Merry Christmas!
It's only Boxing Day, so that's still valid, right?
Anyway, chapter number seven is here, and I tried to write some more feels into this one, not to mention that I keep forgetting that Thalia did actually get a hit in on Sol at the end of the last chapter, sooooo...
Anyway, onto the chapter before I make a fool of myself.
Sol discovered that the green mist had the same consistency as fog as said mist curled around her ankles. It curled itself into the shapes of snakes, and they were pretty lifelike – their tongues flickered in and out, one yawned, showing off its split-jaw and long fangs. The rippling effect of the mist formed an almost perfect replica of the scaley patterns on the actual living equivalents of the reptiles.
The fog-snakes slithered around all over the clearing, watched over by two large vipers, whose eyes glowed and hoods were unfolded. The vipers stood (well, snakes don't really stand, do they? They sort-of just sit there) on either side of a withered mummy that was wrapped in rotting cloth bandages that were covered up by a hippy-style dress. The overall hippy aesthetic was pulled off by a mass of beaded necklaces hanging around its neck and a smattering of headbands upon its head.
The campers and Hunters alike gasped.
Chiron was the first to recover his voice.
"It – this is impossible," he stated in a voice so nervous it could've belonged to Pepper prior to a big event. "It… she has never left the attic. Never."
So, underneath those bandages, it's a she, Sol thought. Okay. That solves… nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The mummy shuffled up the small hill, followed by her two vipers through the path that the smaller (or, rather, regular-sized) snakes were forming for her. After half a minute, she was standing in the middle of the group.
The snakes had turned what little snow remained green – she spied a small group of what looked like young snakes playing in a small pile of snow; diving into it and popping their tiny heads out to surprise their friends.
No-one dared move – their spines could've been made from metal rods by the forced-ness in their postures.
The snakes all opened their mouths, and a voice began to speak within Sol's head.
Several people covered their ears, and Sol's eyes went wide.
Not the mind magic again not the mind magic again not the mind magic again –
'Calm yourself, child,' the voice said. 'I am the spirit of Delphi, Speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python.'
Her vipers looked in different directions – one at the leader of the Hunters, the other at Sol.
'Approach, Seekers, and ask.'
The Hunter swallowed and said something that Sol couldn't hear, as she'd opened her mouth and spoken;
"How must I prove myself?"
The snakes suddenly all went to attention, and moved their mouths as the voice spoke once more;
"Five shall go west to the goddess in chains,
One shall be lost in the land without rain,
The bane of Olympus shows the trail,
Campers and Hunters combined prevail,
The Titan's curse must one withstand,
And one shall perish by a parent's hand.
The hero, unwelcomed as she may be,
Is set in chains for the Semi-Divine to break free,
The Phoenix's wrath she will face,
At the start of their fiery chase."
Then, the snakes all retreated, slithering back toward their supervisors, whose forms swirled and disappeared into the mouth of the mummy.
She sat down on a rock and became as still as one at room temperature, as if she might sit there for as long as the previous priestesses had sat in a cave inhaling volcanic fumes that probably gave them lung cancer.
Sol, if she was completely honest, wanted to kick the mummy's head into the creek and be done with it.
Instead, she took off into the upper atmosphere, disappearing from view within a minute.
(Flashback)
Fire encased Sol's fist as she shot a fireball at Loki. The Trickster ducked it, and turned back to fire a blast from The Glow Stick of Destiny.
Their eyes met – icy blue and an odd greyish-brown mix – and Sol faltered, accidentally firing a fireball at the wall instead of at Loki, who stopped, and approached her.
She stood up straight, keeping her wings hidden, but just under reality so that she could fling them out at the last second.
She pretends that Loki is just another military official coming to visit Stark Mansion to sign a contract or something, someone to be impressed, but not to be spoken to.
"You're worth so much more than what you're told," Loki said, smiling. "You would be valued if you joined my ranks, not pushed to the side as you are being now."
Sol bit back a defensive retort – she knew his last statement was true, that she was being pushed to the sidelines, not taking in the limelight that was rightfully hers.
Perhaps it wouldn't hurt – to join a side that would value her and put her skills to use, to leave a boring life behind that wouldn't appreciate her anyways.
But her father would be so disappointed. She'd never get the company – which was her birthright – and she'd always be looked down upon, called an idiot for joining the wrong side, become another faceless corpse on the battlefield.
Besides, Loki was the bad guy, right? And SHIELD were the good guys, they'd never turn her into another face in the crowd… right?
The tip of Loki's sceptre was nearing her chest.
