Chapter 2

"Mom!" Percy screamed. "Mom!"

All seemed dead in the world. Everything had come to a standstill. They had just been out for a walk. His mom said she needed to "clear her mind." Nothing bad was supposed to happen. It was just a walk. But now his mom was dead. Nothing in the world should look beautiful. Nothing deserved to be beautiful.

Grief and anger surged through the young boy. Poseidon could sense it.

He watched darkly from Olympus as his heart grew heavy. There was nothing he could do. Zeus would have his head if he did anything. No one could know. Percy had to blend in…sneak right underneath the noses of the Olympians. He had to fool even Athena.

Poseidon curled a hand around his trident in sorrow. He'd never quite loved a mortal woman like this. She was a queen amongst mortals: always kind, and so forgiving. Yet she knew when she needed to use her anger. She was much like Hestia, the only other god or goddess who had Percy's identity figured out. Poseidon winced when he remembered her chastising.

The Sea God didn't know who had murdered Sally. It was a presence far more powerful than a mortal's or a demigod's, but not as powerful as an Olympian. His first thought lingered to Hades, the Lord of the Dead. But Hades' presence was far more powerful than this. It could not have been him. He could not muse on it long. Godlings would become suspicious.

He knew he had to do something to help the boy. Otherwise some force might come and kill him as well. In fortune, Hera was making her case against Zeus for fathering his daughter, her birth coming mere months after Percy's. If no one was watching… He needed to make sure of that.

Poseidon stood up and walked out of his temple. It was like any other night on Olympus, which made for a perfect time to sneak out. There was no summer solstice. It had passed. The winter solstice was far off, so there were no special occasions for a while.

As he passed Aphrodite's temple, he heard some unpleasant noises coming from inside. That crossed two Olympians off the list.

He passed a street market where Nemesis and Tyche were arguing about fortune cookies, just as they had been for the past few decades or so. It was a ridiculous argument, but he couldn't be hypocritical. He and Zeus often argued about which type of storms were better. Needless to say, hurricanes are better than tornadoes.

Hephaestus was probably busy in his forge, and Apollo would be sleeping or at a night club. Artemis was near Yellowstone with her Hunters, and Dionysus was at Camp Half-Blood. Hera and Zeus were arguing in the throne room. That was eight of twelve. Demeter… Poseidon didn't care much if she found out. He would threaten to flood her crops if she did. And there was himself. Ten of twelve.

The only two he really had to worry about were Hermes and Athena.

Athena was smart. She wouldn't be so easy to fool. And Hermes was a trickster. He would be everywhere.

Shrinking down to human size, he made his way toward the elevator. Morphing human clothes onto him, he glanced over the edge. He knew Central Park was where he needed to be, so with a snap of his fingers, he dissolved into an ocean breeze before reappearing barely fifty feet away from his son. He quietly tapped the tree next to him, keeping an eye on his son.

A few seconds later, a young teenage girl wearing a green chiton and laced sandals appeared next to him. A dryad. Her green eyes stared at the Sea God partially in respect and partially in fear. He smiled at her.

"Hello, Frisia," he greeted.

The dryad gave him a smile. "Lord Poseidon."

"Frisia's better than black locust, eh?"

"Of course. What do you require of me?"

Poseidon pointed toward Percy. "That boy. Would you please get him to Camp Half-Blood? Call a satyr…tell the naiads…tell other dryads. Just get him to camp safely. That is all I ask."

The dryad nodded. "With pleasure. But…Lord Poseidon." She hesitated. "May I ask… Why that boy?"

Poseidon looked around to make sure no one was listening. "Swear to the Styx that none that this secret is revealed to shall tell the gods on Olympus."

"I swear to the Styx."

"He is my son."

Frisia's eyes widened. "A child of Poseidon? But the oath—"

"I fell in love with that woman, Sally Jackson. Six years ago, my son, Percy, was born. For a long time, I haven't seen them… I didn't have a chance to see them. Zeus was as paranoid as usual. Hera discovered Thalia four years ago, but nobody else knows. Hades doesn't know about her existence. Yet…when Apollo warned me about something like this, as he was the first to realize I had a son, I did not believe him. Alas, I couldn't have done anything anyway. Not when everyone is looking."

Frisia bowed her head in a moment of silence. Then she spoke: "I promise you, Lord Poseidon. I will do everything in my power to get Percy to Camp Half-Blood."

"Thank you."

He turned and prepared to leave, but before he could, Frisia said, "Wait!"

