Welcome back to chapter 3, releasing this from Bali because I am focusing on updating it on ao3 so this will always tend to be a few days later until I get my shit together but whatever.
theone1278: I picked Fatum/Moros because he doesn't show up in the books at all. Maybe he will one day but he hasn't yet. Also, Octavian is a character I think was done dirty, yes he wasnt a great guy but look at Luke, Luke killed people, kiddnapped people, ruined the childhoods of hundreds of demigods, and yet was treated as a hero when he died but Octavian? They didn't care that he was dead. So I really want to make Octavian more, well, human, even if he still turns out really shitily I still want him to have died feeling like someone cared.
HAZEL
ON THE WAY BACK, HAZEL TRIPPED OVER A GOLD BAR.
She should have known not to run so fast, but she was afraid of being late for muster. The Fifth Cohort had the nicest centurions in camp. Still, even they would have to punish her if she was tardy. Roman punishments were harsh: scrubbing the streets with a toothbrush, cleaning the bullpens at the coliseum, getting sewn inside a sack full of angry weasels and dumped into the Little Tiber—the options were not great.
The gold bar popped out of the ground just in time for her foot to hit it. Nico tried to catch her, but she took a spill and scraped her hands.
"You okay?" Nico knelt next to her and reached for the bar of gold.
"Don't!" Hazel warned.
Nico froze. "Right. Sorry. It's just…jeez. That thing is huge." He pulled a flask of nectar from his aviator jacket and poured a little on Hazel's hands. Immediately the cuts started to heal. "Can you stand?"
He helped her up. They both stared at the gold. It was the size of a bread loaf, stamped with a serial number and the words u.s. Treasury.
Nico shook his head. "How in Tartarus—?"
"I don't know," Hazel said miserably. "It could've been buried there by robbers or dropped off a wagon a hundred years ago. Maybe it migrated from the nearest bank vault. Whatever's in the ground, anywhere close to me—it just pops up. And the more valuable it is—"
"The more dangerous it is." Nico frowned. "Should we cover it up? If the fauns find it…"
Hazel imagined a mushroom cloud billowing up from the road, char-broiled fauns tossed in every direction. It was too horrible to consider. "It should sink back underground after I leave, eventually, but just to be sure…"
She'd been practising this trick, but never with something so heavy and dense. She pointed at the gold bar and tried to concentrate.
The gold levitated. She channelled her anger, which wasn't hard—she hated that gold, she hated her curse, she hated thinking about her past and all the ways she'd failed. Her fingers tingled. The gold bar glowed with heat.
Nico gulped. "Um, Hazel, are you sure…?"
She made a fist. The gold bent like putty. Hazel forced it to twist into a giant, lumpy ring. Then she flicked her hand toward the ground. Her million-dollar doughnut slammed into the earth. It sank so deep, nothing was left but a scar of fresh dirt.
Nico's eyes widened. "That was…terrifying."
Hazel didn't think it was so impressive compared to the powers of a guy who could reanimate skeletons and bring people back from the dead, but it felt good to surprise him for a change.
Inside the camp, horns blew again. The cohorts would be starting roll call, and Hazel had no desire to be sewn into a sack of weasels.
"Hurry!" she told Nico, and they ran for the gates.
The first time Hazel had seen the legion assemble, she'd been so intimidated, she'd almost slunk back to the barracks to hide. Even after being at camp for nine months, she still found it an impressive sight.
The first four cohorts, each forty kids strong, stood in rows in front of their barracks on either side of the Via Praetoria. The Fifth Cohort assembled at the very end, in front of the principia, since their barracks were tucked in the back corner of camp next to the stables and the latrines. Hazel had to run right down the middle of the legion to reach her place.
The campers were dressed for war. Their polished chain mail and greaves gleamed over purple T-shirts and jeans. Sword-and-skull designs decorated their helmets. Even their
leather combat boots looked ferocious with their iron cleats, great for marching through mud or stomping on faces.
In front of the legionnaires, like a line of giant dominoes, stood their red and gold shields, each the size of a refrigerator door. Every legionnaire carried a harpoonlike spear called a pilum, a gladius, a dagger, and about a hundred pounds of other equipment. If you were out of shape when you came to the legion, you didn't stay that way for long. Just walking around in your armour was a full-body workout.
Hazel and Nico jogged down the street as everyone was coming to attention, so their entrance was really obvious. Their footsteps echoed on the stones. Hazel tried to avoid eye contact, but she caught Octavian at the head of the First Cohort smirking at her, looking smug in his plumed centurion's helmet with a dozen medals pinned on his chest.
Hazel was still seething from his blackmail threats earlier. Stupid augur and his gift of prophecy—of all the people at camp to discover her secrets, why did it have to be him? She was sure he would have told on her weeks ago, except that he knew her secrets were worth more to him as leverage. She wished she'd kept that bar of gold so she could hit him in the face with it.
She ran past Reyna, who was cantering back and forth on her pegasus Scipio—nicknamed Skippy because he was the colour of peanut butter. The metal dogs Aurum and Argentum trotted at her side. Her purple officer's cape billowed behind her.
"Hazel Levesque," she called, "so glad you could join us."
Hazel knew better than to respond. She was missing most of her equipment, but she hurried to her place in line next to Frank and stood at attention. Their lead centurion, a big seventeen-year-old guy named Dakota, was just calling her name—the last one on the roll.
"Present!" she squeaked.
Thank the gods. Technically, she wasn't late.
Nico joined Percy Jackson, who was standing off to one side with a couple of guards. Percy's hair was wet from the baths. He'd put on fresh clothes, but he still looked uncomfortable. Hazel couldn't blame him. He was about to be introduced to two hundred heavily armed kids.
The Lares were the last ones to fall in. Their purple forms flickered as they jockeyed for places. They had an annoying habit of standing halfway inside living people, so that the ranks looked like a blurry photograph, but finally the centurions got them sorted out.
Octavian shouted, "Colours!"
The standard-bearers stepped forward. They wore lion-skin capes and held poles decorated with each cohort's emblems. The last to present his standard was Jacob, the legion's eagle bearer. He held a long pole with absolutely nothing on top. The job was supposed to be a big honour, but Jacob obviously hated it. Even though Reyna insisted on following tradition, every time the eagle's pole was raised, Hazel could feel embarrassment rippling through the legion.
Reyna brought her pegasus to a halt. Antoni stood next to her, dressed like a roman general.
HAZEL
"Romans!" Reyna announced. "You've probably heard about the incursion today. Two gorgons were swept into the river by this newcomer, Percy Jackson. Juno herself guided him here, and proclaimed him a son of Neptune."
The kids in the back rows craned their necks to see Percy. He raised his hand and said, "Hi."
"He seeks to join the legion," Reyna continued. "What do the auguries say?"
"I have read the entrails!" Octavian announced, as if he'd killed a lion with his bare hands rather than ripping up a stuffed panda pillow. "The auguries are favourable. He is qualified to serve!"
The campers gave a shout: "Ave!"
Frank was a little late with his "ave," so it came out as a high-pitched echo. The other legionnaires snickered.
Reyna motioned the senior officers forward—one from each cohort. Octavian, as the most senior centurion, turned to Percy.
"Recruit," he asked, "do you have credentials? Letters of reference?"
Hazel remembered this from her own arrival. A lot of kids brought letters from older demigods in the outside world, adults who were veterans of the camp. Some recruits had rich and famous sponsors. Some were third- or fourth-generation campers. A good letter could get you a position in the better cohorts, sometimes even special jobs like legion messenger, which made you exempt from the grunt work like digging ditches or conjugating Latin verbs.
Percy shifted. "Letters? Um, no."
Octavian wrinkled his nose.
Unfair! Hazel wanted to shout. Percy had carried a goddess into camp. What better recommendation could you want?
But Octavian's family had been sending kids to camp for over a century. He loved reminding recruits that they were less important than he was.
"No letters," Octavian said regretfully. "Will any legionnaires stand for him?"
"I will!" Frank stepped forward. "He saved my life!"
Immediately there were shouts of protest from the other cohorts. Reyna raised her hand for quiet and glared at Frank. She looked ready to shout but Antoni held up a hand.
"Frank Zhang," he said, "for the second time today, you shall be reminded that you are on probatio. Your godly parent has not even claimed you yet. You're not eligible to stand for another camper until you've earned your first stripe." He finished coldly.
Frank looked like he might die of embarrassment.
Hazel couldn't leave him hanging. She stepped out of line and said, "What Frank means is that Percy saved both our lives. I am a full member of the legion. I will stand for Percy Jackson."
Frank glanced at her gratefully, but the other campers started to mutter. Hazel was barely eligible. She'd only gotten her stripe a few weeks ago, and the "act of valour" that earned it for her had been mostly an accident. Besides, she was a daughter of Pluto, and a member of the disgraced Fifth Cohort. She wasn't doing Percy much of a favour by giving him her support.
Reyna wrinkled her nose, but she turned to Octavian. But he ignored her and glanced at Antoni expectantly, he nodded in reply. The augur smiled and shrugged, like the idea amused him.
Why not? Hazel thought. Putting Percy in the Fifth would make him less of a threat, and Octavian liked to keep all his enemies in one place.
"Very well," Reyna announced. "Hazel Levesque, you may stand for the recruit. Does your cohort accept him?"
The other cohorts started coughing, trying not to laugh. Hazel knew what they were thinking: Another loser for the Fifth.
Frank pounded his shield against the ground. The other members of the Fifth followed his lead, though they didn't seem very excited. Their centurions, Dakota and Gwen, exchanged pained looks, like: Here we go again.
"My cohort has spoken," Dakota said. "We accept the recruit."
Reyna looked at Percy with pity, whilst Antoni smirked cruelly at him. "Congratulations, Percy Jackson. You stand on probatio. You will be given a tablet with your name and cohort. In one year's time, or as soon as you complete an act of valour, you will become a full member of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata. Serve Rome, obey the rules of the legion, and defend the camp with honour. Senatus Populusque Romanus!"
The rest of the legion echoed their cheer.
Reyna wheeled her pegasus away from Percy, like she was glad to be done with him. Skippy spread his beautiful wings. Hazel couldn't help feeling a pang of envy. She'd give anything for a horse like that, but it would never happen. Horses were for officers only, or barbarian cavalry, not for Roman legionnaires.
"Centurions," Reyna said, "you and your troops have one hour for dinner. Then we will meet on the Field of Mars. The First and Second Cohorts will defend. The Third, Fourth, and Fifth will attack. Good fortune!"
"Wait!" Antoni called. The centurions turned to him. "Someone make sure that Jackson kid is dealt with out there, or I will do it myself. I don't care if you keep him out of trouble or you kill him where he stands but if he causes a ruckus, I shall be handing out punishments, to him and any of those that didn't attempt to stop him. Now go, let the preparations begin." He shouted the last sentence out to the legion
A bigger cheer went up—for the war games and for dinner. The cohorts broke ranks and ran for the mess hall.
Hazel waved at Percy, who made his way through the crowd with Nico at his side. To Hazel's surprise, Nico was beaming at her.
"Good job, sis," he said. "That took guts, standing for him."
He had never called her sis before. She wondered if that was what he had called Bianca.
One of the guards had given Percy his probatio nameplate. Percy strung it on his leather necklace with the strange beads.
"Thanks, Hazel," he said. "Um, what exactly does it mean—you're standing for me?"
"I guarantee your good behaviour," Hazel explained. "I will teach you the rules, answer your questions, and make sure you don't disgrace the legion."
"And…if I do something wrong?"
"Then I get killed along with you," Hazel said. "Hungry? Let's eat."
HAZEL
AT LEAST THE CAMP FOOD WAS GOOD. Invisible wind spirits—aurae—waited on the campers and seemed to know exactly what everyone wanted. They blew plates and cups around so quickly, the mess hall looked like a delicious hurricane. If you got up too fast, you were likely to get beaned by beans or potted by a pot roast.
Hazel got shrimp gumbo—her favourite comfort food. It made her think about being a little girl in New Orleans, before her curse set in and her mom got so bitter. Percy got a cheeseburger and a strange-looking soda that was bright blue. Hazel didn't understand that, but Percy tried it and grinned.
"This makes me happy," he said. "I don't know why…but it does."
Just for a moment, one of the aurae became visible—an elfin girl in a white silk dress. She giggled as she topped off Percy's glass, then disappeared in a gust.
The mess hall seemed especially noisy tonight. Laughter echoed off the walls. War banners rustled from cedar ceiling beams as aurae blew back and forth, keeping everyone's plates full. The campers dined Roman style, sitting on couches around low tables. Kids were constantly getting up and trading places, spreading rumours about who liked whom and all the other gossip.
As usual, the Fifth Cohort took the place of least honour. Their tables were at the back of the dining hall next to the kitchen. Hazel's table was always the least crowded. Tonight it was she and Frank, as usual, with Percy and Nico and their centurion Dakota, who sat there, Hazel figured, because he felt obligated to welcome the new recruit.
Dakota reclined glumly on his couch, mixing sugar into his drink and chugging it. He was a beefy guy with curly black hair and eyes that didn't quite line up straight, so Hazel felt like the world was leaning whenever she looked at him. It wasn't a good sign that he was drinking so much so early in the night.
"So." He burped, waving his goblet. "Welcome to the Percy Party." He frowned. "Party, Percy. Whatever."
"Um, thanks," Percy said, but his attention was focused on Nico. "I was wondering if we could talk, you know…about where I might have seen you before."
"Sure," Nico said a little too quickly. "The thing is, I spend most of my time in the Underworld. So unless I met you there somehow—"
Dakota belched. "Ambassador from Pluto, they call him. Reyna's never sure what to do with this guy when he visits. But Antoni likes him, always has, one of the main reasons he can stay like this at Random. But Reyna, you should have seen her face when he showed up with Hazel, asking Reyna to take her in. Um, no offence."
"None taken." Nico seemed relieved to change the topic. "Dakota was really helpful, standing for Hazel."
Dakota blushed. "Yeah, well…She seemed like a good kid. Turns out I was right. Last month, when she saved me from, uh, you know."
"Oh, man!" Frank looked up from his fish and chips. "Percy, you should have seen her! That's how Hazel got her stripe. The unicorns decided to stampede—"
"It was nothing," Hazel said.
"Nothing?" Frank protested. "Dakota would've gotten trampled! You stood right in front of them, shooed them away, saved his hide. I've never seen anything like it."
Hazel bit her lip. She didn't like to talk about it, and she felt uncomfortable, the way Frank made her sound like a hero. In truth, she'd been mostly afraid that the unicorns would hurt themselves in their panic. Their horns were precious metal—silver and gold—so she'd managed to turn them aside simply by concentrating, steering the animals by their horns and guiding them back to the stables. It had gotten her a full place in the legion, but it had also started rumours about her strange powers—rumours that reminded her of the bad old days.
Percy studied her. Those sea-green eyes made her unsettled.
"Did you and Nico grow up together?" he asked.
"No," Nico answered. "I found out that Hazel was my sister only recently. She's from New Orleans."
That was true, of course, but not the whole truth. Nico let people think he'd stumbled upon her in modern New Orleans and brought her to camp. It was easier than telling the real story.
Hazel had tried to pass herself off as a modern kid. It wasn't easy. Thankfully, demigods didn't use a lot of technology at camp. Their powers tended to make electronic gadgets go haywire. But the first time she went on furlough to Berkeley, she had nearly had a stroke. Televisions, computers, iPods, the Internet…It made her glad to get back to the world of ghosts, unicorns, and gods. That seemed much less of a fantasy than the twenty-first century.
Nico was still talking about the children of Pluto. "There aren't many of us," he said, "so we have to stick together. When I found Hazel—"
"You have other sisters?" Percy asked, almost as if he knew the answer. Hazel wondered again when he and Nico had met, and what her brother was hiding.
"One," Nico admitted. "But she died. I saw her spirit a few times in the Underworld, except for the last time I went down there..."
To bring her back, Hazel thought, though Nico didn't say that.
"She was gone." Nico's voice turned hoarse. "She used to be in Elysium—like the Underworld paradise—but she chose to be reborn into a new life. Now I'll never see her again. I was just lucky to find Hazel…in New Orleans, I mean."
Dakota grunted. "Unless you believe the rumours. Not saying that I do."
"Rumours?" Percy asked.
From across the room, Don the faun yelled, "Hazel!"
Hazel had never been so glad to see the faun. He wasn't allowed in camp, but of course he always managed to get in. He was working his way toward their table, grinning at everybody,
sneaking food off plates, and pointing at campers: "Hey! Call me!" A flying pizza smacked him in the head, and he disappeared behind a couch. Then he popped up, still grinning, and made his way over.
"My favourite girl!" He smelled like a wet goat wrapped in old cheese. He leaned over their couches and checked out their food. "Say, new kid, are you going to eat that?"
Percy frowned. "Aren't fauns vegetarian?"
"Not the cheeseburger, man! The plate!" He sniffed Percy's hair. "Hey…what's that smell?"
"Don!" Hazel said. "Don't be rude."
"No, man, I just—"
Their house god Vitellius shimmered into existence, standing half embedded in Frank's couch. "Fauns in the dining hall! What are we coming to? Centurion Dakota, do your duty!"
"I am," Dakota grumbled into his goblet. "I'm having dinner!"
Don was still sniffing around Percy. "Man, you've got an empathy link with a faun!"
Percy leaned away from him. "A what?"
"An empathy link! It's real faint, like somebody's suppressed it, but—"
"I know what!" Nico stood suddenly. "Hazel, how about we give you and Frank time to get Percy oriented? Dakota and I can visit the praetor's table. Don and Vitellius, you come too. We can discuss strategies for the war games."
"Strategies for losing?" Dakota muttered.
"Death Boy is right!" Vitellius said. "This legion fought worse than we did in Judea, and that was the first time we lost our eagle. Why, if I were in charge—"
"Could I just eat the silverware first?" Don asked.
"Let's go!" Nico stood and grabbed Don and Vitellius by the ears.
Nobody but Nico could actually touch the Lares. Vitellius spluttered with outrage as he was dragged off to the praetor's table.
"Ow!" Don protested. "Man, watch the 'fro!"
"Come on, Dakota!" Nico called over his shoulder.
The centurion got up reluctantly. He wiped his mouth—uselessly, since it was permanently stained red. "Back soon." He shook all over, like a dog trying to get dry. Then he staggered away, his goblet sloshing.
"What was that about?" Percy asked. "And what's wrong with Dakota?"
Frank sighed. "He's okay. He's a son of Bacchus, the wine god. He's got a drinking problem."
Percy's eyes widened. "You let him drink wine?"
"Gods, no!" Hazel said. "That would be a disaster. He's addicted to red Kool-Aid. Drinks it with three times the normal sugar, and he's already ADHD—you know, attention deficit/hyperactive. One of these days, his head is going to explode."
Percy looked over at the praetor's table. Most of the senior officers were in deep conversation with Antoni and Reyna. Nico and his two captives, Don and Vitellius, stood on the periphery. Dakota was running back and forth along a line of stacked shields, banging his goblet on them like they were a xylophone.
"ADHD," Percy said. "You don't say."
Hazel tried not to laugh. "Well…most demigods are. Or dyslexic. Just being a demigod means that our brains are wired differently. Like you—you said you had trouble reading."
"Are you guys that way too?" Percy asked.
"I don't know," Hazel admitted. "Maybe. Back in my day, they just called kids like us 'lazy.'"
Percy frowned. "Back in your day?"
Hazel cursed herself.
Luckily for her, Frank spoke up: "I wish I was ADHD or dyslexic. All I got is lactose intolerance."
Percy grinned. "Seriously?"
Frank might've been the silliest demigod ever, but Hazel thought he was cute when he pouted. His shoulders slumped. "And I love ice cream, too.…"
Percy laughed. Hazel couldn't help joining in. It was good to sit at dinner and actually feel like she was among friends.
"Okay, so tell me," Percy said, "why is it bad to be in the Fifth Cohort? You guys are great."
The compliment made Hazel's toes tingle. "It's…complicated. Aside from being Pluto's kid, I want to ride horses."
"That's why you use a cavalry sword?"
She nodded. "It's stupid, I guess. Wishful thinking. There's only one pegasus at camp—Reyna's. The unicorns are just kept for medicine, because the shavings off their horns cure poison and stuff. Anyway, Roman fighting is always done on foot. Cavalry…they kind of look down on that. So they look down on me."
"Their loss," Percy said. "What about you, Frank?"
"Archery," he muttered. "They don't like that either, unless you're a child of Apollo. Then you've got an excuse. I hope my dad is Apollo, but I don't know. I can't do poetry very well. And I'm not sure I want to be related to Octavian or Antoni."
"Can't blame you," Percy said. "But you're excellent with the bow—the way you pegged those gorgons? Forget what other people think. Wait, Antoni? I thought Hazel said he was the son of Moroz?"
Frank's face turned as red as Dakota's Kool-Aid. "Wish I could. They all think I should be a sword fighter because I'm big and bulky." He looked down at his body, like he couldn't quite believe it was his. "They say I'm too stocky for an archer. Maybe if my dad would ever claim me… And Antoni is a son of Moros, but he's also a legacy of Apollo, kind of fits to, his dad is the god of fate, and he's a descendent of the god of prophecy. "
They ate in silence for a few minutes. A dad who wouldn't claim you…Hazel knew that feeling. She sensed Percy could relate, too.
"You asked about the Fifth," she said at last. "Why is it the worst cohort? That actually started way before us."
She pointed to the back wall, where the legion's standards were on display. "See the empty pole in the middle?"
"The eagle," Percy said.
Hazel was stunned. "How'd you know?"
Percy shrugged. "Vitellius was talking about how the legion lost its eagle a long time ago—the first time, '' he said. "He acted like it was a huge disgrace. I'm guessing that's what's missing. And from the way you and Reyna were talking earlier, I'm guessing your eagle got lost a second time, more recently, and it had something to do with the Fifth Cohort."
Hazel made a mental note not to underestimate Percy again. When he'd first arrived, she'd thought he was a little goofy from the questions he'd asked—about the Feast of Tuna and all—but clearly he was smarter than he let on.
"You're right," she said. "That's exactly what happened."
"So what is this eagle, anyway? Why is it a big deal?"
Frank looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "It's the symbol of the whole camp—a big eagle made of gold. It's supposed to protect us in battle and make our enemies afraid. Each legion's eagle gave it all sorts of power, and ours came from Jupiter himself. Supposedly Julius Caesar nicknamed our legion 'Fulminata'—armed with lightning—because of what the eagle could do."
"I don't like lightning," Percy said.
"Yeah, well," Hazel said, "it didn't make us invincible. The Twelfth lost its eagle the first time way back in ancient days, during the Jewish Rebellion."
"I think I saw a movie like that," Percy said.
Hazel shrugged. "Could be. There have been lots of books and movies about legions losing their eagles. Unfortunately it happened quite a few times. The eagle was so important…well, archaeologists have never recovered a single eagle from ancient Rome. Each legion guarded theirs to the last man, because it was charged with power from the gods. They'd rather hide it or melt it down than surrender it to an enemy.
The Twelfth was lucky the first time. We got our eagle back. But the second time…"
"You guys were there?" Percy asked.
They both shook their heads.
"I'm almost as new as you." Frank tapped his probatio plate. "Just got here last month. But everyone's heard the story. It's bad luck to even talk about this. There was this huge expedition to Alaska back in the eighties.…"
"That prophecy you noticed in the temple," Hazel continued, "the one about the seven demigods and the Doors of Death? Our senior praetor at the time was Michael Varus, from the Fifth Cohort. Back then the Fifth was the best in camp. He thought it would bring glory to
the legion if he could figure out the prophecy and make it come true—save the world from storm and fire and all that. He talked to the augur, and the augur said the answer was in Alaska. But he warned Michael it wasn't time yet. The prophecy wasn't for him."
"But he went anyway," Percy guessed. "What happened?"
Frank lowered his voice. "Long, gruesome story. Almost the entire Fifth Cohort was wiped out. Most of the legion's Imperial gold weapons were lost, along with the eagle. The survivors went crazy or refused to talk about what had attacked them. If you wanted to know more, you'd have to ask Antoni but I wouldn't recommend it."
I know, Hazel thought solemnly. But she kept silent.
"Since the eagle was lost," Frank continued, "the camp has been getting weaker. Quests are more dangerous. Monsters attack the borders more often. Morale is lower. The last month or so, things have been getting much worse, much faster."
"And the Fifth Cohort took the blame," Percy guessed. "So now everyone thinks we're cursed."
Hazel realised her gumbo was cold. She sipped a spoonful, but the comfort food didn't taste very comforting. "We've been the outcasts of the legion since…well, since the Alaska disaster. Our reputation got better when Jason became a possible praetor—"
"The kid who's missing?" Percy asked.
"Yeah," Frank said. "I never met him. Before my time. But I hear he was a good leader. He practically grew up in the Fifth Cohort. He didn't care what people thought about us. He started to rebuild our reputation. Then he disappeared."
"Which put us back at square one," Hazel said bitterly. "Made us look cursed all over again. I'm sorry, Percy. Now you know what you've gotten yourself into."
Percy sipped his blue soda and gazed thoughtfully across the dining hall. "I don't even know where I come from…but I've got a feeling this isn't the first time I've been an underdog." He focused on Hazel and managed a smile. "Besides, joining the legion is better than being chased through the wilderness by monsters. I've got myself some new friends. Maybe together we can turn things around for the Fifth Cohort, huh?"
A horn blew at the end of the hall. The officers at the praetor's table got to their feet—even Dakota, his mouth vampire-red from Kool-Aid.
"The games begin!" Reyna announced. The campers cheered and rushed to collect their equipment from the stacks along the walls.
"So we're the attacking team?" Percy asked over the noise. "Is that good?"
Hazel shrugged. "Good news: we got the elephant. Bad news—"
"Let me guess," said Percy. "The Fifth Cohort always loses."
Frank slapped Percy on the shoulder. "I love this guy. Come on, new friend. Let's chalk up my thirteenth defeat in a row!"
FRANK
AS HE MARCHED TO THE WAR GAMES, Frank replayed the day in his mind. He couldn't believe how close he'd come to death.
That morning on sentry duty, before Percy showed up, Frank had almost told Hazel his secret. The two of them had been standing for hours in the chilly fog, watching the commuter traffic on Highway 24. Hazel had been complaining about the cold.
"I'd give anything to be warm," she said, her teeth chattering. "I wish we had a fire." Even with her armour on, she looked great. Frank liked the way her cinnamon-toast–coloured hair curled around the edges of her helmet, and the way her chin dimpled when she frowned. She was tiny compared to Frank, which made him feel like a big clumsy ox. He wanted to put his arms around her to warm her up, but he'd never do that. She'd probably hit him, and he'd lose the only friend he had at camp.
I could make a really impressive fire, he thought. Of course, it would only burn for a few minutes, and then I'd die.…
It was scary that he even considered it. Hazel had that effect on him. Whenever she wanted something, he had the irrational urge to provide it. He wanted to be the old-fashioned knight riding to her rescue, which was stupid, as she was way more capable at everything than he was.
He imagined what his grandmother would say: Frank Zhang riding to the rescue? Ha! He'd fall off his horse and break his neck.
Hard to believe it had been only six weeks since he'd left his grandmother's house—six weeks since his mom's funeral.
Everything had happened since then: wolves arriving at his grandmother's door, the journey to Camp Jupiter, the weeks he'd spent in the Fifth Cohort trying not to be a complete failure. Through it all, he'd kept the half-burned piece of firewood wrapped in a cloth in his coat pocket.
Keep it close, his grandmother had warned. As long as it is safe, you are safe.
The problem was that it burned so easily. He remembered the trip south from Vancouver. When the temperature dropped below freezing near Mount Hood, Frank had brought out the piece of tinder and held it in his hands, imagining how nice it would be to have some fire. Immediately, the charred end blazed with a searing yellow flame. It lit up the night and warmed Frank to the bone, but he could feel his life slipping away, as if he were being consumed rather than the wood. He'd thrust the flame into a snowbank. For a horrible moment it kept burning. When it finally went out, Frank got his panic under control. He wrapped the piece of wood and put it back in his coat pocket, determined not to bring it out again. But he couldn't forget it.
It was as though someone had said, "Whatever you do, don't think about that stick bursting into flame!"
So of course, that's all he thought about.
On sentry duty with Hazel, he would try to take his mind off it. He loved spending time with her. He asked her about growing up in New Orleans, but she got edgy at his questions, so they made small talk instead. Just for fun, they tried to speak French to each other. Hazel had some Creole blood on her mother's side. Frank had taken French in school. Neither of
them was very fluent, and Louisiana French was so different from Canadian French it was almost impossible to converse. When Frank asked Hazel how her beef was feeling today, and she replied that his shoe was green, they decided to give up.
Then Percy Jackson arrived.
Sure, Frank had seen kids fight monsters before. He'd fought plenty of them himself on his journey from Vancouver. But he'd never seen gorgons. He'd never seen a goddess in person. And the way Percy had controlled the Little Tiber—wow. Frank wished he had powers like that.
He could still feel the gorgons' claws pressing into his arms and smell their snaky breath—like dead mice and poison. If not for Percy, those grotesque hags would have carried him away. He'd be a pile of bones in the back of a Bargain Mart by now.
After the incident at the river, Reyna had sent Frank to the armoury, which had given him way too much time to think.
While he polished swords, he remembered Juno, warning them to unleash Death. Of course, Antoni's threat was still fresh in his mind. Frank sometimes wondered how he became praetor but he dismissed it, he'd seen Antoni lead, fight and damn was it terrifying.
Unfortunately Frank had a pretty good idea of what the goddess meant. He had tried to hide his shock when Juno had appeared, but she looked exactly like his grandmother had described—right down to the goatskin cape.
She chose your path years ago, Grandmother had told him. And it will not be easy.
Frank glanced at his bow in the corner of the armoury. He'd feel better if Apollo would claim him as a son. Frank had been sure his godly parent would speak up on his sixteenth birthday, which had passed two weeks ago.
Sixteen was an important milestone for Romans. It had been Frank's first birthday at camp. But nothing had happened. Now Frank hoped he would be claimed on the Feast of Fortuna, though from what Juno had said, they'd be in a battle for their lives on that day.
His father had to be Apollo. Archery was the only thing Frank was good at. Years ago, his mother had told him that their family name, Zhang, meant "master of bows" in Chinese. That must have been a hint about his dad.
Frank put down his polishing rags. He looked at the ceiling. "Please, Apollo, if you're my dad, tell me. I want to be an archer like you."
"No, you don't," a voice grumbled.
Frank jumped out of his seat. Vitellius, the Fifth Cohort's Lar, was shimmering behind him. His full name was Gaius Vitellius Reticulus, but the other cohorts called him Vitellius the Ridiculous.
"Hazel Levesque sent me to check on you," Vitellius said, hiking up his sword belt. "Good thing, too. Look at the state of this armour!"
Vitellius wasn't one to talk. His toga was baggy, his tunic barely fit over his belly, and his scabbard fell off his belt every three seconds, but Frank didn't bother pointing that out.
"As for archers," the ghost said, "they're wimps! Back in my day, archery was a job for barbarians. A good Roman should be in the fray, gutting his enemy with a spear and sword like a civilised man! That's how we did it in the Punic Wars. Roman up, boy!"
Frank sighed. "I thought you were in Caesar's army."
"I was!"
"Vitellius, Caesar was hundreds of years after the Punic Wars. You couldn't have been alive that long."
"Questioning my honour?" Vitellius looked so mad, his purple aura glowed. He drew his ghostly gladius and yelled, "Take that!"'
He ran the sword, which was about as deadly as a laser pointer, through Frank's chest a few times.
"Ouch," Frank said, just to be nice.
Vitellius looked satisfied and put his sword away. "Perhaps you'll think twice about doubting your elders next time! Now…it was your sixteenth birthday recently, wasn't it?"
Frank nodded. He wasn't sure how Vitellius knew this, since Frank hadn't told anyone except Hazel, but ghosts had ways of finding out secrets. Eavesdropping while invisible was probably one of them.
"So that's why you're such a grumpy gladiator," the Lar said. "Understandable. The sixteenth birthday is your day of manhood! Your godly parent should have claimed you, no doubt about it, even if with only a small omen. Perhaps he thought you were younger. You look younger, you know, with that pudgy baby face.''
''Thanks for reminding me," Frank muttered.
"Yes, I remember my sixteenth," Vitellius said happily. "Wonderful omen! A chicken in my underpants."
"Excuse me?"
Vitellius puffed up with pride. "That's right! I was at the river changing my clothes for my Liberalia. Rite of passage into manhood, you know. We did things properly back then. I'd taken off my childhood toga and was washing up to don the adult one. Suddenly, a pure-white chicken ran out of nowhere, dove into my loincloth, and ran off with it. I wasn't wearing it at the time."
"That's good," Frank said. "And can I just say: Too much information?"
"Mm." Vitellius wasn't listening. "That was the sign I was descended from Aesculapius, the god of medicine. I took my cognomen, my third name, Reticulus, because it meant undergarment, to remind me of the blessed day when a chicken stole my loincloth."
"So…your name means Mr. Underwear?"
"Praise the gods! I became a surgeon in the legion, and the rest is history." He spread his arms generously. "Don't give up, boy. Maybe your father is running late. Most omens are not as dramatic as a chicken, of course. I knew a fellow once who got a dung beetle—"
"Thanks, Vitellius," Frank said. "But I have to finish polishing this armour—"
"And the gorgon's blood?"
Frank froze. He hadn't told anyone about that. As far as he knew, only Percy had seen him pocket the vials at the river, and they hadn't had a chance to talk about it.
"Come now," Vitellius chided. "I'm a healer. I know the legends about gorgon's blood. Show me the vials."
Reluctantly, Frank brought out the two ceramic flasks he'd retrieved from the Little Tiber. Spoils of war were often left behind when a monster dissolved—sometimes a tooth, or a weapon, or even the monster's entire head. Frank had known what the two vials were immediately. By tradition they belonged to Percy, who had killed the gorgons, but Frank couldn't help thinking, What if I could use them?
"Yes." Vitellius studied the vials approvingly. "Blood taken from the right side of a gorgon's body can cure any disease, even bring the dead back to life. The goddess Minerva once gave a vial of it to my divine ancestor, Aesculapius. But blood taken from the left side of a gorgon—instantly fatal. So, which is which?"
Frank looked down at the vials. "I don't know. They're identical."
"Ha! But you're hoping the right vial could solve your problem with the burned stick, eh? Maybe break your curse?"
Frank was so stunned, he couldn't talk.
"Oh, don't worry, boy." The ghost chuckled. "I won't tell anyone. I'm a Lar, a protector of the cohort! I wouldn't do anything to endanger you."
"You stabbed me through the chest with your sword."
"Trust me, boy! I have sympathy for you, carrying the curse of that Argonaut."
"The ... what?"
Vitellius waved away the question. "Don't be modest. You've got ancient roots. Greek as well as Roman. It's no wonder Juno—" He tilted his head, as if listening to a voice from above. His face went slack. His entire aura flickered green. "But I've said enough! At any rate, I'll let you work out who gets the gorgon's blood. I suppose that newcomer Percy could use it too, with his memory problem."
Frank wondered what Vitellius had been about to say and what had made him so scared, but he got the feeling that for once Vitellius was going to keep his mouth shut.
He looked down at the two vials. He hadn't even thought of Percy's needing them. He felt guilty that he'd been intending to use the blood for himself. "Yeah. Of course. He should have it."
"Ah, but if you want my advice…" Vitellius looked up nervously again. "You should both wait on that gorgon blood. If my sources are right, you're going to need it on your quest."
"Quest?"
The doors of the armoury flew open.
Reyna stormed in with her metal greyhounds. Vitellius vanished. He might have liked chickens, but he did not like the praetor's dogs.
"Frank." Reyna looked troubled. "That's enough with the armour. Go find Hazel. Get Percy Jackson down here. He's been up there too long. I don't want Octavian…" She hesitated. "Just get Percy down here."
So Frank had run all the way to Temple Hill.
Walking back, Percy had asked tons of questions about Hazel's brother, Nico, but Frank didn't know that much.
"He's okay," Frank said. "He's not like Hazel—"
"What do you mean?" Percy asked.
"Oh, um…" Frank coughed. He'd meant that Hazel was better looking and nicer, but he decided not to say that. "Nico is kind of mysterious. He makes everybody else nervous, being the son of Pluto, and all."
"But not you?
"I- um, I have to tell Antoni to meet Octavian. You can come if you want." Frank dodged the question. Percy nodded and they made their way towards the barricades where Frank knew they would find Antoni conversing with one of the centurions.
Frank eventually found him talking to Larry, the centurion of the second cohort.
"-we must, Larry. We have no choice, _ -Comman-_ No! This isn't a joke!" Antoni slowly began raising his voice, "People may-_ NO LARRY! WE can't, I will see you later. Yes, yes, okay. Bye now!" Larry walked off with a nod and wave, both of which Antoni returned. He faced us and his expression went from one of amusement to mild annoyance.
"Zhang and Jackson. What can I do for you?" He asked, schooling his features. Frank cleared his throat, nervously and Ortez raised a singular brow.
"Er, Octavian sent for you. Sorry to interrupt, that seemed important.." Frank sighed, looking nervously at the guy that had the power to expel him from the legion.
"No no, nothing of importance," he waved off Frank's concern, "Just catching up with an old friend from my cohort."
"You were a part of the second? Why not the first?" Percy questioned.
"I had a recommendation from my mother who was in the second and the centurion at the same spoke for me first and the centurion of the first allowed him to have me as a part of his cohort. Good sportsmanship it was. Octavian got accepted soon after, into the first. Their centurion was adamant they have Octavian since the second had me." He explained, grinning impishly at what seemed to be good memories.
"Well, as Frank here informed me, I should be heading up to Juipter's temple. You both best head down towards the muster unless you want to miss out on a bath for the evening, it's about to get really full in there. Better to go when it's empty." Antoni added cheerily. Percy wasn't used to him being so, well, polite. Maybe being around Reyna had some weird effect on the Praetor.
WAR GAMES - FRANK
Once they got out of camp, the Fifth Cohort formed two lines behind their centurions, Dakota and Gwen. They marched north, skirting the edge of the city, and headed to the Field of Mars—the largest, flattest part of the valley. The grass was cropped short by all the unicorns, bulls, and homeless fauns that grazed here. The earth was pitted with explosion craters and scarred with trenches from past games. At the north end of the field stood their target. The engineers had built a stone fortress with an iron portcullis, guard towers, scorpion ballistae, water cannons, and no doubt many other nasty surprises for the defenders to use.
"They did a good job today," Hazel noted. "That's bad for us."
"Wait," Percy said. "You're telling me that the fortress was built today?"
Hazel grinned. "Legionnaires are trained to build. If we had to, we could break down the entire camp and rebuild it somewhere else. Take maybe three or four days, but we could do it."
"Let's not," Percy said. "So you attack a different fort every night?"
"Not every night," Frank said. "We have different training exercises. Sometimes death ball—um, which is like paint-ball, except with…you know, poison and acid and fire balls. Sometimes we do chariots and gladiator competitions, sometimes war games."
Hazel pointed at the fort. "Somewhere inside, the First and Second Cohorts are keeping their banners. Our job is to get inside and capture them without getting slaughtered. We do that, we win."
Percy's eyes lit up. "Like capture-the-flag. I think I like capture-the-flag."
Frank laughed. "Yeah, well…it's harder than it sounds. We have to get past those scorpions and water cannons on the walls, fight through the inside of the fortress, find the banners, and defeat the guards, all while protecting our own banners and troops from capture. And our cohort is in competition with the other two attacking cohorts. We sort of work together, but not really. The cohort that captures the banners gets all the glory."
Percy stumbled, trying to keep time with the left-right marching rhythm. Frank sympathised. He'd spent his first two weeks falling down.
"So why are we practising this, anyway?" Percy asked. "Do you guys spend a lot of time laying siege to fortified cities?"
"Teamwork," Hazel said. "Quick thinking. Tactics. Battle skills. You'd be surprised what you can learn in the war games."
"Like who will stab you in the back," Frank said.
"Especially that," Hazel agreed.
They marched to the centre of the Field of Mars and formed ranks. The Third and Fourth Cohorts assembled as far as possible from the Fifth. The centurions for the attacking side gathered for a conference. In the sky above them, Reyna circled on her pegasus, Scipio, ready to play referee. Antoni stood next to a majestic and striking looking pegasus that was the same stormy grey as his eyes, and had a charcoal coloured mane but unlike Reyna he didn't seem to be playing referee, he had his sword drawn and he mounted his steed just near the two attacking cohorts. Antoni glared at down at everyone like a hawk, looking truly terrifying, he was normally quite scary being so tall, well built and have a naturally commanding presence, but this was all amplified as he sat upon the pegasus in the rapidly approaching darkness looking what like a battle hardened emperor, watching his troops.
Half a dozen giant eagles flew in formation behind Reyna—prepared for ambulance airlift duty if necessary. The only person not participating in the game was Nico di Angelo, "Pluto's ambassador," who had climbed an observation tower about a hundred yards from the fort and would be watching with binoculars.
Frank propped his pilum against his shield and checked Percy's armour. Every strap was correct. Every piece of armour was properly adjusted.
"You did it right," he said in amazement. "Percy, you must've done war games before."
"I don't know. Maybe."
The only thing that wasn't regulation was Percy's glowing bronze sword—not Imperial gold, and not a gladius. The blade was leaf-shaped, and the writing on the hilt was Greek.
Looking at it made Frank uneasy. Percy frowned. "We can use real weapons, right?"
"Yeah," Frank agreed. "For sure. I've just never seen a sword like that."
"What if I hurt somebody?"
"We heal them," Frank said. "Or try to. The legion medics are pretty good with ambrosia and nectar, and unicorn draught."
"No one dies," Hazel said. "Well, not usually. And if they do—"
Frank imitated the voice of Vitellius: "They're wimps! Back in my day, we died all the time, and we liked it!"
Hazel laughed. "Just stay with us, Percy. Chances are we'll get the worst duty and get eliminated early. They'll throw us at the walls first to soften up the defences. Then the Third and Fourth Cohorts will march in and get the honours, if they can even breach the fort."
Horns blew. Dakota and Gwen walked back from the officers' conference, looking grim.
"All right, here's the plan!" Dakota took a quick swig of Kool-Aid from his travel flask. "They're throwing us at the walls first to soften up the defences."
The whole cohort groaned.
"I know, I know," Gwen said. "But maybe this time we'll have some luck!"
Leave it to Gwen to be the optimist. Everybody liked her because she took care of her people and tried to keep their spirits up. She could even control Dakota during his hyperactive bug-juice fits. Still, the campers grumbled and complained. Nobody believed in luck for the Fifth.
"First line with Dakota," Gwen said. "Lock shields and advance in turtle formation to the main gates. Try to stay in one piece. Draw their fire. Second line—" Gwen turned to Frank's row without much enthusiasm. "You seventeen, from Bobby over, take charge of the elephant and the scaling ladders. Try a flanking attack on the western wall. Maybe we can spread the defenders too thin. Frank, Hazel, Percy…well, just do whatever. Show Percy the ropes. Try to keep him alive. But be careful, Antoni doesn't like Percy or even Frank for that matter so please don't stuff up, 'cause my head's on the line." She turned back to the whole cohort. "If anybody gets over the wall first, I'll make sure you get the Mural Crown. Victory for the Fifth!"
A faint laugh was heard from behind them, they turned, it was Antoni. "Hello fifth, Gwen, Dakota. Good luck this evening. I shall be joining you today as one of your ranks, to you know, soften up the defences. Try not to get trampled everyone, oh and Gwen, no need to worry, your head isn't on the line, only your honour. Anyway, I have a good feeling about this match. Victory for the Fifth!" He cheered and raised his sword. Even though his words weren't the kindest the fifth cohort had seemed to gain some confidence in his 'good feeling'. Percy, as confused as always, turned to Frank who sighed.
"Like we've told you, his dad is the god of fate and destiny, if he has a feeling or hunch it's usually right. It's one of the reasons it was such a landslide for him to become praetor at the vote. He always knows the better decision, the one that will lead us to victory or save as many lives as possible." Frank explained, Percy seemed to struggle to accept that someone can just know the right decision but just shrugged.
