOU!"
"Me." Ares grins. He's been spoiling for a good, even fight ever since fucking Typhon.
Pelorus shrieks with fury and charges.
Ares tosses the grenade launcher away- it was really just an attention getter, anyway- and draws his sword. The weapon spouts flames along the blade. The ruby on the pommel glitters wickedly.
Ares rolls his shoulders. "Let's see what you got, asshole. Round two!"
Her sisters don't understand.
The world ouside is dangerous, they say.
It's safe here, they say.
You have duties here, they say.
Father would never allow it, they say.
But why wouldn't she want to leave the Garden? Nothing ever happens here. Ever. And so much is happening in the world, she's sure of it. Father rarely talks about it, but she knows the world has to be better then the Garden.
Anything would be better then the Garden.
"Ana," Elizabeth simpers, "can't you get me a shower? I saw some on Amazon; they have little portable ones that -"
"We aren't going to buy from the enemy," Ana snaps, ignoring how much she wants a shower, "And how would they deliver it to you, anyway?"
"But-"
"No. Go do something productive."
"Don't be upset, Liz," says Hayden, Elizabeth's younger brother by blood, grinning that pearly-white grin. "Ana's just had a bad day. You sure you still wanna be leader, sweetheart?"
"If you call me that again," Ana growls, "I swear I will-"
But before she can finish her threat, a blur of green interposes itself between her and her half-brother, a handsome football player- American football, anyway- from Southern California. Elizabeth and Hayden are easily the worst of her siblings; Elizabeth the spoiled princess and Hayden the arrogant princeling- but none of them can quite give her as much of a headache as-
"Come, now, brother! Thy knavish behaviour shames thee before the Lady!"
Ana devoutly wishes that Lester would fall into a well and drown.
Easily the strangest of her brothers, Lester insisted that he was completely sane and only acting different parts, but yesterday he had spent the entire day pretending he was Abraham Lincoln.
That was already pretty bloody strange, but before that he'd done a convincing Lady Gaga (The worst day of Ana's life) and a rather strange day several months ago where he'd slithered around on the ground pretending to be a snake.
And now apparently he's bloody Robin Hood.
"Les," says Hayden patiently, stopping the maniac's hand before he can challenge Hayden to a duel or something equally ridiculous, "I was just teasing her. Calm down."
"And please don't wear those tights ever again," mutters Elizabeth.
Les puffs out his chest indignantly. "My dear lady! I have been assured that these leggings were the greatest of fashions-"
"For ballet dancers, maybe."
"Anyway," Hayden says smoothly, "my point is, don't you think you're taking a bit too much responsiblity on your shoulders? I could-"
Wes takes a step forward, his face darkening, as Ana snaps, "Go shove it up your ass, Hayden. Mother put me in charge, not you."
Hayden scowls. "Then would you let me freaking attack! We've been sitting here for almost a month-"
"Absolutely not!" Ana levels her finger in front of her brothers face. "There is a reason we're just letting them sit there! They have no idea what we're planning, clearly their parents either don't trust them with the info, or don't care enough to tell them. And while they sit there, our brothers Leon, Agrios and Clytius are beginning the operation a few miles away. The Olympians will never guess it- "
"Yeah, because it's exactly what we did last time!" snaps Elizabeth. "I migh not be a super-warrior-tactician-person like you guys, but even I know that's stupid!"
"Which is why they won't think we'll try it again," says Ana, gritting her teeth.
"Forsooth, they will not think us dumb enough!" laughs Lester. "A sly plan!"
Wes nods uncertainly, gripping the stock of his rifle tightly.
Elizabeth sighs. "Whatever. All I want is a shower. And maybe Percy Jackson. In my shower."
Ana rolls her eyes.
"I just think that making all these superhero movies isn't a bad thing; I mean, look at Avengers, it's just- I wish they were more, I don't know, grittier! More Dark Knight-ish!"
"Definitley," agrees Malcolm, dipping a carrot in ranch dressing.
"I mean, Amazing Spider-Man was great, and all; but . . ."
"You people," says Lou-Ellen with great dignity, "are such nerds."
Castor rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I bet you think - "
"That Watchmen is the last word in superhero movies? Yeah. I do."
She glances over her shoulder towards the front of the van. "Hey, four-eyes! How's it hanging? Why are we only going like sixty miles an hour?"
Gardner glares icily in the rearview mirror. "Because that's the speed limit, Miss Hannity. Could you refrain from yelling so loudly in the vehicle? And put your seatbelt on."
Lou-Ellen groans. "Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud, you dweeb! It won't kill you to go, I don't know, seventy-five! You can do that, can't you?"