Poseidon turned around and gave the dryad a questioning look. She took a deep breath, and dryads all around began poking their heads out. He gently urged her, "Go on."

"The…the man that killed Sally…" She paused. "Well, he was neither a man nor a god. But he was a he. I have never felt a power like that. It was almost as if…as if he wasn't at full strength. His full strength is like a god's…but…not like a god's at the same time. I must sound confusing but—"

He held a hand up, his green eyes wide with realization. "I understand, Frisia. I thank you. I thank you very much." And he disappeared.

Fifty feet away, Percy's head snapped up. He thought he smelled an ocean breeze whisk by, but it was gone as soon as it came.

"Who's there?" He meant to shout it, but it sounded quiet in the large forest. "You can't hurt me anymore!"

He was met with silence.

Traumatized, all Percy wanted to do was curl up in the limp grip of his mother's arm and fall asleep hoping that this was just a bad nightmare that he would wake up from. He wanted to believe that this was a dream. But he could feel and see so clearly that he knew it wasn't fake. It wasn't pretend.

Sobbing, he sat there. He didn't know what to do. He was six. There was nothing left for him to go back to. He wished he could have gone with his mother into death. He wished the shadow had killed him. Now he was stuck living in a world that didn't care about his mother. That world had killed her parents when she was young. That world had left her with nothing but him. And then that world killed her when he was still young.

"Percy?" a soft voice said from above him.

Looking up, he held his arms up to protect himself. It was a natural instinct. But when he didn't feel any pain, he slowly lowered his arms. A young girl, in her teens, stood above him. She looked completely unafraid, but she wore a sad face. Her face was small compared to his mother's, and her eyes were bright green, kind of like his. She wore a dress of some kind, and it was green as well.

Percy turned to his right and saw another girl in a similar outfit, but her dress was red like cherries. Her eyes were also green, but every once in a while, they would switch to red. It was weird, but for some reason he couldn't understand, it suited the girl.

There were five of them, and suddenly Percy felt timid. He marveled at the beautiful young women but was embarrassed to be in their presence. Especially when there were so many of them. He was shy.

"Percy? Is that your name?" the first girl asked. The one with green eyes and a green dress. "I'm Frisia."

"Hi—um, hi, Frisia," he said timidly.

Frisia smiled and turned to the other girls. "He's a cute little boy."

"I know," gushed the red-dressed one. "He'll be a good hero. I know it."

"Oh, shut up, Cherry," Frisia said. "You're going to freak him out. As if he's not freaked out already. He's talking to dryads. I bet you he doesn't even know what dryads—"

"What's a dryad?" Percy asked.

Cherry crouched down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, and he was surprised to find her touch comforting, like she was a mother. "Do you know Greek mythology?"

Percy's eyes lit up. He nodded.

"And you know about nymphs?"

"Yes."

"Well, dryads are the spirits of trees. For example, my tree is the cherry tree. And Frisia's is the black locust."

He frowned. "But…but Greek myths aren't true. They're stories. Mom always told me Greek myths were tales of the ancient Greeks—"

"Of the ancient Greeks," Cherry interjected. "She never said they made it up."

He knit his eyebrows. "How—? Who am I? What am I?"

"A demigod," she said with a sad smile. "Half human, half god."

"Like…like Hercules?"

"Yeah."

Percy pointed at Frisia. "And you're a tree?"

Frisia snapped her fingers and disappeared. A couple seconds later, her head appeared out of the black locust. Just her head. No body. No legs. No hands. Nothing. Just a head. And that was enough to put Percy over the edge.

Scared and stunned, Percy collapsed on the spot. He fainted and the darkness consumed him.

When Percy woke up, he found himself sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over his legs, a pillow behind his neck.

On the table next to him was a large drink. It was a glass of iced apple juice with a green squiggly straw. Reaching over, he grabbed the glass and drank it. He recoiled at the taste, because he was expecting apple juice. It wasn't that at all. It was chocolate-chip cookies. Liquid cookies.

And not just any cookies—his mother's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies. Percy stared at the glass in amazement. It was like magic. He felt as if his mom had just brushed her hand against his cheek, given him a cookie, and told him everything was going to be okay.

"Not what you were expecting?" a voice asked from his right.

Turning to look, Percy saw a middle-aged man in a wheelchair. He had brown hair, bushy eyebrows, brown eyes and a messy beard. The man was giving him a look he didn't quite understand. He stared back and said, "Who are you?"