She was tempted to just let it touch, to join his side, to embrace the magic of the sceptre, to join the other side.
"SOL!" a voice yelled from behind her – it was her dad. But he'd never called her 'Sol' before, right? Always Solana.
Without even thinking about it, she turned as Loki stepped back and threw the fireball that had been gathering in her hand, throwing it straight at the red and gold suit of armour that was flying right at her.
He dodged it, cursing and landing, levelling a repulser at Loki.
When he spoke, his voice was deathly calm, as if it was forced to be that way for politeness' sake;
"What did you do to my daughter."
It was one sentence that Sol had never heard before – actual fatherly love laced those words, however little love he was actually showing at that moment.
In the past, she would've killed for her father to express that love – whether that be in words, actions, letters or gifts – but not anymore.
Because she knew now that he had been faking it.
Her eyes glowed, now a mix between the same icy blue that Loki's were and the bright orange they turned when she was really pissed.
"He didn't do anything, Dad," she said, venom lacing her last word. "But perhaps it's your fault this happened? Perhaps you should've paid attention to the life of your heiress? To the progress I was making?" she asked before her voice turned downright dangerous. "But no, you just had to repeat your father's mistakes! You had to ignore your child too."
She flapped her wings, which she hadn't even realised had gotten out, and fired herself at her father, crashing into the armour she'd originally helped build and flying it straight out the wall and into the open air.
She dropped him, letting him fall toward the ocean, before thinking better of it and diving to catch him.
She grabbed him out of the sky, diverting his flight path and taking him up.
Up.
Up.
Up.
(Flashback 2)
Sol grinned.
It was so… freeing.
She didn't have to live up to her father's expectations anymore. She didn't need to impress anyone – really, the selection of Stark Tower was somewhat of a practical joke upon her father, as it was really his pride and joy as of the moment.
A small voice in her head asked if she should be protecting that same father.
She quickly shut the voice down, telling it that that father had ignored her for twelve years, and he'd only been paying attention to her for the two most recent years because she was making 'good progress' and was being useful.
Those expectations were nothing to live by.
(End of flashbacks)
She'd reached the point where the sky was beginning to turn indigo.
She let the fire loose – it couldn't hurt anyone up here. It wouldn't last long enough to reach the ground anyway – and screamed.
"No no no no NO!" she screamed. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"
She spotted a spark of blue energy in her fire.
Stop stop stop, she told herself. Breathe.
So, she focused on that.
In, out, in, out, in, out, in, out, in, out.
It was repetitive and reliable – she liked that. There was no randomiser in the speed if she focused on it. She wouldn't hyperventilate if she focused on it.
She would be fine; Loki was imprisoned on Asgard (at least, that's what Thor told her would happen when she privately asked him what would happen to Loki) and he wouldn't be getting out any time soon.
The Glow Stick of Destiny, on the other hand, was missing, as it had been stolen by a few SHIELD agents who weren't exactly SHIELD agents. They were still trying to find it – Cap had suggested HYDRA, and while it wasn't likely, they hadn't completely ruled it out.
Several minutes passed, and the fire dwindled out. Sparks and embers still flickered through the air every ten seconds or so, but Sol was mostly calm (the keyword there being 'mostly').
Each breath made the tingling in Sol's skin flare up into a slight stinging, though she mainly ignored it, choosing to worry about it when it became an actual problem (certain people – namely those who responded to Pepper and Rhodey – were convinced this would be what would eventually get her killed).
She exhaled, relaxing slightly as she fell back into free-fall – she enjoyed it far more than she had the previous morning, feeling the rush of the wind against her skin (she'd ditched her armour on the way up, and now that she was returning to ground-level, she was hoping that those bits of armour hadn't given anyone a concussion). Her shoes had unfortunately burnt up, taking her socks along with them.
Actually, now that she thought about it…
(Dear reader, I recommend that you turn your visualisation off for this next scene, as it may trigger some immature thoughts that I could, should, and will encourage that you leave behind for good.)
Sol swooped and righted herself in the air, before looking down.
Her suspicion had been correct.
She hated not having fireproof clothing on hand.
When Sol was seen by others again, she fortunately kept what little remained of her dignity intact as she'd broken into one of the guest rooms of the Big House via its window and 'stolen' some spare clothes from the dresser within it.
Despite having shirts, jeans, bras, underwear and socks, there weren't any shoes, so she abandoned the socks and descended the stairs barefoot.
You could probably imagine her surprise when she caught a whiff of alcohol on the minimal breeze coming up from the bottom of the stairs – she decided not to use her superior vision to find out why, instead preferring to be surprised even more (which she was).