"In fact," says Gardner, reaching up to adjust his glasses, "It may very well kill me, Miss Hannity. And kill you to. Also, it's against the law."
Miranda sighs. "I'll go help him." as she gets up, she stops and frowns.
"Whats up?" asks Castor.
"Um . . ." she points out the window. As they'd neared Pittsburgh, the terrain had become mre uneven and much more heavily forested. The area Miranda is pointing at is a small lake partially visible through the evergreen trees.
As they watch, a massive wall of water cannons up over the trees, soaking them. Another follows a second later.
"Whoa," says Castor, staring. Malcolm nods in agreement, his mouth full.
"Let's go check it out," says Lou-Ellen, getting up from her seat and wrenching the wheel from Gardner's hands, ignoring his squawk of fury.
The van veers towards the closest exit, inciting honking and rude gestures from the other drivers.
Castor glances at Miranda and grins. "Adventure time."
The Hero comes that night.
The first person she's ever met besides her Father and her sisters.
He's not as big as Father, but still massive, and strong, and gallant, and ferocious. And so . . . confident.
He wins her heart in minutes. In seconds.
She gives him her token, and he gives her heartbreak.
Ana is sitting in her tent, reading 'The Histories' by Herodotus and trying to ignore the heat. Wes is sitting a few feet away, carefully cleaning his rifle.
Hayden moves the flap aside and enters. Outside she can hear Les quoting Clint Eastwood and can't help a sigh.
"You wanted to see me, dear?" Hayden says, smiling charmingly. Wes scowls and ostentatiously begins spinning the chamber of the massive Colt Python revolver that usually sits on his belt. Hayden winces minutely and tries not to look at him.
Ana chuckles at her favorite brothers antics and says, "Yes, I did. At least an hour ago. No, don't," she stops him from interrupting with a sharp movement of her hand, "I don't want to hear it. What I do want to hear is why you told Echidna to prepare for a raid tonight."
She can't help but be impressed, barely a flicker crosses his face. "A raid? I didn't order any raids for today or any time. That was your responsiblity, I was told."
She nods. "It is. Which is why I'm wondering whether to demote you or just execute you."
As she says execute, Wes snaps the chamber closed and aims the big gun at Hayden's head.
The Boy Wonder looks briefly worried. "Whatever Echidna told you, I didn't tell her anything. She's probably trying to take my position, isn't that obvious?"
Ana sneers. "Come with me."
She stands and grabs him by the sleeve, dragging him out of the tent. Around the back, Echidna, the Mother of all Monsters, is chained to the ground. Whip marks cover her body. Lycaon and Agamemnon prowl around on either side. Les, dressed like an outlaw from the American West, leans against a tree, whistleing innocently.
Hayden pales.
Ana smiles grimly. "She wasn't in any position to make up stories about you, you fucking stupid ponce."
She nods at Wes. The thirteen year old aims his revolver between Echidna's eyes and fires. The monster dissolves, wailing piteously.
Ana turns to Hayden, who, for the first time, looks, really, actually afraid of her. She likes that.
"Shape up," she says. "If this or anything else happens again, I'll feed you to the Chimera."
Ares is trying to hack off Pelorus' other arm when the white van come screeching into the lake's campsite parking lot.
He shrugs it off and dodges a massive blow from Pelorus' hard fist. He tries a kick to the Giant's kidney, but no dice; Pelorus may be dumber then a rock but he's a decent fighter.
As he looks for another opening, a bronze-tipped arrow penetrates Pelorus's left eye. the Giant Roars in pain and flails about. Knowing the fight is over, Ares punches Pelorus as hard as he can in the face, knocking him over, plants his motorcycle boot on the Ginats chest and stabs downward. The Giant roars one last time, and dies.
Ares smirks triumphantly. "Ares, two, Asshole McButtnugget, Zip. Thanks for playing."
The god of war glances at the newcomers, a bunch of nervous looking demigods standing on the beach. One is holding a bow. Greeks, he guesses, byt the looks of them. And one he recognizes, the glasses one- the old drunks' senior Echelon attaché. Perch, or something.
"Well," he says, grinning in a way he knows makes them want to pee their pants, "What are a bunch of nice little tykes like you doing out here?"
The bitter wind chills her to the bone, and she wishes she was still in the Garden.
The mountain snow is colder then she would have though possible, before her Father exiled her; and she can hear wolves howling nearby.
She ate the last of the stale bread and goat cheese the kind farmer had given here days ago, and she desperately wants-needs-food. but she hasn't seen a house for days, and it's much to dark to try and scavenge for berries or roots.
She bitterly wishes she knew how to hunt.
Even as she thinks this, huddled inside a bush, trying to keep the threadbare cloak covering her entire body, sh sees the white wolf, visible in the silver moonlight, pacing outside her hiding place, and she knows true terror.
Then the girl steps out from the nearby foliage, absentmindedly scratches the wolfhound behind the ears, and kneels by her side. In the girls hand is a handfull of perfectly ripe, big blueberries. She looks up at the girl in wonder.
The strange girls smiles, her brilliant silver eyes the exact same shade as the full moon.
"So," says Castor, staring at Miranda's bow in wonder, "you killed a Giant. Just like Jason Grace. And freaking Percy."
Miranda shrugs, though she looks quite pleased.
"Miranda and Ares," says Malcolm thoughtfully, taking a swig of Diet Coke. "It's like Ultimate Marvel Team-up or something."
"Oh dear God," mutters Lou-Ellen.
"What did he give you?" asks Castor, "I thought for helping out the War god you'd get, like, a giant sword, or a flaming dragon axe or something. Not a piece of paper."
Miranda unfolds the paper Ares had given her and squints. "I think it says . . . 'whoever carries this will have any help or aid from any servant of the Olympians. Obey, or have all your limbs cut off. Signed, Ares.' His handwriting is awful."
Gardner pulls his glasses off and cleans them with the hem of his expensive-looking sweater. "That is much, much more useful than a weapon, Miss Gardner. I advise you treasure it."
"I wonder if we could make Chiron put me in charge of the Camp," says Lou-Ellen, looking alarmingly contemplative.
"No way!" says Miranda, grinning and tucking the note away. "I'm saving this for a rainy day." Glancing around, she stands up and heads for the driver's seat. "Who want's dinner? I'm thinking Italian."
The demigods (With the exception of Gardner, who merely nods agreeably) cheer enthusiastically.
The pounding in his head starts to recede slowly, and the blackness covering his eyes starts to slowly fade.
His hand burns something fierce, though. His chest, too.
The air feels cold, but his body is hot, uncomfortably so. He can feel sweat dripping down his temples. He knows the signs- he's wounded. Badly, by the feel of it.
He tries to move his fingers, and stops dead.
Khione stands over him, her beautiful sword slicing his hand away, sliding into his torso again and again.
He grits his teeth and opens his eyes.
The ceiling above his bed is grey and seems to swirl a bit. He wonders how long it's been since the fight. That would explain why he's so woozy he can't see straight. That, or poison.
He remembers the submarine, and hopes everyone made it out. He supposes someone did, otherwise he wouldn't be here.
Wherever here is.
A movement to the side of his head catches his eye, and Nico's grinning face swims into view.
"Hey there, my hero," the son of Hades says in a high falsetto, "Your finally awake! I've been ever so worried . . ."
"Shut up, asshole," says Steven his voice raspy and painful from disuse.
Nico laughs. "Good to see you awake, big guy. We thought you'd had it."
Steven grimaces. "Everyone else-"
"Perfectly fine," says a deep voice behind Nico. Steven turns his head as much as he can, to see a tall, broad-shouldered black guy leaning against the wall. He seems to be sort of hazy and indistinct; not quite see-through, but not all there either.
Beside him is-
"Ah," says the son of Aeolus flatly. "The Underworld. I was wondering . . ."
Nico shrugs. "You were bleeding out. There was nowhere else to go. I slept for two days after that."
Steven sighs. "Well . . . we need to talk to your father anyways. I want to know where that Doorway piece is, and I'll bet he knows."
"Lord Hades isn't here," the big guy says. "He hasn't been here for a few days. Nobody knows what he's doing."
Nico nods. "Rust, these are a few old friends of mine."
"Charles Beckendorf," the shade says, grinning amicably. "and this is-"
"Silena Beauregard," says Rust coldly. "We've met."
The sound of footsteps rouse Zoe from her thoughts. Her memories.
Her rooms in Elysium are lovely and comfortable, certainly better then anything she had while alive, but still in one the less populated, less grand neighborhoods. Her windows and balcony, which she was just staring out of, sit on the edge of a sheer cliff, with water down below.
She rises and answers the door when the knock comes.
Ouside stands a large, handsome man, with shoulder length blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and a smaller, slight young man with dark hair and a serious expression.
Both have the look of a warrior about them. She recognizes neither.
"Zoe Nightshade?" asks the slender man.
She nods uncertainly.
He smiles kindly. "I'm Theseus, and this is Achilles. We'd like to make you a proposition."
Thank you, Ladies and Gents.
Next Time: Rust and the other learn their next destination, Thalia and Reyna suspect Percy and Annabeth are up to something, and Lou-Ellen terrorizes the American highways.