The man smiled kindly. "You may call me Chiron."

The name clicked in his head. "The trainer of Hercules and Achilles?" Percy exclaimed loudly. "But aren't you supposed to be dead? And a horse?"

"Centaur," Chiron corrected. "And as for the question of being dead… well, I'm not so sure about being dead. The truth is I can't be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from the wish…and I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed."

"So…you're immortal?"

"Yes. I suppose I am."

"But…Chiron. Where am I? What am I doing here? Where's…what's—?"

"All will be answered soon, child," the centaur-in-a-wheelchair said. "First, I think we should have an introduction."

"Introduction?"

"Introduction to Camp Half-Blood. But first, finish the nectar."

Percy gave him a confused look. Chiron motioned toward the apple juice. "It will make you feel better," Chiron said.

The boy gingerly took the glass and drained it. He stared into it, sure he'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted. He did feel stronger, though, as if the drink had given him a boost of energy. He didn't feel so tired and worn out.

Chiron rolled over in his wheelchair and took the glass from his hands. "Do you know what nectar is, child?"

"Mom said it was the drink of the gods. And ambrosia is the food."

"Yes. Demigods, like yourself, can drink nectar and eat ambrosia as well, though in small doses."

"Small what?"

"You cannot drink too much or eat too much at once. Otherwise, you will burn up into ashes. The food is meant for the immortals, but since your blood contains godly blood as well as human blood, you are able to handle the godly food."

"I have godly blood?" Percy asked curiously.

Chiron's eyes darkened. "You said your mother was mortal? She told you that it was the drink of the gods. And—"

Percy looked down. "My mom is dead."

"And so your father is a god." The centaur-in-a-wheelchair said it with such casualty; Percy looked up to glare at him. But when the boy met those dark brown eyes, he saw sadness in them. And his anger dissipated. Chiron continued, "Did your mother ever tell you about your father?"

He looked back down. "She said I look like him. And that…that he was lost at sea before I was born. Lost, not dead. Lost."

Chiron's breath hitched for the slightest second, but Percy didn't notice. He was too angry. Too sad.

"My dad is a god?" Percy asked, still disbelieving.

The centaur nodded. "Come, my boy. You should meet Mr. D and the satyr that saved you."

The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse.

As they came around the opposite end of the house, Percy gaped in amazement.

They were somewhere on Long Island, maybe the north shore, because on this side of the house the valley ran all the way up to the water, which glittered out in the distance. Between here and there, there were like a million different things he could see. The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture: a roofless lunch area, an amphitheater, a circular arena. Except they all looked brand new, the white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes slid across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts were chasing each other around a bunch of cabins tucked in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail…winged horses.

Down at the end of the porch, a man sat lazily at one end of a card table. A half goat man (Percy's mom called them satyrs) stood next to a blonde-haired guy against the porch rail next to the man.

The man at the card table was small, but chubby. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt, and he looked like he would've fit right in at one of Gabe's parties.

"That's Mr. D," Chiron introduced. "He's the camp director, so be polite. The satyr's name is Gleeson Hedge, though he prefers Coach Hedge ever since he became a P.E. teacher at a Toronto high school. And the boy is Nathan Grayson. One of the oldest campers, he will be leaving for college next year. He's a son of Athena."

Chiron wheeled up to the table, and Percy sat next to him. Everyone's eyes were on him as he approached. Mr. D stared at him with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you."

Percy sat down to Chiron's left and didn't say a word. Mr. D sounded a lot like Gabe, and that made him like the camp director less and less.

"Nathan?" Chiron called to the blonde guy. "Why don't you go check on Percy's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now."

Nathan said, "Sure, Chiron."

Nathan was a lot older than he was. And a lot more athletic looking. He had a deep tan and blonde hair. But his eyes made him look…different. They were startling grey, like storm clouds. He looked like he was trying to stare right through him. He said, "Welcome to camp. You'll love it here."

Then he jogged off down the lawn toward the cabins.

Percy looked at Coach Hedge next. Hedge was short. He wasn't much taller than him even though he looked like he was like forty years old. He had beady eyes, looked really strong, and had a wispy goatee. Hedge stared at him like he was expecting him to say something.

"Percy, this is Coach Hedge, the satyr that helped bring you to camp," Chiron introduced.

"Nice to meet you, too, cupcake," grunted the old satyr. "Fight was over when I came, but…uh, sorry 'bout your mother."

Percy nodded, uncomfortable again.