She reached the bottom of the stairs and followed the slight scent of alcohol (which was fading by now) into the rec room, where she encountered Mr D and Chiron (in his wheelchair) sitting at one end of a Ping-Pong table, the girl who had stolen their flag and Bianca sitting at the other, with Thalia, Percy and Grover along the further edge of the table, opposite to the Stolls, Silena, and Beckondorf.
On the table were some snacks – Cheez Whiz, crackers and several 2-litre bottles of Diet Coke,
"Your," Thalia was grumbling. "Nobody has said thy in, like, three hundred years, Zoë. Get with the times."
"Actually," Sol said from the doorway, "people have. Just ask Asgard and those poor idiots who have to read Shakespeare out loud in class." She shivered dramatically.
The girl, who Sol now realised was actually called Zoë, smirked.
"Not to burst your bubble or anything, but it's not actually that common here on Earth anymore, though."
Zoë's smirk dropped.
"I fear the prophecy says you do need our help," Chiron said, redirecting the subject back to what it apparently had originally been. "Campers and Hunters must cooperate."
Sol took advantage of Chiron speaking up to swoop on (pun not intended, as she'd put her wings away to make descending the stairs somewhat easier – that stairwell was cramped) the Diet Coke, and, seeing as no-one moved to stop her, unscrewed the cap and swallowed a mouthful.
Why does this taste like red wine? she thought.
"Or do they?" Mr D mused, swirling his bottle of Diet Coke (which, Sol should mention, was only 600 millilitres. It was rather pathetic compared to the 2-litre one she was drinking out of). "One shall be lost. One shall perish. That sounds rather nasty, doesn't it? What if you fail because you're trying to cooperate?"
"Mr D," Chiron sighed, "with all due respect, whose side are you on?"
The God of Wine raised his eyebrows. "Sorry, my dear centaur. Just trying to be helpful."
He didn't sound like he meant that apology.
"We're supposed to fight together," Thalia said, showing signs of stubbornness that could get her Honorary Stark status. "I don't like it either, Zoë, but you know prophecies. You want to fight against one?"
Zoë grimaced, as if she didn't want to admit that Thalia did have a point.
"We must not delay," Chiron warned. "Today is Sunday. This very Friday, December twenty-first, is the winter solstice."
Meaning that my fire will be weak on that day, Sol thought sadly. It was true; the colder the part of the world she was in got, the weaker her fire was. The summer solstice, which was usually her birthday, was when she was at the height of her power – Australian bushfires were nothing compared to an angry Solana Stark on that day. Unfortunately, her birthday was also the day her temper was the shortest, and often celebrations were delayed for a couple of days so that Sol wouldn't blow her top at anyone trying to be nice to her for her birthday.
"Oh, joy," Mr D muttered, lifting his bottle of coke to take another swig. "Another dull annual meeting."
"Artemis must be present at the solstice," Zoë insisted. "She has been one of the most vocal on the council arguing for action against Kronos' minions. If she is absent, the gods will decide nothing. We will lose another year of preparations."
It took a minute for Sol to process that, but once her words reorganised themselves into taking action against Kronos' minions in her mind, she spat out the mouthful of coke she'd been about to swallow.
"I'm sorry, what?!" she demanded. "The Lord of the Titans – the Big Bad Evil Guy of Greek Mythology – is rising, and no-one bothered to tell me?!"
A few people shrunk back in their seats (those few people responded to 'Percy' and 'Thalia') and Sol rolled her eyes.
"Doesn't matter," she said, waving her hand in a 'please continue' gesture. "Nobody tells me things like this anyways."
Mr D turned to Zoë, continuing on as if Sol had never spoken.
"Are you suggesting that the gods have trouble acting together, young lady?" he asked her.
"Yes, Lord Dionysus."
Instead of getting angry, as most gods probably would, Mr D just nodded. "Just checking. You're right, of course. Carry on."
"I must agree with Zoë," Chiron said. "Artemis' presence at the winter council is critical. We only have a week to find her. And possibly even more important: to locate the monster she was hunting. Now, we must decide who goes on this quest."
"Three and two," Percy and Sol said in unison.
"Plus the hero," Sol added on her own.
"We're supposed to have five," Percy said, agreeing, "not including this 'hero'. Three Hunters, two from Camp Half-Blood. That's more than fair."
Thalia and Zoë exchanged a Look as Sol took another swig of her coke – the bottle was nearly half-emptied already.
"Well, it does make sense," Thalia said.
