Chapter IX.
The Warning in the Shadows and The hidden hand
"The dark does not destroy the light; it defines it. Its our fear of the dark that casts our joy into the shadows."
Brene Brown.
Over the next day, Heron managed to adapt himself to the camp's routine and his own.
Each morning, very early, before the sun had even begun to rise, Heron would go out and find somewhere nice, private, and quiet to train his physical and combat skills, to keep them sharp and not let them waste away. Just because the camp gave him a chance to feel like he was at home, it did not mean he was going to become a couch potato and let all the hard work over the years go to waste. If there's one positive thing he can say about his mentor's training, it was needed to sharpen and build him into the warrior he is today.
Heron would workout from five in the morning until eight in the afternoon, at which point he would attend an Ancient Greek language session. Heron acknowledged to Annabeth that his father had taught him the language, but Annabeth made a concession and asked the son of Sigmar to assist her in teaching the other campers. When he mentioned that he traveled outside of the country, Annabeth would occasionally ask him about the languages he had learned from his father and other teachers.
Sometimes Annabeth would inquire about the countries he had been to with his dad on business and depict what kind of ancient ruins he had seen.
After ancient Greek class, next would be breakfast, and then cabin inspection. Heron's bunk was organized and clean, much to everyone's surprise, but everyone else's was a complete, utter mess. Not surprising. The entire cabin is filled with many kids from minor gods or unclaimed that the cabin was being too crowded.
Heron stepped out of the cabin and took a quick look around. He just finished cabin inspection, and it was free time until the next activity, which was in about twenty minutes. He was wearing the orange camp shirt, and still, Heron thought he was ugly in it.
He sighed in defeat.
Since there was nothing to do, Heron walked over to the fire in the middle of the cabin ground and sat down near one of the stone slabs. The fire felt nice against his skin; it was warming and comforting, like a warm blanket. His fingers moved to the soul drinker's handle, feeling its worn leather from years of overuse.
A few moments later, he then remembered what happened to his sword—that it shattered in that monster's mouth.
"Guess I need to ask dad for another."
"Change of dippers." A female voice spoke from behind him.
God damn it.
He turned slightly to see the broad, lean, and muscular body of a large football player, who so happens to be a girl. He could tell right away that she was taller than him, but not by much. She had large hands, dark, beady pig eyes, and pale brown hair that came down to her chest. She wore a vest over her camper shirt, which was ripped and sleeveless, and camo pants.
There were a few other campers behind her who looked similar to her; his only guess was that they were from the same cabin as her.
"Can I help you?" Heron asked, looking at the muscular girl before me.
"You are the new kid, Heron Hammer, right?" She said it more as a statement than a question.
Heron stood up and faced her. "Who's askin-"
"You're new around here," she said, cutting him off, cracking her fingers, and giving him an evil smile. "That means you need initiation."
When she grabbed his left shoulder, her hand got tighter around it. His left arm went up and hit her in the shoulder, knocking her arm off. He then pushed her away with his left hand. She stumbled back in surprise and soon turned to rage as she threw her fist at him.
Heron darted out of the way, took a boxing stance, and landed a right punch. She lurched away from Heron, with her back to him. She stood to her full height, vapors partially escaping her body.
"You got some balls, kid," she growled angrily. "I'll give you that." She turned to face him, her face red with anger.
"Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you."
She charged at him, fist raised, ready to tear into Heron. He braced himself and got ready to block her next attack. She threw her right fist at his arm; the force of the hit knocked him back a little bit, and his arms were hurting. She did not let up, though she started to throw punches into his guard, most likely waiting for him to drop his arms in pain before she really started to hit him. Heron grunted at each attack she threw his way, but he held his ground.
Having personnel experience in fighting hand-to-hand combat, Heron knew he could win without breaking a sweat; however, this girl seems tougher than she looks. He could feel something rising within him. Heron had no idea what it was, but it felt like a fire had just lit within him.
When the girl sent an uppercut to his jaw, Heron fell back, hitting the ground hard while she smirked at him. She leapt forward to continue her assault, but he rolled to his feet and got back into his box stance. Heron made the decision to strike first and began to do some justice of his own. Heron began launching a series of rapid jabs at her defense before delivering a straight cross. Though it didn't seem like she truly felt it, he shattered the girl's nose and her guard. But Heron wasn't finished yet, as he decided to play dirty.
With each punch he threw, Heron added a combination of angle kicks to hurt the thigh right above the knee joint, weakening the girl's leg and restricting her movement, and elbow slashes to cut the girl's eyebrow so that blood might obstruct her eyesight.
Then he moved in close, one hand over her bicep and the other around the back of his opponent's head. He then proceeded to attack the stomach with severe knee blows, repeating them in the exact spot where they would have the greatest effect.
If this girl didn't feel his attack, then she is feeling it right now. She heard the girl grunting in pain as he heard the crack in the bone, indicating that he had cracked a rib or two.
This got a reaction out of her as the girl grunted in pain before finally breaking out of the clinch.
A sharp pain in his gut brought his attention back to his opponent, who scored a jab in his stomach. Heron tightened his stomach muscles and powered through them, throwing stronger punches at his opponent, but she was not backing off. Instead, she threw her body into Heron's, knocking him back a few steps, before she followed up with a punch, throwing all her weight into it.
He was not able to bring his arms up in time to block it, so her fist connected with his face, sending him spinning face-first into the ground.
The pig-nosed girl ran up to him and flipped Heron over with her foot. After that, she sat on him and began punching him in the face. Heron had his arms raised over his face, so she hit him hard on his guard.
Heron felt something activate within him at that instant—a feeling that sprang from the same wrath that was developing in the center of his body.
All he could describe it as was the desperate need to put this bitch in her place.
Heron uttered a brief but silent prayer to Ulric, then positioned his feet and legs to create a bridging motion. He then positioned a knee below the girl's spine and struck her forward, shocking her. He'd bought himself some time now. Heron gripped her elbow and wrist in an instant, bringing the hand as close to his chest as he could. Acting quickly, Heron trapped one of her legs with his own, moving his head out of the way as he knocked the girl off of his body.
The girl was at the bottom, and Heron was riding her; the two realized they had switched positions.
In the flash of an eye, Heron turned his hips, sat on his opponent, put his leg over her head, and assumed a breaking position identical to that of an MMA fighter. In addition, he shoved the girl's head and twisted her arm. He then locked his legs around the girl's neck and grasped her arm firmly for an extra measure, so she wouldn't escape.
Heron began slowly but gradually squeezing the life out of the girl, denying her the ability to breathe. The girl struggled desperately to get out of it, but Heron's grip was like star iron.
"Do you yield?" grunted Heron.
The only reply he received was a mumbled response. So he loosens the lock for just a second. Just enough so she could speak.
"Do you yield?" Repeated Heron pulling on her arm down to get a response. The girl gritted her teeth.
"I yield!"
"Louder! For all to hear!"
"I YIELD!"
"Good." Heron loosened his grip but didn't let go. "Are your girls going to be rational if I let you go, or do I need to beat them to a bloody pulp as I leave?"
The girl's face was flushed with anger, but Heron could see the doubt in her eyes. She didn't know whether he was bluffing or not.
"Stand down," said her rough voice.
"Boss?" The confused voice was almost muffled by the silence, but the meaning was clear. Not many people got the upper hand on their boss, it seemed. Her glare intensified.
"I said. Stand. Down."
Heron took a fleeting peek at her face as the girls' brutes pulled away to clear a route. Abruptly, he released her, watching her all the while. Heron backed away, keeping his eyes on her and her companions, grabbing his warhammer and clopping it to his belt. He nodded at the group, indicating that she would need to clear a path. She scowled wordlessly at the insult, but complied.
Silently, the group made an opening, and campers all around stopped and gawked. Heron faced the seething girls, noting that one had blood down her chin. Despite the girl brushing off his punches, the slight swelling around her eye indicated that it might even bruise.
"Well." Heron started, breaking the silence. "This had been a nice workout and all, but let's not let it happen. yeah?"
The girl snorted and then frowned, as if annoyed; she found him funny. After a second, she nodded slowly.
"Fair's fair, Hammer," said the girl. "You won this fight."
He knew what she was saying. 'You won this fight.' means there will be more. Still, it seemed that he had at least earned some grudging respect.
"Fair's far," he repeated, looking her in the eye. He nodded at her and turned away.