"Hedge," Mr. D said impatiently, "are you playing or not?"

"No, sir," Hedge answered. The tone in the satyr's voice made it clear that he didn't like the way Mr. D spoke to him. Percy could tell that much.

Then the camp director turned to him. "Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"Uh, bidding?"

Impatiently, Mr. D explained bidding and the whole game of pinochle. Percy liked the camp director even less now.

"But, I don't want to play," he said after the explanation.

Mr. D fumed. His whole face turned purple. "Why can't these brats die with their useless mortal parents?"

It took a little while, but Percy realized that it was meant as an insult. "My mom isn't useless!"

"Was," Mr. D corrected. "She's dead now, right?"

He couldn't control his temper. The Diet Coke can that Mr. D had been drinking from suddenly exploded, and Diet Coke sprayed everywhere. The metal can had exploded into pieces. Coach Hedge picked one piece up from the ground and chewed on it like a candy bar. Mr. D's eyes flared, but before anything bad could happen, Chiron interjected.

"Calm down." His tone was calm and steely. "I'm sure it was an accident, Dionysus. He is a six-year-old boy."

Mr. D glared at Percy. "Watch your back, demigod. Or I will have your head."

Percy went wide-eyed. "Dionysus?"

"Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?"

He knit his eyebrows. "Why are you here?"

The god threw his arms up in the air as Chiron winked at him. "Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits."

"Yes," Dionysus confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time. Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time—well, she was pretty, and I couldn't stay away—the second time. He sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. 'Work with youths rather than tearing them down.' Ha! Absolutely unfair."

"But… but—"

"Oh, save the 'but's," the god sniveled. "What did you expect me to be?" he asked, as if reading Percy's thoughts. "A young man? I often reflect my mood and what others see me as, so I'm not a handsome young man all the time."

He got up. "I'm tired," he said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson. And mind your manners."

When the god was gone, Coach Hedge whistled, impressed. "You've got guts. Standing up to a god. And you're probably asking for a death wish, too. I'll see you in a bit."

Hedge trotted off the porch and across the grassy field toward the huge forest down by the arena and cabins. Percy looked across at Chiron, who had a calm expression on. When the centaur noticed that the young boy was looking at him, he gave him a small smile. "Don't worry, Percy. Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been… ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

"Mount Olympus," Percy said. "There is a Mount Olympus?"

"Well, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. The mount that the mortals believe the Greek gods once 'lived.' And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do."

"What is a convergence point? What do you mean the gods move?"

"A convergence point is a point where things meet, in the simplest of definitions. And, well, the gods move with the heart of the west, so they have come here to the United States of America."

"The heart of the west?"

"Percy, the United States… and many western countries are a part of what mortals called 'Western civilization.' This is not just an abstract concept, a concept that is made up by the minds of humans. No, it's a living force. A collective consciousness that has burned bright for thousands of years. The gods are part of it. You might even say they are the source of it, or at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they couldn't possibly fade, not unless all of Western civilization was obliterated, or destroyed. The fire started in Greece. Then the heart of the fire moved to Rome, and so did the gods. Oh, different names, perhaps—Jupiter for Zeus, Neptune for Poseidon, and so on—but the same forces, the same gods."

"Uh…"

"The gods simply moved," Chiron continued. "To Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in painting, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, Percy, they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. The Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I dare you to find an American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not—and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome either—America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here."

The words seemed to float right out of Percy's head. They went in one ear and out the other. But at the same time, he could remember them. It hurt his head. He was tired. He lost his mother. It was hard to believe.

And then the weirdest thing happened. Chiron rose from his wheelchair. His legs didn't move, but the man kept rising, as if he was standing up. Suddenly, the body of a horse began growing out of the chair. Even though he knew Chiron was a centaur, it was still difficult to process what he was seeing. The wheelchair was suddenly a magic box, and a horse's leg came out. Then another front leg. Then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal box with two fake human legs attached.

"Now, come, Percy Jackson. Let's meet the other campers."

Heyyy! This is mostly a build-up backstory chapter. In fact, you don't really see much of the action until later. This is the beginning, and I know it is slow, but I feel that this is all necessary. Besides, I do skip a lot of things and end up rushing them often so you'll have to bear with me. I figured, since I already had this written, that I would upload it, but what I'm doing different this time is writing a few chapters ahead of what I'm uploading.

So, I hope you enjoy.

DON'T FORGET TO ASK ME QUESTIONS IF YOU HAVE ANY!

SharkAttack719