"I would prefer to take all the Hunters. We will need strength of numbers," Zoë disagreed.
"You'll be retracing the goddess' path," Chiron reminded her patiently. "Moving quickly. No doubt Artemis tracked the scent of this rare monster, whatever it is, as she moved west. You will have to do the same. The prophecy was clear: The bane of Olympus shows the trail. What would your mistress say? 'Too many Hunters spoil the scent.' A small group is best."
Zoë picked up a Ping-Pong paddle and studied it, before glaring up at the people in the room, as if deciding who to hit with it first.
"This monster – the bane of Olympus. I have hunted at Lady Artemis' side for many years, yet I have no idea what this beast might be."
Well, I might have a few options, Sol thought to herself. Kronos himself would be the first one who springs to mind, but he was said to have been killed and sent to Tartarus. Typhon perhaps, though we would know if he was rising, since even the mortals would pick up on a storm that big and violent. And the gods would be called away to fight him too. Ketos maybe? No, Poseidon would've already sprung the alarm if it was.
Chiron voiced these opinions (as if he could read her mind – which, now that she thought about it, made her more than just a smidge uncomfortable) and Connor Stoll (the shorter Stoll brother) spoke up;
"That's some serious danger you're facing. It sounds like at least two of the five are going to die."
"One shall be lost in the land without rain," Beckondorf said. "If I were you, I'd stay out of the desert."
There was a muttering of agreement, before Sol spoiled the mood.
"Yeah, but that could be anywhere," she replied. "I can affect Alaska's climate from the furthest edge of Florida simply by being mad enough."
Several looks were directed at her.
"And the Titan's curse must one withstand," Silena said, evidently trying to shift the subject away from causing droughts. "What could that mean?"
Chiron and Zoë shared a look of the nervous variant, rather than the angry, annoyed and disappointed ones Sol was used to.
"One shall perish by a parent's hand," Grover said between bites of Cheez Whiz and ping-pong balls. "How is that possible? Whose parent would kill them?"
The silence that hung around the table could've weighed a tonne – most gods across every pantheon Sol had looked into would gladly sacrifice their children for whatever reason, since they could make more so there was no point in worrying about just one of them.
There were a few exceptions to this rule, however.
Exhibit A was Hercules, whose second wife had fucked up so badly that he died.
Exhibit B was Perseus, who had killed his grandfather by playing discus.
"There will be deaths," Chiron decided eventually, "that much we know."
"Oh goody!" Mr D said randomly, in a tone that did not match the topic from the standpoint of a non-psychopath. Everyone looked at him as the camp's director looked up from his magazine. "Uh, Pinot Noir is making a comeback. Don't mind me."
"Percy is right," Silena said, continuing as if Mr D had never spoken up. "Two campers should go."
"Oh, I see," Zoë said. "And I suppose thou wishes to volunteer?"
Silena's cheeks coloured. "I-I'm not going anywhere with the Hunters!" she exclaimed. "D-don't look at me!"
"A daughter of Aphrodite does not wish to be looked at," Zoë scoffed. "What would thy mother say?"
Silena went to stand up, though the Stolls held her back from going and throttling the Hunter.
(Now would've been the perfect time for a Snickers bar joke, if Sol had had the thought to have any on her – which would admittedly be impossible, considering that they melted almost immediately in her pockets.)
"Stop it," Beckondorf said loudly. "Let's start with the Hunters: which three of you will go?" the last six words were directed at Zoë, who stood.
"I shall go, of course, and I will take Phoebe. She is our best tracker," she proclaimed.
"The big girl who likes to hit people on the head?" Travis asked cautiously.
Zoë nodded.
"The one who put the arrows in my helmet?" Conner added.
"Yes," Zoë snapped, evidently losing her patience with the two. "Why?"
"Oh, no reason," Travis said nonchalantly, though he had the same look in his eye as Sol's father whenever he was planning something devious – usually a prank or a missile that did nothing except blast tons of glitter everywhere and play AC/DC music at full volume on a couple of stadium-worthy speakers (don't ask). "Just that we have a T-shirt for her from the camp store." Travis held up a big silver T-shirt that said ARTEMIS THE MOON GODDESS, HUNTING TOUR 2002 with a long list of national parks and similar places underneath the title. "It's a collector's item. She was admiring it – you want to give it to her?"
Zoë just sighed and took the T-shirt from them.
"As I was saying," she continued, "I will take Phoebe. And I wish for Bianca to go."
Bianca looked stunned. "Me?" she asked. "But… I'm so new! I wouldn't be any good!"