It was only greater experience and training that allowed him to dodge a punch thrown at him from behind. In retaliation, Heron twisted his body with his elbow in a more upward motion, hitting the new opponent directly in the face. Knocking the person out cold only to catch a fist in his hand, squeezing hard enough to make the person in question grimace and grunt in pain, nearly falling to a knee.
In that moment, he got a good look at who attacked him and was surprised that it was the two boys who were bullying Katie yesterday. Then everything began to come together.
"You two are truly cowards," was all Heron said before he reared his other arm back and clotheslined the boy hard enough to send him rolling onto his back and over, rolling to his sister's feet with a disoriented groan. Heron had applied enough force to disorient the boy, not kill him.
Everyone froze, including the four girls who were backing their leader up. Guess they couldn't believe that the supposed 'newbie' beat
The kid's sisters recoiled at the look in Sigmar's son's eyes as Heron approached them. Heron then pressed a foot into the boy's chest, causing him to groan and suffer as he tried to push the foot away.
"Consider that this is your last and only warning. Don't push it." Heron commented before stepping over him and departing, leaving everyone in a state of astonishment and shock.
Then he paused, remembering something important. Taking a blue vial out of his sword belt, he turned around to the girl.
"Hey!" he called out.
The girl turned around, looking annoyed.
"What?"
"Catch," said Heron, tossing the potion, which she easily caught without any difficulty.
"What's this?"
"It's called healing water." Heron responded. "It tastes considerably better than ambrosia and is 10 times more efficient at mending life-threatening wounds—don't ask me why. Take it as evidence that your strength and abilities have gained you my respect."
The girl in question took a quick look at the sky-blue vial that was now sparkling in the sun. Reluctantly looking at the sky-blue vial, before she could say anything else, Heron was already gone.
After walking a good distance, Heron stopped at a stream and decided to clean his face, splashing water onto his face before submerging his hands into the river's cold waters.
Heron groaned, his teeth tightening at the searing pain. The fact that his knuckles are swollen and purple suggests that the blow's force may have bruised his skin. Luckily, the hand's bones were all intact, and the bruises would eventually fade. Thus, there was no need to be concerned. At least for the time being.
He pivoted slightly, became aware that he was close to the stables, and approached the building with interest. The stables were made of white wood, though part of it was obviously starting to rot. They also blended brick and stone. The room was littered with vegetables and hay. It did appear to be clearer than one would anticipate for a stable.
When he walked in, Heron looked on in amazement when he saw the long line of horse pens that were each holding one of the most beautiful creatures Heron had ever seen: Pegasus's. He had seen them before. Magical beasts that look like magnificent white draft horses with elegant, feathered wings.
Such creatures are also wild beasts, capable of staving a soldier's head in with a well-placed blow from one of their hooves. He had seen firsthand during a battle in Bretonnia. Not only that, but their omnivorous creatures are capable of eating both flesh and vegetable matter, whereas horses are strictly grazers.
Pegasi are also in high demand as mounts among wizards and Breton noblemen due to their reputation as devoted companions who seem to know their master's every move. He would know. During a battle in Bretonnia, he personally observed 96 Pegasus knights ram into an Ork warband's flank, slaughtering the greenskins to the last.
The fact that the camp possessed a few dozen of these beasts and had tamed them shocked Heron to no end.
The pegasi varied in different colors, like white, black, brown, gray, and blue. Their wings were folded into their sides like a normal bird, but they all looked magnificent.
He walked down the line and stopped in front of a beautiful pegasus with snow white fur and an almost silver-looking mane along its neck, along with silver eyes. When he walked toward it, it turned its head, its silver eyes looking into his own mismatched ones, trying to see if he was a threat to it.
Slowly, Heron lifted his hand to the Pegasus, who glanced at it for a time before slowly trotting forward to him. The pegasus dropped its head gently, allowing his fingertips to brush across it. He carefully and gently touched the pegasus' head.
The beautiful creature obviously liked it since it closed its eyes with a peaceful look coming onto its face. Heron was amazed at how quickly the animal felt comfortable around him, like it had an automatic trust in him. Most animals, though
"Beautiful, isn't she?" He heard the girl's voice and looked to see Silena standing there with her arms crossed and a smile on her face. She walked over and gently stroked the pegasus.
"Yeah, she's the most amazing animal I've ever seen." Heron said, getting a nod from Silena.
"It's very rare to see her trust somebody that quickly. It took me a while for her to even let me near her." Silena said as she turned to stare at Heron, making him blush. "You must have a way with animals."
"I had plenty of practice." Heron said, holding his hand out. "I'm Heron Hammer, by the way."
"I know who you are." Silena smiled and shook his hand. "You've been the talk of the camp since you and your friend arrived after defeating the Minotaur and Manticore."
"My friend killed the son of Pasiphae. I only fought the Manticore,said humbly Heron with a smile. "Speaking of which, thanks for helping me to the medical wing."
"You're welcome." Silena said, her cheeks going a little pink at the thanks.
Heron looked her over and saw she was wearing the exact same thing she wore yesterday, except the shorts had been replaced with a skirt that stopped just above her knees. One thought was going through his hormonal and teenage mind as he looked her over.
'Out of all the maidens I've laid eyes on, this one is the most beautiful of them all.'
Silena was also looking Heron over, enjoying how his orange tank top showed off some muscles and fitted his muscular frame perfectly, showing he's had some training done already. One thought went through her mind.
'I can see why some of my sisters are falling for him. I hope he's not a sibling, though; that will break hearts.'
They realized they were gazing at each other and moved away, blushing. Both laughed. He noticed one bead on her necklace and remembered that it signified the number of years a demigod had spent at camp.
"So you've been for a year then."
Silena nodded. "Some people only see me as pretty and like my siblings—a girl who'd rather look in the mirror and talk about love. I chose to show that I was different and nicer than my siblings, who like to break hearts for the drama that our mother loves."
Heron raised an eyebrow. How the hell does that spell love? Heartbreak is the exact opposite of love. "Ookay, someone needs a reality check."
Silena giggled before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Want me to teach you pegasus riding?" She asked, gesturing to the snow white pegasus that was watching the two of them, and Heron was sure she was smirking at the two of them.
Before they could do anything else, they heard an explosion, along with water hitting the floor. They looked at each other before rushing out to see what happened.
Heron and Silena ran out of the stables and ran towards the bathrooms, where they saw a strange yet hilarious sight that made Heron burst into laughter while Silena couldn't hold her giggles.
"It seems Clarisse was trying to 'welcome' your friend." Silena said with an amused smile.
The sight before them was Clarisse and her sisters all soaking wet, Percy standing there looking confused and dry; even Annabeth got soaked and did not look happy because of it. Clarisse was shouting curses at Percy, swearing revenge on him—the usual kind of response to something like this—if something like this ever happened before.
"Was the bathroom not to your liking, Percy?" asked Heron sarcastically with a smirk, getting a snort from Annabeth, a nervous chuckle from Percy, and a slight glare from Clarisse.
"I guess your camp welcome didn't go well, Clarisse?" Silena asked, trying to hide her amusement as she helped her friend up.
"Something like that," was all the daughter of Ares replied as she stood up and, with a grimace, shook her sleeves to get some water out before she looked at Heron, and her glare intensified.
"What the hades are you doing here?"
In response, Heron crossed his arms and gave the girl a blank stare. "Well, hello to you too."
Silena looked at the two of them, confused. "You two know each other. And what happened to your face?"
Heron nodded. "This morning, actually. She extended a "camp welcome" to me. To cut a long tale short, her brothers lied. We fought. I won. She lost."
"Is that true?"
"It's true. I saw the fight and how I beat Clarisse with my own eyes," said Annabeth.
Clarisse grumbled under her breath and reluctantly nodded her head. Confirming that the events from this morning that took place were so accurate that someone could punch it in the face point blank.
She looked him over, her eyes seeming to study him like Annabeth's did when they met. She saw the look in his eyes—the confidence of a fighter who's seen his share of enemies and fights—something she looked forward to asking him about or demanding if he didn't talk. She crossed her arms. "You got lucky."
"Luck had nothing to do with it. I was just stronger and more experienced than you, that's all," said Heron. "Although it has been awhile since I had a good fight, war girl," The nickname surprised the daughter of Ares and those around him before Clarisse grinned.
"Nice nickname. According to what I heard, you showed some talent when facing the Minotaur and Manticore. Beating them isn't an easy feat to have on your belt. It made a few people around here jealous, myself included. I think you beat those beasts, your friend here, not so much." She jerked her head to point to Percy.
"Nice war hammer; I heard you use it to bash the manticore face in."
Heron pulled out Soul Drinker so she could examine it. Despite being the daughter of the god of war himself, she couldn't be all that horrible if she was friends with Silena. Clarisse examined the hammer she was holding, occasionally nodding. She may have used spears and swords, but she was also a skilled weaponry observer, and this war hammer was no exception.
"This is some badass warhammer." Clarisse admitted as she handed the warhammer back and Heron clipped it back to his belt, "We should have a proper spar one day, so I can see just how skilled you are with that weapon of yours."
"You're on." Heron grinned; he always enjoyed a challenge. "Though, as the daughter of Ares, you better not disappoint me for our next fight."
She smirked. "Oh, I won't." She then looked down at her clothes and sighed in irritation. "Anyway, I better go clean up. See you around Silena, hammer boy." She nodded at the two before leaving with her siblings.
"Oh, by the way." Claisse took out the vial and threw it to Heron, who easily caught it. "Thanks for the healing water. It healed my ribs, which you broke during out fight." And with that said, Clarisse and her girl squad left the five of them alone.
"I think I'm slowly starting to like her." Heron said it with his arms crossed.
"I'm not." Percy said it with a small glare.
"What did you do anyway?" Heron asked curiously.
"He insulted her father by bringing up her smell." Annabeth said it with a slight huff and a glare at Percy.
Before looking at Heron, Silena snorted a little. "I better go; I got some riding lessons today. Remember, if you ever want to ride a pegasus, just come down to the stables and I'll show you the ropes." She waved at Annabeth and Percy and then gave Heron a wink that made him blush. Then she turned and walked toward the stables.
Heron turned to Percy and smirked. 'Trouble on the first day; will trouble ever stop following you?"
Percy gave him a small glare, but a smile did tug at his lips.
Word of the bathroom incident spread immediately. Whenever Heron went, campers pointed at Percy and murmured something about toilet water. Or maybe they were just staring at Annabeth, who was still pretty much dripping wet. Hell. They may have gained a lot of attention.
She showed them a few more places: the metal shop (where kids were forging their own swords), the arts-and-crafts room (where satyrs were sandblasting a giant marble statue of a goat-man), although if the witch hunters saw this, they would immediately tear it down, and the climbing wall, which looks like it came directly from Aqshy, actually consisted of two facing walls that shook violently, dropped boulders, sprayed lava, and clashed together if you didn't get to the top fast enough.
Finally, they returned to the canoeing lake, where the trail led back to the cabins.
"I've got training to do," Annabeth said flatly. "Dinner's at seven thirty. Just follow your cabin to the mess hall."
"Annabeth, I'm sorry about the toilets."
"Whatever."
"It wasn't my fault."
She looked at Percy skeptically, while Heron tried to stop himself from laughing at his friend's predicament as Percy realized it was his fault. He'd made water shoot out of the bathroom fixtures. He didn't understand how. But the toilets had responded to him. Percy had become one with the plumbing.
"You two need to talk to the oracle," Annabeth said.
"Who?"
"Come on, Percy. We did this on one of our history tests at the academy." Heron sighed and placed his fingers on the bridge of his nose. "the Oracle of Delphi, or Pythia in ancient Greek. The one tells you the future," he said.
"You're friends right on the money. That Oracle. I'll ask Chiron."
Heron could see Percy staring into the lake, wishing somebody would give him a straight answer for once. Although Heron hated to admit it, he too wanted a straight answer. He had already gotten too many times in life with prophecy's and
He wasn't expecting anybody to be looking back at them from the bottom, so his heart skipped a beat when he noticed two teenage girls sitting cross-legged at the base of the pier, about twenty feet below. They wore blue jeans and shimmering green T-shirts, and their brown hair floated loose around their shoulders as minnows darted in and out. They smiled and waved as if he were a long-lost friend.
Heron just ignored them. Those two may be pretty, but his gut is telling him to stay away.
Percy, though, didn't know what else to do. He waved back.
"Don't encourage them," Annabeth warned. "Naiads are terrible flirts."
"Naiads," Percy repeated, feeling completely overwhelmed. "That's it. I want to go home now."
Annabeth frowned. "Don't you get it, Percy? You are home. This is the only safe place on earth for kids like us."
Not the only safe place. Heron said it mentally, but he didn't say it out loud. Since he personally visited several places on earth that were safe for people,
"You mean mentally disturbed kids?"
"I mean, not human. Not totally human, anyway. Half-human."
"Half-human and half-what?"
"Oh, dear god, Percy. You can't be this dense." Heron muttered from under his breath," You know what she is talking about. When a god and woman love each other very much- "
"I get the idea, okay!"
Percy didn't want to admit it, but Heron knew Percy was afraid that he did. Heron could see his friend's limbs twitching from the corner of his eye, just like he used to when his dad talked about his mom when he was Percy's age.
"God," Percy said. "Half-god."
Annabeth nodded. "Your father isn't dead, Percy. Like your friend's mother, he's one of the Olympians."
"That's... crazy."
"More crazy than you fighting the basterd of a woman and a cow."
"NOT HELPING HERE!?" Percy cried out.
"Any way's!" Annabeth cut in. "What's the most common thing gods did in the old stories? They ran around-"
"Fucking humans and having basterds with them." Heron interrupted for what seems to to be the fifth time.
Annabeth shot Heron a look. "Can't you stop that?!" she shouted at him, and Heron raised his hands in surrender.
"Like I was saying But in less vulgar terms. They ran around, falling in love with humans and having kids with them. Do you think they've changed their habits in the last few millennia?"
"But those are just..."
"Myths," Heron finished stopping in his tracks, looking Percy straight in the eye. "Myths and legends are based on facts, Percy. And what we saw last night wasn't a myth from a fairy tale. It was the real deal."
"Then who's your dad?"
Her hands tightened around the pier railing. Heron got the feeling that Percy had just trespassed on a sensitive subject.
"My dad is a professor at West Point," she said. "I haven't seen him since I was very small. He teaches American history."
"He's human." Percy blurted it out.
Heron couldn't help but slap his hand against his forehead. He wonder how dumb Percy can be.
"What? You assume it has to be a male god who finds a human female attractive? How sexist is that?"
"He wasn't saying that," said Heron, defending his friend. "He was just curious about who's your birth mother, that's all."
"Yeah who's your mom, then?"
"Cabin six."
"Meaning?"
Annabeth straightened. "Athena, goddess of wisdom and battle."
More like jealousy, vanity, and curiosity. Heron thought to himself bitterly. Sure, Athena has done more for human civilization, but her pettiness and her adherence to human morality seriously smudged her reputation.
"And my dad?" Percy asked.
"Undetermined." Annabeth said, "Like I told you and Heron here before, nobody knows."
"Except my mother. She knew."
"Maybe not, Percy. Gods don't always reveal their identities."
"My dad would have. He loved her."
"That's right." Heron added, "My dad said my mom loved us with all her heart. It tore her apart, leaving me and my dad."
Annabeth gave the two a cautious look. She didn't want to burst their bubble. "Maybe you're right. Maybe he'll or she'll send a sign. That's the only way to know for sure: your parents have to send you a sign claiming you as their son. Sometimes it happens."
"You mean sometimes it doesn't?"
Annabeth ran her palm along the rail. "The gods are busy. They have a lot of kids, and they don't always... Well, sometimes they don't care about us, Percy. They ignore us."
So Chiron was telling the truth. Heron thought about some of the kids he'd seen in the Hermes cabin—teenagers who looked sullen and depressed, as if they were waiting for a call that would never come. Glancing at the edges of his vision, Percy was thinking the same thing. They'd known kids like that at Yancy Academy, shuffled off to boarding school by rich parents who didn't have the time to deal with them. But gods should behave better. No. God's should be better. But life wasn't all that far.
"So we're stuck here," Percy said. "That's it? For the rest of our lives."
"It depends," Annabeth said. "Some campers only stay in the summer. If you're a child of Aphrodite or Demeter, you're probably not a really powerful force. The monsters might ignore you, but you can get by with a few months of summer training and live in the mortal world the rest of the year. But for some of us, it's too dangerous to leave. We're year-rounders. In the mortal world, we attract monsters. They sense us. They come to challenge us. Most of the time, they'll ignore us until we're old enough to cause trouble—about ten or elven years old—but after that, most demigods either make their way here or they get killed off. A few manage to survive in the outside world and become famous. Believe me, if I told you the names, you'd know them. Some don't even realize they're demigods. But very, very few are like that."
"So monsters can't get in here?"
Annabeth shook her head. "Not unless they're intentionally stocked in the woods or specially summoned by somebody on the inside."
What.
"Why would anybody want to summon a monster?"
"Practice fights. Practical jokes."
"Practical jokes?"
Heron raised an eyebrow. "Practice fights I could understand but having a monster try to make a meal out of you is one sick a joke."
"The point is, the borders are sealed to keep mortals and monsters out. From the outside, mortals look into the valley and see nothing unusual, just a strawberry farm."
"So... you're a year-rounder?"
Annabeth nodded. From under the collar of her T-shirt, she puled a leather necklace with five clay beads of different colors. It was just like Luke's, except Annabeth's also had a big gold ring strung on it, like a college ring.
"I've been here since I was seven," she said. "Every August, on the last day of summer session, you get a bead for surviving another year. I've been here longer than most of the counselors, and they're all in college."
"Why did you come so young?"
She twisted the ring on her necklace. "None of your business."
The way she said it raised one of Heron's eyebrows'. More than once, Heron has seen Annabeth being
"Oh." Percy stood there for a minute in uncomfortable silence. "So... I could just walk out of here right now if I wanted to?"
"It would be suicide, but you could, with Mr. D's or Chiron's permission. But they wouldn't give permission until the end of the summer session unless..."
"Unless?"
"You were granted a quest. But that hardly ever last time..."
Her voice trailed off. Heron and Percy could tell from her tone that last time hadn't gone well.
"Back in the sick room," Percy said, "when you were feeding me that stuff-"
"Ambrosia."
"Yeah. You asked me something about the summer solstice."
Annabeth's shoulders' tensed. "So you do know something?"
"Well...no. Back at my old school, I overheard Grover and Chiron talking about it. Grover mentioned the summer solstice. He said something like we didn't have much time because of the deadline. What did that mean?"
"I was wondering about that too." Heron inquired, seeking clarification on what the two Bren were discussing. "From the way they spoke to each other, it sounded serious. They were insistent about not letting Percy or me visit the camp before the solstice. It seemed as if they were scared that something bad might happen if we did."
"Now that's strange; Chiron would never leave a newly found demigod in the outside world for too long. That's unlike him to do so. Did you hear anything else?"
"We would have if not for this clutz right here." Heron pointed out.
Percy scratched his head sheepishly "Hey, it was slip of the hand okay. I said I was sorry."
"Yeah, like the time you shot a cannon at our school bus on the civil war reenactment field trip when we were in seventh grade."
Annabeth give Percy a blank look "You shot a cannon." she stated
"It was an accident!"
"Keep on telling yourself that, Percy." Heron rolled his eyes, not believing his friend for a second and still blaming him for the three-hour wait he had to endure. "Back to the topic at hand. With all that going on, we thought you would knew more about what's happening since you've been here longer."
"I wish I knew. Chiron and the satyrs know, but they won't tell me. Something is wrong in Olympus—something pretty major. Last time I was there, everything seemed so normal."
Wait a second.
"You've been to Olympus?"
"Some of us year-rounders—Luke and Clarisse and I and a few others—took a field trip during a winter solstice. That's when the gods have their annual council."
"But...how did you get there?"
"The Long Island Railroad, of course. You get off at Penn Station. Empire State Building, special elevator to the six hundredth flood." She looked at Heron and Percy like she was sure they must know this already. "You two are New Yorkers, right?"
"I am. Heron, not. He's from the state of California."
"What?"
"Percy is correct. My father wanted me to go to school on the east coast of the United States, even though I was born in California." After giving her a sheepish glance, Heron remarked, "Although I'm kind of spoiled when traveling abroad."
Annabeth looked at Heron perplexingly, then turned to Percy to find an explanation of what he was referring.
"His dad rich. Very rich."
Annabeth's mouth turned an O as she looked at Heron, who avoided her gaze out of embarrassment.
Who can blame him? Walking for days, weeks, or possibly months at most throughout the mortal realms in hellish landscape is a real hassle on the feet. Sitting in the back of a car and flying in a plane first class is considered heaven on earth for him.
"Right after we visited," Annabeth continued, "the weather got weird, as if the gods had started fighting. A couple of times since, I've overheard satyres talking. The best I can figure out is that something important was stolen. And if it isn't returned by the summer solstice, there's going to be trouble. When you two came, I was hoping—I mean, Athena can get along with just about anybody, except for Ares. And of course she's got the rivalry with Poseidon. But I mean, we could work together. I thought you might know something."
Percy shook his head while Heron shrugged his shoulders. He wished he could help her, but he could see Percy was hungry, tired, and mentally overloaded to ask any more questions.
"I've got to get a quest," Annabeth muttered to herself. "I'm not too young. If they would just tell me the problem..."
They could smell barbecue smoke coming from somewhere nearby. Luckily, Heron wasn't hungry, but his friend was. Annabeth must've heard Percy's stomach growl. She told them to go on; she'd catch up with them later. Percy followed by Heron left her on the pier, tracing her finger across the rail as if drawing a battle plan.
For a fleeting moment, Callis thought Val Petras might collapse. The many marble steps leading to Heavenhall were steep, and the young arcanogeologist had weathered much over the last few days. And now here they stood before the Grand Conclave, wedged between a burly Freeguilder and a grizzled witch hunter. Unlikely companions, for sure.
They had come with all swiftness from the arcanogeologist's guildhouse, where a deadly raid had seen its chambers ransacked, its guilders slain and the place itself overrun by a swarm of voracious rats. Armand Callis and his old colleague Hanniver Toll, along with Petras's, had barely escaped with their lives.
And now, stinking of vermin and, in Petras's case at least caked in dried blood, they faced a very different ordeal.
"Tell us then," uttered Sevastean Mench, the broad and bearded Master Paster Patriarch glaring at the dishevelled figure standing at the end of the hammer-shaped table. "Why have we been gathered in such haste?"
He flicked a stern glance, first at Toll, then at Callis, who stayed silent. Hammerhal was under attack in the eastern districts, a large swathe of the city's garrison marshalling to its defence. The path back to the Heavenhall had been fraught to say the least. Privation, war and insidious fear had wormed into the populace and driven them to the edge. Callis felt it in the air, a febrile tension that threatened to overspill.
"I can only assume it is a matter of dire import to warrant the attention of the inestimable Armand Callis and Hanniver Toll," uttered a shadow sitting halfway down the table: Zane Delorius. "Ah," he added, "and I see you have brought young Val Petras with you. I know something of the guild's work. I think we should listen to what they have to say."
The so-called 'hidden hand' possessed an incongruously cheerful demeanour, or at least he had the last time Callis and Toll had met him, but he could turn from warm bonhomie to icy regard in a moment. He wore a white mask and a thick hood to conceal his features even at council, and consequently the rigours of the past weeks did not show on his false face as they did his fellow conclavists. It was rumoured Delorius had never been seen without the mask, and tongues wagged at what might be underneath it. At least until Delorius silenced those tongues through his feared Guild of Seekers.
Callis had no wish to be on the business end of a Seekers blade. Involuntarily, his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword in the master spy's presence as he exchange a wary glance with Toll. For his part, the witch hunter appeared irritatingly at ease, laying a gentle hand on Petras's shoulder as a subtle cue for the guilder to answer.
"It is the arcanothermic readings," said Petras shrilly as if startled, wiping a hand across their sweat-dappled brow before loudly clearing their sweat-dappled brow before loudly clearing their throat. "Stolen from my guild. Priceless research gone. Taken! We have been... that is to say, out findings. Every nexus and font of arcana, every ley line, we have been exhaustive. It-"
Brow furrowed in conternation, Mench raised a hand and Petras's mouth clamped shut.
"With the greatest respect, guilder, what are you blathering about?"
Callis gave a weary sigh as he smoothed the days-old stubble on his chin. Another glance to Toll confirmed this wasn't going well. The poor arcanogeologist had almost reached their limit, it seemed. Callis supposed finding oneself amongst the gnawed corpses of one's fellows would do that to a person. He had seen it before in soldiers who had seen and experienced too much.
Mench went on. "We have reavers at our gates, parts of the city in flames, riots and shortages left and right, and we of the Conclave are expected to heed some half-cooked ramblings about buried nexus points and ley lines?" He looked to Callis and Toll, as did a nervous Petras.
Callis's sigh deepened. He had thought Delorious might speak up in Petras's defence. The skittish young guilder was one of his informants, after all. Or so Callis assumed. At a surreptitious gesture from Toll, he noticed the spymaster appeared suddenly distracted, his thoughts evidently elsewhere. The other conclavists looked scarcely more engaged.
"Well?" pressed Katrik le Guillion, the Prime Commander having exhausted her patience, which was ever a half-filled cup. "What is the meaning of all this?" she jabbed an armoured finger at Callis and Toll. "You two did Cinderfull a service sorting out all that Kingblood mess, so you've got some credit, but I warn you- it is rapidly running out."
Perhaps half-filled was too generous, Callis reflected. To his relief, Toll spoken up. "We found the guildhouse of the arcanogeologist attacked, its guilders killed and their research either taken or destroyed. At least one of the dead had been poisoned, while the rest had been near completely devoured. Our," he hesitated as he found the right word "friend here, Petras, believes the guild had uncovered a calamity in the making, one that could extend the breadth of the Parch. Or even further."
Toll dipped the brim of his hat to the arcanogeologist in a bid for them to explain further. Petras moistened their lips and did as requested.
"It is as I've been trying to say. What we thought we knew about the ley lines of the Parch, or even all of Aqshy- its only part of the truth. Our readings strongly suggest they are no merely confined to the surface. Metalith fragments, subterranean depths. The ley lines are everywhere, extending like nerve clusters." Petras splayed their fingers as if to emphasise the point. "And something is happening. Seismic variance, geomagical fluctuations. The readings all point to one thing."
"Which is?" asked an irritated looking Drobjorn, the high Artillerist. Callis suspected the duardin had more of a head for the arcanogeologist expertise than the others, but even he looked impatient.
"The ley lines," Petras replied. "it's as if they're on fire. It presages a major, imminent and potentially realm-wide trauma. An unprecedented cataclysm."
Murmurings of mild alarm travelled around the table. Mench quirked an eyebrow. "And you have proof of this?"
Shoulders slumped, Petras slowly shook their head.
"Then I fail to see what choice I have but to stop waiting for our-" Mench began, about to pronounce judgment, a sharp hiss from Delorius stopped him.
The hidden hand rose to his feet like silk against air, a stiletto suddenly in his hand.
"Something lurks in here with us which does not belong..."
Callis shared a look with Toll, the old witch hunter raising an tide of vermin in the guildhouse rose anew in the mind.
Mench visibly paled, as did several others of the Conclave, the Eve of Four Killings still recent in the memory. Callis noticed the Master Patriarch's gaze went to old bloodstains, faded but still visible, on the wyrmwood table. Delorius's eyes, though, were on the shadows around the room that had abruptly deepened.
Taking his lead from the master spy, Toll pulled forth a ragged length of hemp rope from a pouch beneath his cloak and proceeded to light it with a match.
"What is it?" asked Katrik, her one good eye narrowed as she reached for the jeweled hilt of her sword.
Toll was watching the fire as it bit and smoked along the rope, the flames crackling orange at first before changing to lurid green. Callis drew his pistol.
"Skaven..." he uttered to shallow gasps around the room, remembering their terrifying mission in the sewers below the city.
"In the Heavenhall?" protested Drobjorn, though his keen duardin gaze fitted from shadow to shadow. "Impossible."
A hubbub of minor panic began to ripple through the chamber, threatening to boil over. Mench turned, about to summon the guards when Delorius bade for quiet.
An eerie stillness descended, threaded with unease.
Callis had been watching the darkness too as an oily shadow, long and thin like a night-black talon, crept up the wall and onto the ceiling. There it spread into an inky pool, drawing the eyes of the room.
Raising his pistol, Callis took aim at the shadow, but before he could fire he saw the smoke from Toll's rope pulling to the side, not the ceiling. The Freeguilder was already turning as a sudden flurry of movement caught his eye from the penumbra at the edge of the chamber. Light flashed against metal, spinning, sharp. A triskele.
Callis cried out a warning, turning, pistol booming thunderously at a ragged shape that had materialised as if from scraps of shadow.
Too late.
Petras squeaked as the bladed missile flew towards their throat.
A hand's breadth before it found its mark, Toll swept out his cloak and deflected the triskele in mid-flight.
Pulling a second pistol, Callis fired again as anarchy seized the Heavenhall. He only wounded the creature, a black-swathed rat-thing that sprang backwards and flipped onto the table as Toll added his weapon to the fusillade. Mench was bellowing for the guards as the Heavenhall erupted in clamour and the skaven assassin brandished three knives, one in each blade-fingered paw and one clutched in its tail, each sizzling with a corrosive substance.
Snarling, it leapt for Petras.
Almost faster than Callis could follow, Delorius lunged with his stiletto. At first, he seemed to have missed his mark until his form appeared to blur like a smear on an artist's canvas, a shadowy simulacrum echoing the original but for the minor shift in position. Callis blinked, barely able to parse what he was seeing as the shadowy blade pierced the assassin's throat.
The Hidden Hand withdrew, the stiletto folding back into nothing as the man himself stood innocuously over the dead skaven, hand tucked within his robes, expression inscrutable behind the mask. A bullet hole still smouldered in the ratman's leg.
"A fine shot in the circumstances, Freeguilder," said Delorius, giving Callis a slight nod. "I think you may have winged it."
"Sigmar's blood," cursed Mench, as the conclavists returned to their seats. Le Guillion sheathed her blade, but still rested a hand on the pommel. Drobjorn sniffed his indifference but the duardin's gaze didn't stray from the corpse lying on the table.
"Let's see it then," he grumbled, doubtless wanting to be sure it was dead.
Delorius carefully pulled back the creature's hood to reveal the rattish snout of a skaven, its dead eyes staring blankly, tongue lolling from its mouth. "A spy in our midst."
"You want know, I suppose," muttered Toll, who had wondered over to examine the ratman corpse. He earned a side glance from Delorius.
"I wouldn't antagonise that one, old friend," Callis murmured into his ear.
Toll seemed unconcerned,his mind apparently on other matters. "The ratman are growing bold if they are sending assassins into our most protected halls." He glanced up at the ceiling. "I believe its ingress was probably via the roof."
Mench nodded, shaken but still angry. He gestured to the guards, mildly seething at their ineffectuality.
"Burn it and conduct a thorough search," he said. As the guards hurried to remove the skaven, Mench's attention fell on Callis, Toll and their nervous charge. "It seemed we are in your debt again." he turned to Zane Delorius, "And to you, spymaster."
Resuming his seat, Delorius gave no indication he had heard or even cared for the Master Patriarch's praise. Mench appeared only slightly perturbed as he turned back to Petras.
"Now..." he added, regarding the arcanoheologist with fresh respect and motioning to an empty seat," tell us again of these readings, honored guilder."
"It doesn't make sense." Heron said angrily, taking a step back to look at his work.
He had made one of those things that cops used to connect things with lines and pictures, but he didn't have any pictures, so he just wrote the names and a short description in the dirt.
So far, Heron has had his father connected to his mother as well as a question mark, representing his birth mother. Under that were him and a few facts about himself, like how he liked fire and his physical appearance. To the side of that was a list of all the female Greek goddesses, which he got from the book that he grabbed on his way here, but all of them were crossed out.
Heron looked through this book a lot, but he couldn't find any connection between him and any other goddess. Hestia was the only one who came close, but he had to cross her out too because she was a virgin goddess. For his dad's sake, Heron wouldn't even look at the male gods because he couldn't believe that one of them had changed into a woman.
He growled in anger and plopped down on the ground, using one of his hands to keep his head up. It made no sense that there were no more clues to follow; all of the ones that he had led to a dead end. He could not figure it out, and it infuriated him.
All this thinking was getting him thirsty, and he was a good way away from the cabins.
"Wish I had some water," said Heron out loud without thinking.
He sighed, stood up, and started back to the camp.
*clink*
He stopped when his foot hit something. Looking down, he found a glass of water on the ground, just sitting there. Heron stared at the glass for a minute before he reached down and picked it up. Heron inspected the glass with a worried eye. Did someone sneak up behind him and put the glass down? He gave it a quick sniff before he put the glass on his lips and took a small sip.
It was cold and pure, and it made his body demand more to quench its thirst.
He drank it all since he didn't think anything was wrong with it, but the strangest thing happened when he finished: it vanished in a ball of fire. Heron nearly jumped back in surprise, looking at the area where he once stood to see if anything else would happen. After waiting a minute, he approached the area where he once stood.
"Did I do that?" Heron questioned himself.
He held out his hand and waited for another glass of water to appear. To his surprise, another glass of water appeared in his hand in a flash of fire. Heron stared openly at the glass cup in his hand. Heron willed it to disappear, and it did in the same way it came in; when Heron willed it back, it came back.
Apparently he can summon water, but then Heron wondered if he could summon more than just water. He dismissed the water and willed a pancake to appear, and it did, plate and all.
"Well, I don't have to worry about going hungry anymore." Heron said humorously to himself.
He dismissed the plate of pancakes and went back over to the book to see if it had any information about food summoning powers, and it did. Apparently it's called food conjuration, and it allowed anyone who possessed it to summon up any food that the user ordered. Heron guesses it extended to water, but it probably ended there. To test his theory, Heron held out his arm and waited for a pint of dwarven ale to appear, but nothing happened, proving his theory.
After his short test, he went back to the diagram he had in the ground, and Heron redrew Hestia's and Hera's short profiles next to the question mark that was next to his father. They were the only two that the book said had food conjuration powers like him; however, Hestia was a virgin goddess, and the book said Hera did not have any demigod children because she was loyal to Zeus.
"One would think she would divorce the shameless basterd after all the time he's cheated on her." He thought out loud.
Thunder rang out in the distance as he said that. He gazed up into the sky and replied, "You know I'm correct, Zeus. You're lucky she didn't cheat on you only to get back at you for doing her over a hundred thousand years." He received a rumbling in response.
Heron scoffed, shook his head, and went back to searching for more clues.
Time flew by as Heron did his research, but still he could not find any solid evidence on why his other godly parent was. Groaning in frustration that he still found nothing, he slammed the book shut and began walking back to the cabin.
Once back at Cabin 11, everybody was talking and horsing around, waiting for dinner. For the first time, Heron noticed that a lot of the campers had similar features: sharp noses, upturned eyebrows, and mischievous smiles. They were the kind of kids that teachers would peg as troublemakers.
When he arrived at cabin 11, though, everyone immediately gave him a very wide berth.
It may have to do that on his night here; some of Hermes kids tried to take the warhammer as well as some of his stuff, only for Heron to put a stop to that and make it clear to all: don't touch his stuff.
Thankfully, nobody paid much attention to him as he walked to Percy's spot on the floor and plopped down next to him.
"So," Heron trailed, "we're both demigods. Like real-life demigods. Who knew."
"Yeah. Who knew that we're going to be hunted down by monsters for the rest of our lives?"
"Come one, Percy. Look on the bright side," whispered Heron.
"What bright side?" Snapped Percy "My mom is dead. The Greek Gods exist. Everything we know is basically a lie."
"You're alive, aren't you?" He said he was trying to brighten his friend's mood. "Nobody said that life should be easy. Much less usual for folks like us."
"Did you know?"
"Know what?asked Heron, raising one eyebrow.
The twelve-year-old boy spread his hands out and said, "The camp. Gods, the man eating monsters. All of it." Percy said, gesturing to the cabin they were in.
Leaning even farther against the cabin's wall, Heron pushed himself to sigh gently and shook his head. " No. I didn't know about the camp or the Greek gods. As for monsters, that's a different story."
"Why so?"
"Like Annabeth, monsters came after me at the age of three, thinking I was an easy meal. But unlike Annabeth, I wasn't the prey. I was the hunter."
Now Percy is intrigued as Heron pulls out a knife from his belt—the same one that he stabbed Grover with. "What do you mean you were the hunter?" he asked.
"You already know that my dad isn't what you call a normal person by most people."
"Obviously. Your dad is the CEO of the largest private military company on the planet."
"Yes, my father is a well-known CEO of Unberogen Defense Industries; I've heard it over a hundred times from our school and don't need a reminder." Heron waved it off. "However, in addition to his profession and infrequent board and business meetings, he would make an effort to spend time with me as a father, as all happy parents do. That kind of happy family time attracted monsters to me like flies to a rotting corpse."
"This was when I was very young." He continued. "Every time a monster in disguise would get close to me, my dad would make it disappear forever. At first, I thought my dad just used his money or influence to make them leave us alone. In reality, my dad was keeping me safe from the monsters. Fight them in single combat."
"Your kidding."
He shook his head. "No, I'm not." Heron smiled, remembering the time he saw his father, Sigmar, fighting a dragon-like beast wielding his personal spear, Hrungar the star piercer, easily outmaneuvering the clumsy thing and slaying the beast with a single thrust of his spear through its skull.
"It wasn't until I was three to four years old, I think, that I witnessed my dad ripping the head off a lizard twice his size that he decided to finally train me."
The way Heron spoke about his dad, it was like his friend almost revered him. Percy wanted to ask him more about his friend's dad but didn't get the chance.
The counselor, Luke, came over. He had the Hermes family resemblance, too. It was marred by that scar on his right cheek, but his smile was intact.
"I found you two a sleeping bag," he said. "And here, I stole you some toiletries and some bandages from the camp store."
He couldn't tell if he was kidding about the stealing part.
Percy said, "Thanks."
"No prob." Luke sat next to them and pushed his back against the wall. "Tough first day?"
Heron snorted, "If you think that getting into a fight with Ares' daughter and Percy destroying the boys' bathroom plumbing is a "tough first day," then I don't know what is." He said it sarcastically.
Luke chuckled
"I don't belong here," Percy said. "I don't even believe in gods."
"Yeah," he said. "That's how we all started. Once you start believing in them, it doesn't get any easier." The bitterness in his voice surprised Percy, who raised an eyebrow at Heron because Luke seemed like a pretty easygoing guy. But appearances can be deceiving. On the outside, he looked like he could handle just about anything. In reality, though, Heron could see
"So your dad is Hermes?" Percy asked.
He pulled a switchblade out of his back pocket, and for a second, Percy thought he was going to gut him, but he just scraped the mud off the sole of his sandal. "Yeah. Hermes."
"The wing-footed messenger guy."
"That's him. Messengers. Medicine. Travelers, merchants, and thieves. Anyone who uses the roads. That's why you're here, enjoying cabin eleven's hospitality. Hermes isn't picky about who he sponsors."
Percy figured Luke didn't mean to call him a nobody. He just had a lot on his mind.
"Unless you're the god who knocked him out," Heron said, wrapping the bandage around his knuckles. "chained him to a mountainside somewhere in the Caucasus and set his own eagle to eat his liver."
"Ouch, that's a pretty blow," said Luke.
"Don't get me wrong. Your dad is one of the few 'good gods' on Olympus that actually helps little guys. Although I have to admit. Your dad had it coming to him, threatening a close friend of Cipher. It is much less demanding to know which of Zeus's sons would overthrow his father."
"Aahh, you mean the incident with Prometheus?" Luke pointed out, " It's kind of a sore subject for us to talk about. Hermes wasn't particularly proud of that moment or what he had to do."
"You ever meet your dad?" Percy asked.
"Once."
Percy waited, thinking that if he wanted to tell him, he'd tell them. Apparently, he didn't. Percy wondered if the story had anything to do with how he got his scar.
Luke looked up and managed to smile. "Don't worry about it, Percy. The campers here are mostly good people. After all, we're extended family, right? We take care of each other."
He seemed to understand how lost Percy felt, and Heron was grateful for that, because an older guy like him—even if he was a counselor—should've steered clear of an uncool middle schooler like Percy. But Luke had welcomed him into the cabin. He'd even stolen Percy some toiletries, which was the nicest thing anybody had done for Percy all day besides himself.
Percy decided to ask him his last big question, the one that had been bothering him all afternoon.
"Clarisse, from Ares, was joking about me being 'big three' material. Then Annabeth—twice—said I might be "the one." She said Heron and I should talk to the Oracle. What was that all about?"
Luke folded his knife. "I hate prophecies."
Heron narrowed his eyes. "I beg your pardon."
"It's nothing. Just... the last time the oracle gave out a prophecy, it didn't end well."
"What do you mean?" Percy asked
His ace twitched around the scar. "Let's just say I messed things up for everybody else. In the last two years, ever since my trip to the Garden of Hesperides went sour, Chiron hasn't allowed any more quests. Annabeth's been dying to get out into the world. She pestered Chiron so much that he finally told her he already knew her fate. He'd had a prophecy from the Oracle. He wouldn't tell her the whole thing, but he said Annabeth wasn't destined to go on a quest yet. She had to wait until... somebody special came to the camp."
"Somebody special?"
"Don't worry about it, kid," Luke said. "Annabeth wants to think every new camper who comes through here is the omen she's been waiting for. Now, come one, it's dinnertime."
The moment he said it, a horn blew in the distance. Somehow, Heron knew it was a conch shell, even though I'd never heard of one before.
Luke yelled, "Eleven, fall in!"
The whole cabin, about twenty of us, filed into the commons yard, so of course he and Percy were dead last. Campers came from the other cabins, too, except for the three empty cabins at the end and cabin eight, which had looked normal in the daytime but was starting to glow silver as the sun went down.
They marched up the hill to the mess hall pavilion. Satyrs joins us from the meadow. Naiads emerged from the canoeing lake. A few other girls came out of the woods, and when he said out of the woods, he meant straight out of the woods. He saw one girl, about nine or ten years old, melt from the side of a maple tree and come skipping up the hill.
In all, there were maybe a hundred campers, a few dozen satyres, and a dozen wood nymphs and naiads.
At the pavilion, torches blazed around the marble columns. A central fire burned in a bronze brazier the size of a bathtub. Each cabin had its own table, covered in white cloth and trimmed in purple. Four of the tables were empty as usual, but cabin eleven's was way. overcrowded. Heron and Percy had to squeeze on the edge of the bench with half their asses hanging off.
Percy saw Grover sitting at table twelve with Mr. D, a few satyres, and a couple of plump blond boys who looked just like Mr. D. Chiron stood to one side, the picnic table being way too small for a centaur.
Annabeth sat at table six with a bunch of serious-looking athletic kids, all with gray eyes and honey-blond hair.
Clarisse sat behind them at Are's table. She'd apparently gotten over being hosed down by Percy and being defeated by him because she was laughing and belching right alongside her friends. Her brothers, on the other hand,
At Aphrodite's table, where Silena sat, were a multitude of beautiful females in name-brand clothing and very good-looking or lovely boys, all of whom were engaged in lively conversation about their day-to-day lives. As soon as Silena noticed him staring, she grinned and waved.
In response, he waved and flashed a smile that revealed his pearly whites. When her siblings saw this, they couldn't help but burst out laughing.
Finally, Chiron pounded his hoof against the marble flood of the pavilion, and everybody fell silent. He raised a glass. "To the gods!"
As usual, Wood Nymphs came forward with platters of food: grapes, apples, strawberries, cheese, fresh bread, and yes, barbecue! Percy's glass was empty, but Heron said, "Speak to it. Soda, Pepsi, whatever you want—but no alcoholics." Unfortunately. He really wanted to drink some good Dwarven ale right about now.
Percy said, Cherry Coke."
The glass was filled with sparkling caramel liquid.
Then he had an idea. "Blue Cherry Coke."
The soda turned a violent shade of cobalt.
Percy took a cautious sip. Perfect.
Heron, on the other hand, was not perfect and looked at his friend's drink in disgust. "Dud, that is wrong."
"It's my drink, man. Suck it up."
"A good drink that you defiled with your imagination."
"It's a good thing, my drink."
He scoffed. "If that drink gives you a stomach ache, it's your own damn fault."
Percy smiled smugly at Heron. "I learned from the best," he said, raising his glass.
"Here you go, Percy," Luke said, handing him a platter of smoked brisket.
Heloated his place and was about to take a big bit when he noticed everybody getting up, carrying their plates toward the fire in the center of the pavilion. He wondered if they were going for dessert or something. But Heron knew
"Come on," Luke told them.
As they got closer, Percy saw that everyone was taking a portion of their meal and dropping it into the fire—the ripest strawberry, the juiciest slice of beef, the warmest, most buttery roll.
Luke murmured in his ear, just like he did to me.
"Brunt offerings for the gods." Luke explained, "They like the smell."
"You're kidding."
"It's ridiculous, I know. I didn't believe it the first time." Heron said it bluntly.
His look warned them not to take this lightly, but Percy couldn't help wondering why an immortal, all-powerful being would like the smell of burning food. At least his dad would actually eat the food. Not burn the food.
Like last time, Luke approached the fire, bowed his head, and tossed in a cluster of fat red grapes. "Hermes."
Followed by Heron, who did the same thing yesterday—bones and fat for the Greek gods but for Hestia—lovely cupcakes with a side of juicy steak—in response, the fire underneath the brazier began to grow exponentially bigger than normal. Forcing most of the campers to take a step back unless they wanted to get burned to a crisp, Heron leaned back slightly to avoid the tops of the flames. Knowing full well that the Olympian gods are clearly showing their displeasure with what he has offered them.
At the same time, there was a smell of chocolate and fresh-baked cookies, hamburgers on the grill, wildflowers, and a hundred other amazing things as well. He smiled. Knowing that Hestia was the goddess of the hearth, Heron figured she heard his offering and was thankful for it.
"A little hot in here, don't you think?" said Heron sarcastically.
Once the fire show was over, he turned around sharply, stopping near Percy and giving him a curt nod, and walked back to table twelve like nothing had happened. Ignoring the
"Your next Percy," said Heron.
Percy wished he knew what the god's name was.
Finally, he made a silent plea. Whoever you are, tell me. Please.
He scrapped a big slice of brisket into the flames.
When he caught a whiff of the smoke, Percy didn't gag.
It smelled nothing like burning food. It smelled of hot chocolate.
When Percy caught a whiff of the smoke, he didn't gag.
It smelled nothing like burning food. It smelled of hot chocolate and fresh-baked brownies, hamburgers on the grill and wildflowers, and a hundred other good things that shouldn't have gone well together but did. Percy could almost believe the gods could live off that smoke.
When everybody had returned to their seats and finished eating their meals, Chiron pounded his hoof again for their attention.
Mr. D got up with a huge sigh. "Yes, I suppose I'd better say hello to all you brats. Well, hello. Our activities director, Chiron, says the next day to capture the flag is Friday. Cabin Five presently holds the laurels."
A bunch of ugly cheers rose from the Ares table.
"Personally," Mr. D continued, "I couldn't care less, but congratulations. Also, I should tell you that the last new camper is finally awake. Pe-"
"Percy Jackson!"
Heron's booming voice startled Mr. D of the guard, who turned to face Heron, who then feigned ignorance and said that someone else, not him, had interrupted the god of wine.
"Er, right. Percy Jackson," Mr. D corrected. "That's right. Hurrah, and all that. Now run along to your silly campfire. Go on."
Everybody cheered. We all headed down toward the amphitheater, where Apollo's cabin led a sing-along. We sang camp songs about the gods, ate s'mores, and joked around, and the funny thing was that Percy didn't feel that anyone was staring at him anymore. Heron could see it as clear as day. For the first time, Percy felt that he was home.
And he was delighted for Percy. He couldn't recall the last occasion when his closest buddy had been so joyful for such a prolonged period of time. As for Heron, though, he, too, was enjoying this little vacation to the fullest.
More than once, Silena would ask Heron to help her with the smores, to which he happily obliged. out of the corner of his
He stopped a boy from Hermes Cabin named Conor (he believes that's his name) from using a snake that his brother found to play a nasty joke on Silena. He accomplished this by utilizing his power to "accidentally" set the boy's pants on fire with a little finger gesture.
It ended up being rather funny. Conor screamed in fright as his brother attempted to extinguish the flames by patting him down. Seeing that it would only make matters worse, Hermie's' kid just ripped off his trousers, exposing his purple heart underwear to the entire camp. Laughter followed. Then another and another. Following that brief burst of fun, the entire camp started laughing heartily at the fellow demigods misery.
Later in the evening, when the sparks from the campfire were curling into a starry sky, the conch horn blew again, and they all filed back to their cabins.
Heron told them that he'd catch up to them later, and he waited patiently until all of the campers were left. After waiting for a full hour, Heron spoke out into the darkness. His once-full joy quickly turned to steel and stone.
"You can come out now."
Coming out of the shadows, Heron could see a faint silhouette coming into the moonlight, revealing a man wearing a dark black robe that blended perfectly with the darkness. His eyes narrowed dangerously. Seeing the stranger wearing a mask on his face, hiding his identity from Heron, who in turn stood
Not knowing if this stranger was a friend or foe, his hand slowly went for the shaft of the souldrinker in case this man was a threat.
"If your an assassin here expecting an easy hit, then you're sorely mistaken because this prey has razor sharp teeth and will send you to whatever hellscape you believe in to Shyish without a moment of hesitation."
"I am not here to slay you, noble prince." The spy spoke in a low voice. But if I were here to kill, you wouldn't have noticed it."
"Is that a threat?"
"No, milord, just a point."
"How did you get past the barrier then?"
"Getting past a simple barrier is child play for those who trained in the Collegiate Arcane."
"Hmp, who are you then? You are not an ordinary battlemage."
"Isidor Akenors, I am an agent of the hidden hand."
"So a spy. That explains everything." Heron grunted
"Why is a member of the hidden hand here, then?" He continued as he sat back down. "AAren't you meant to keep an eye out for dangers across the nine realms? It's surprising that you and your ilk were able to extend your reach beyond the realms so soon."
"Our spy networks were established in this realm long before you were born, my prince. Years ago, under orders from your father, I might add, our order spread to every nook and cranny of this realm's nations. From the highest peaks of society to the lowest slums, we have been keeping an eye on you for quite some time now."
"Are you saying that hidden hand has eyes and ears everywhere? Even at the highest levels of government."
"You already know the answer to that question."
"That's not a no."
"It's not a yes."
The staring contest continued for a few minutes between Heron and Isidor. None of the two faltered in their staring contest. It ended only when Heron spoke again.
"You haven't answered my question? Why did you come here?"
"To the point I see, that's good." Isidor said, "I came to this camp to warn you."
"Warn me about what?"
The spy slowly clasped his hands together as his sigh deepened.
"Dark times are coming, my boy; this troubles my master to no end; a hidden force is finally moving pieces on the board. Sooner or later, darker minds will soon turn to Terra."
"Explain."
"Not too long ago, a guild of arcanogeologists in Hammerhal Aqsha were murdered during a siege in broad daylight."
"Arcanogeologist." Heron raised one of his eyebrows. "You're talking about geoamcers. Aren't those scientists keeping watch over the ley lines and geomantic nexuses?"
The man nodded. "Indeed. Its good to know that you already acquainted with them."
"To be honest with you, I don't actually know them all that well," Heron said. "They were unfamiliar to me until two years ago. I met a handful of them while out scouting for the Dawn-Bringer Campaign with my team. In Ghur's territory. They spent many days studying the route before being forced to move by an Ork warband."
"I couldn't understand most of the things the arcanogeologists said were too complicated," he responded with a shrug. "Why, therefore, would someone wish to target a random bunch of archaeologists? Would the city armory be a better target?"
"This wasn't a random guild. It was the foremost center of geomantic research in the free city, and it wasn't men who killed the arcanogeologists. They were killed by rats."
Mismatched-eyed scowled, glancing behind his back to make sure no one was listening. He didn't need to take long to figure out what the spy was referring to.
"The Skaven," he spat out.
"Yes, the vermin are up to their wrenched ways again." The spy nodded slowly at the dismal news, saying, "The arcanogeologists discovered something alarming. It has to do with the attacks on the Geomantic Nexus in the east of the Great Parch as well as the disappearances in the strongpoints' around Hammerhal Ghyra. Then the rodents arrived, murdered every arcanogeologist at the guild facility, and stole the guilders' research, just as they were about to report their findings to the Grand Conclave."
Under his breath, Heron whispered. "Ulric, damn it," he said, groaning deeply as he recalled the time he and his companions stopped a group of Skaven from clan Warlock from detonating a warpstone warhead underneath Marienburg.
It was a mission that neither he nor his friends vowed not to talk about for as long as they lived.
Though the ratmen were a nasty group, they were quite meticulous in implementing their plans—something people in the old world and free cities occasionally missed. The Vermin have countless numbers, and their cunning was nearly legendary, if not quite frightening.
Mallus secundus and all nine realms would have been taken over long ago if the vermintide had not collapsed on itself by their fragmented and treacherous nature. And now they're back at it again.
"Were there any survivors?"
"One. The lucky whelp escaped death by the skin of his teeth."
Heron couldn't help but smirk. "I imagine that the vermin kin regretted letting one get away so easily."
"They did; the Skaven sent an assassin to silence him and prevent the poor sap from warning them of their plans. Consequently, it was slain in the attempt to kill the arcanogeologists lives in the middle of a meeting within the heavenhal itself."
"Sneaking little shits, always finding clever ways to infiltrate
"Indeed, and within the Skaven lishen's robe, though, it was carrying a single message."
The spy pulled out a piece of parchment from his robes, revealing a piece of parchment.
"It's in the beast tongue."
"Good eye. It's a promise of payment."
"For what?" Heron asked.
"Your head." Heron's entire body paused for a moment, and his eyes raised to meet the spy's own. He saw that there was no deception in his eyes, and he was serious.
The Skaven wants you dead." He continued, "Your reckless behavior and that of your companions have drawn undesired attention to you as the storm king's one and only successor to Azyr, Heron. You must leave Terra until your father's immortal army locates and slays your pursuers."
"What do you want me to do till then?" Heron snarled, his eyes flashing a momentary lightning bolt of light as the campfire flames started up again. This was particularly true as heavy clouds and thunder were starting to move in. "Run away like some coward and hide in some dark hole somewhere until it all blows over."
"What about my team?" he continued. "Just so you know, they are still searching for a group of beastmen that are rummaging through the forests in this region of the nation. Do you mean that I ought to let them perish? Give them all, my comrades, my friends who I knew for years, over to the wolves who will be at my door shortly, like lambs to the slaughter."
"If that is what is necessary to keep you alive, yes."
That was the final straw. A boom of thunder echoed across the night sky, followed by a flare of flames from the campfire. Heron was no stranger to making difficult decisions. He had to choose between the lesser evils from time to time, but risking the lives of his friends and loved ones was too much. The impulse to draw a soul-drinker and bash the man's head was strong. Oh, how enticing.
Fortunately, he was no marauder berserker; he reined that dark rage in quickly, inhaling deeply. The blaze died down soon after, along with the clouds that dissipated, revealing the starry night sky. But that doesn't mean that this man will get off easily.
The spy didn't show an ounce of fear or any reaction to his threat, for that matter. If he did show fear, it was hidden well behind that smiling porcelain mask he had on. The shadows around his face shimmered, slithering like snakes against the darkness of the night. His hands were slowly going to one of his many knives.
"I do not apologize for speaking out of what must be said, my liege," the spy continued. "You have established yourself as an ally to the pantheons of Tera, the kingdoms of Mallus Secundas, and the free cities of the mortal realms, attracting the attention of both friends and foes alike. In a few years, you have turned the tides of war in our favor. This should come as no surprise to you. The most astute leaders of the Skaven, the council of thirteen, would regard you as a danger to their long-term schemes when you and your friends prevented one of their Grey Seers from capturing the city of Nuln. It was also after you purge Harkaninbus-"
"Do not dare mention that name, Isidor." Heron's voice went deeper as the thunderstorm returned. "Harkanibus was like my second home. My responsibility. And as for your request that I leave, My answer is no. I will not leave."
"But sire-" Heron cut him off.
"I. Will. Not. Leave," he said firmly, emphasizing each word, leaving no room for argument. Showing his determination to stay on Terra."I will not leave my friend to fate worse than death and that final."
The spy let out a deep sigh, seeing that he could not convince the son of Sigmar to flee. "Very well, if that is your choice, then I shall leave now before any of the heathen gods offspring or their followers discover me," said Isidor as he stood up from his seat, towering over the thirteen-year-old.
"Fight well, son of Sigmar, for soon our worlds will arrive in this realm." And like that, Isidor became one with the darkness, leaving Heron all alone once again.
Heron let out a howl of sorrow and shame before destroying a nearby pillar with a single strike, like a dam ripping apart with a bolt of fire and lightning.
Harkanibus.
A name he thought he'd never hear again. A name for Dawnbringer Settlement. A name that made him feel deeply guilty about the infamous act he had fought so hard to conceal. A name that almost brought him to draw his blade against his own father.
His walk back to Hermes cabin was a silent one.
Heron didn't realize how exhausted he was until he collapsed on his borrowed sleeping bag.
Heron contemplated the spies' warning, but he had another thought: the Skaven—a race of verminous beings whose numbers might drown out the horizon—are on their way to claim his life and are ready to use their terrible influence to do it.
When he closed his eyes, he fell asleep instantly.
He wishes he'd known how briefly he would get to enjoy his new home.
Okay chapter 9 is over.
Guest: I won't lie to you I did kinda cross the line there but don't worry, Heron won't run away from Camp Half blood. He's not that kind of person.
The disquieting one: Currently working on that one. When I tried to write "Mr.D" or " " the website erase the name leaving the "Mr." while am still trying to finish the ones I miss.