"You will do fine," Zoë insisted. "There is no better way to prove thyself."
Sol pushed herself off the wall and walked around to where Bianca was sitting, clapping her on the shoulder.
"Yeah," Sol agreed, "you'll do amazing. I know it."
A small smile creeped its way onto Bianca's face. "Thanks, Sol."
The Stark heiress simply grinned in return, before going back to her spot leaning against the wall.
"And for campers?" Chiron asked, prompting us back on topic.
"Me!" Grover exclaimed, standing up so quickly that he hit the Ping-Pong table. Brushing crumbs and plastic scraps off his lap, he proclaimed; "Anything to help Artemis!"
"I think not, satyr," Zoë said, wrinkling her nose. "You are not even a half-blood."
"But he is a camper," Thalia argued. "And he's got a satyr's senses and woodland magic – can you play a tracker's song yet, Grover?"
"Absolutely!" the excited satyr very nearly yelled.
Zoë sighed.
"Very well," she said. "And the second camper?"
"I'll go," Thalia said, standing, looking around, daring anyone to question her.
"Whoa, wait a sec," Percy protested. "I want to go, too."
No-one said anything, until Grover broke the awkward silence.
"Oh," he said. "Whoa, yeah, I forgot! Percy has to go. I didn't mean… I'll stay. Percy should go in my place."
"He cannot," Zoë disagreed. "He is a boy. I won't have Hunters travelling with a boy."
Sol would've spoken up at this point, but she was content to watch the incoming violence play out.
"You travelled here with me!" Percy argued.
"That was a short-term emergency ordered by the goddess. I will not go across country and fight many dangers in the company of a boy."
"Well, what about Grover?"
"He does not count. He is a satyr. He is not technically a boy."
"Hey!" Grover cut in.
"I have to go," Percy said, standing. "I need to be on this quest."
"Why?" Zoë asked. "Because of thy friend Annabeth?"
Percy cheeks went red.
"No! I mean, partly. I just feel like I'm supposed to go!"
Nobody else was coming to Percy's defence.
Sol sighed and pushed herself off the wall again, screwing the cap back on the (now mostly empty) bottle of Diet Coke she'd been drinking.
She approached the pair, who, in their argument, had gone around the table and were now nearly nose-to-nose.
"I can't decide whether to compare you two to siblings or a married couple heading for a divorce," Sol said, pushing the two apart with her wings.
"How dare thou compare thee to –" Zoë began, utterly furious.
Sol ignored her, instead turning to Percy.
"This is the Hunters' quest," she told him, pointing her Coke bottle at him accusingly, "they have the right to choose who does and doesn't come –" she glanced quickly at Chiron, who nodded – "and therefore, you cannot come."
Zoë smiled victoriously.
"However," Sol continued, turning to face the Hunter, "if a member of your party is compromised – injured, wounded, healing, recovering, whatever you call it – and is unable to come, Percy gets to tag along."
It was now Percy's turn to smiled victoriously as Zoë pouted.
"Now, do we have a deal?" Sol said, her tone suggesting, unlike how the sentence was posed, that this wasn't really a question.
Percy offered his hand.
Zoë reluctantly shook it.
As the two walked back to their seats, Sol could've sworn that she heard Zoë mutter, "Great, now I'll have to wash my hands in acid," which was genuinely hilarious.
Fortunately, she held back the laughter, keeping her composure.
"Now, I shall be tagging along –" she started once they were seated, but she was immediately stopped by Silena.
"The prophecy said five," she said. "This is the only exception to the 'three members per quest' rule we've had in years! And why does that mean you should go?"
Sol rolled her eyes. "Stanza two, lines nine and eight: The Phoenix's wrath she will face/At the start of their fiery chase. And, Stanza two, line seven alludes to an unwelcomed hero." Sol pointed to herself. "Unofficial as it may be, I am one of the Avengers. The way you're accepting this can be classified as 'unwelcoming', and my superhero alias is literally the Phoenix. So, I think the chances that the prophecy really wants me to go are very likely."
"So be it," Chiron said, concluding the council. "Thalia, Grover and Solana will accompany Zoë, Bianca and Phoebe. You shall leave at first light. And may the gods –" he glances at Mr D – "present company included, we hope – be with you."
So, we have a deal, and another member of the quest.
Dinner, leaving, and perhaps the museum will be next chapter, plus some extra events I have in mind because who doesn't like a little bit of mystery, hm?
So, review and have a good day/night/evening/morning/meal.
I shall see you whenever I update next!
-Wolf (: