25. The Crossroads to Heaven (Annabeth POV) The pale moon was already dangling from the crest of the world when Annabeth approached her cabin’s door. Her thoughts were abound within her mind’s eye, which was racing through the day’s events with unprecedented celerity that she caught only brief images of her memories. Annabeth stood there, unmoving like a marble statue, frozen with her hand on the door as one would if vacillating leaving home to embark on an ambitious crusade. She was filled to the brim with inexplicable emotions—some making her chest ache with a dull pain—that threatened to overflow like a witch’s cauldron, cascading like a river over a cliff. “Hey.” An unequivocally familiar voice came from behind her. It was Percy. “Are you going to stand there gaping awkwardly at the door? It helps to knock, you know.” Annabeth smiled in spite of herself and turned. “And for what reasons am I blessed with your presence? It is pretty late.” Percy stood a few feet from her. The radiant moonlight beamed down on him brightly revealing glowing green eyes that stared inquisitively back into Annabeth’s, as if laboring to unravel her deepest and darkest secrets. The half of Percy’s face turned from the moon rested in shadows, and Annabeth thought amusedly that he resembled a cryptic monster she’d once read in one of her novels. “You know—it’s funny,” Percy said unexpectedly, bending down to sit on the swaying grass. Behind him stretched the expanse of Camp Half-Blood, basked in a lunar light that seemed as if one had ran across the field with a white brush in hand and painted the tips of the grass. He motioned for her to sit with him and she did, “how quickly life can change within a moment’s notice. But, an even more intriguing prospect—one that I can’t answer myself—one inconceivable, is our ability to adapt and accept those changes. I don’t know if you know this yourself, but I was dead today. As dead and cold as stone.” Percy pointed to the back of his head, trying to show Annabeth the now invisible crack in his head that had been made when he was tossed across the field by the giant. “I can feel it even now—the memories of how it was like in Hades’ prison: cold, desolate, lonely. And fear. I felt so, so much fear.” “What did you fear?” Annabeth asked. Percy glanced up, the effulgence of the moon spilling across his face. “Oh, so many things,” he said, looking at her then. “But what frightened me most was the idea that I’d never see my mom, or friends, ever again. To brave eternal darkness in solitary is something no one should have to be forced into. Imagine the anguish at confronting a never ending night and knowing that you’d be this way forever. At least in the Fields of Elysium you are accompanied by other heroes whom have perished. But in Hades’ cell I was a severed soul, split cleanly in two, one imprisoned with Hades, and the other meandering the Fields, desperately searching for its missing half. I felt both elated, for half of me was in Elysium, and empty—quite a contradictory pairing, don’t you think?” Annabeth agreed silently, leaning back to stare at the stars in the sky. “It’s surprising what I remember when I was alive,” Percy continued, “—at least before I died for the first time. People say that in your last few moments you can see the flashes of your most important memories.” He shook his head. “I didn’t see anything—just blackish and blurry silhouettes. I remember what I don’t remember, if that makes sense. I’ve only got quick flashes—the outline of a club, which I must say was very large indeed—and nothing else. But …” Percy trailed off, turning his head to glance at the grassy field below. “There,” he said, pointing. Annabeth followed his gaze and fell upon the practice field below. In the obscurity of the shadows cast by the tree line Annabeth discerned the shimmering swords and axes resting on racks, and behind them, the ominous looking straw dummies leering over the field like monsters of the night. “I feel drawn to there. There’s an aura of familiarity whenever I’m in that ring. It’s the first place I went to when I returned with Nico and Amy.” He smiled at their names. “They fetched me, you know?” Percy continued smiling, seeming unable to contain it. “Went all the way to hell and back for me.” “How did they even find you?” Annabeth pulled up closer to him, genuinely intrigued. “I can only imagine, with the hundreds and thousands of people down there you should’ve been lost.” Percy turned to her, the greenness of his eyes vibrant in the night like a cat and said, “I haven’t asked them—didn’t really have the time, really. But what I do remember is those boneheads steering me out of a long dark tunnel into the light. Just prisons and a bright light. And—,” he began, but paused, seeming suddenly surprised, “—your hair is wet.” It was then that Annabeth felt the dampness of her hair pressed against the shoulders of her shirt, wetting them. Water dripped from the ends of her freely hanging strands, disappearing into the shadows of the grass. Feeling suddenly chilled to her core, Annabeth crossed her arms over her chest, hunching as a slight breeze weaved through the camp. “Here,” Percy said, stripping himself of his jacket. When Annabeth hesitated, he insisted, “I won’t be cold. Just take it.” He wrapped the jacket around her like a blanket and sat, this time a little closer she thought. “I went for a swim, if you’re curious,” she finally said. “It’s been a long day.” “It has,” he agreed, staring absentmindedly at the sky. “Do you see there?” He nudged his head toward a cluster of stars suspended directly above them. From the top of the hill, away from the bustling urban city of New York, the smog was absent and the cluster was radiant. Annabeth leaned back until she was lying down, feeling the cool grass brush against her sensitive hands and arms. “That’s Hercules. Nico showed it to me one night when we were making rounds around the camp. He pulled me off to the side, over to the hill not far from here and pointed to the sky. At first I could hardly make anything out, only able to see a bunch of harsh lines and corners, but when Nico outlined them for me I was finally able to see it. It only takes a little bit of imagination for it to become obvious.” Annabeth frowned, trying to descry the constellation. Of all the education she’d received as a young girl, the study of astronomy had never been realized. At times she felt she’d discerned a tip of a spear, or maybe the head of a chariot, but her attempts came out wrong every time. Most of the time she’d found herself staring at a fat lot of nothing, with the spear sometimes underneath what she believed to be the base of the chariot, or Hercules running awkwardly, submerged underneath a foaming sea. She lay there struggling until Percy spoke again. “I suppose that’s why I’m so afraid of being alone.” She turned to him, feeling her face echo curiosity. “What do you mean?” Percy spoke, still facing the stars. Annabeth saw the rise and fall of his jaw line and with it the dancing of the shadows across his face. “To live a life where you’re utterly alone—to weather the world in solitude—is to forgo the experiences that make us human. We’re like walking textbooks, you know? And sometimes I lay on some grassy mound thinking to myself that I’m just a book, ready to be opened and read. Without others with you you’re just like an empty book, waiting to be written in. Quill and ink in hand.” “Do you sometimes feel like you’re missing a part of your life—a few pages, so to speak?” Annabeth saw the change in Percy’s expression, from a slight and distant one to a look one would have when pondering life’s deep mysteries. He lay there, motionless as his eyes slowly gazed over the night sky until he finally said, almost hesitatingly: “Sometimes. There are times when I feel like a piece of me is missing, lost or locked away by one of the gods. Even today…” Percy turned his head to her, his eyes bearing into hers like with such a hidden sorrow that she wanted to hold him close and whisper that it would be all right—that he and she would remain that way forever, clasped underneath the evening sky. “I feel like a piece of me has been stolen unfairly—as if I’m forgetting something of extreme importance, like a camp dance or a quest with an upcoming deadline.” Annabeth smiled within her mind, suddenly reminiscent of their dance a few months past. “I feel that, too, sometimes. You’re whole, but at the same you aren’t. Physically healthy, but as a whole still incomplete.” Percy turned fully to her now so that he was lying on his side. “It’s funny,” he said. “I don’t even know you, but I’m here telling you all about my feelings as if you’re someone I’m close to—like a best friend, I suppose. I can’t talk to Nico about these sorts of things. He’d just grin like an idiot and call me hopeless. ” Annabeth, not turning from his gaze, shrugged playfully. “I guess I’m easy to talk to.” Percy remained wordless at that for a moment, and then nudged her with his arm. “Here, look at that one,” he said, pointing at another group of stars in the sky. “That one is called The Great Bear and the Seven Stars. See where it dips near the bottom? …” * * * Annabeth woke to the sound of distant chatter and the birds’ chirping. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and yawned. She’d fallen asleep the night before, counting the infinitely many stars in the midnight sky before succumbing to a heavy blanket of fatigue. As she rose something slipped off from her shoulders and crumbled into a heap at her legs. Looking down, Annabeth recognized it as Percy’s leather jacket. Percy. The name lingered in her mind like a dream that’d already begun fading. Annabeth stood, the jacket in her hands, and looked about. The sun had just crept up from behind the peak of the hill, casting a series of red-tinted orange rays across the camp. Down below in the practice field were campers already sparring in the rings—the faint clanging of metal on metal echoing like a lyrical tune. “Annabeth.” The voice came from behind her. She turned to find Amy dressed in a black cotton tunic and blue jeans. There were shadows under her eyes and Amy looked visibly tired, as if she had spent the night worrying away. “Are you hungry? I was about to send someone to wake you, but it seems that won’t be needed.” Annabeth nodded, suddenly conscious of her voracious appetite. She’d had nothing the day before save for a few meager bites. “Poor thing,” Amy said sympathetically, and motioned with her hand to a satyr. He came immediately, looking at her with obedient eyes. “Please get her—what is it you want, Annabeth?” Feeling as if she possessed and appetite large enough to consume a horse, Annabeth said quickly: “Anything will be fine—but I’d like a glass of milk.” When the satyr returned with Annabeth’s order, Amy led her to the breakfast tables and waited patiently while she ate, gazing blankly at what Annabeth thought was the horizon. When she’d finished eating, Amy leaned forward, pulling from underneath the table what seemed to be schematics, and unrolled it. Annabeth frowned, turning the paper around. Drawn meticulously onto the paper was the entirety of the camp, walls and all. She could make out the base of the hill and the cabins and the practice fields just below the breakfast tables. The drawing failed to leave out a single detail and even included Thalia’s tree, which had been labeled with the huntress’s name. Taking up the rest of the page was the tree line, which was perfectly rendered—each tree and pond and cave drawn to scale. “Look here,” Amy said, pointing at the entrance to the camp. “This is where they came yesterday—the monsters—from the east.” Annabeth took a sip from her milk as Amy continued. “I spoke to the sentries posted before the battle when I awoke this morning. They swarmed in from this side of the forest,” she said, pointing to a thicket just to the side of the main road leading to the camp. On the map it was flanked by a small creek barely wider than the size of a cabin, which was fairly small. “The bulk of the invasion force pushed their way through the main gate while two smaller, expeditionary forces broke through the palisade at these two points.” Amy tapped the two respective areas on the map. “The primary invasion force breached the gates and passed through the protective barrier unhindered. This is what caught us off guard at first. Demetrius was the sentry posted near the brunt of the enemy army, which is why he was killed almost instantly. They continued to push until they halted here.” Amy placed her finger on at the breakfast tables, which were the midway point between the practice field and the cabins. “This is where we turned to fight. Campers in the practice field most likely joined the fray after the horn was blown.” Annabeth blinked, placing the invisible armies on the map like chess pieces. “But what about the other ones—the two groups that broke through the palisades.” “The second group was intercepted by me. I was passing by the wall when they broke through. The first was eliminated by Percy over by the river where we practice rafting.” Amy leaned forward, clasping her hands together. “This was a threat, Annabeth. And not an idle one at that—meant to scare us into submission. We’re no safer in this camp than our own homes. The only difference is that we are congregated here, and not isolated where they can pick us off.” “So what do we do?” Annabeth asked. “Whoever is behind this despises the gods.” “Yes,” said Amy, looking at the map expectantly as if waiting for an answer to leap out from within the page. “I’ve already assigned members from the Ares cabin to investigate the creek nearby.” “So what do you need me to do?” Amy didn’t answer, instead looking around until she spotted a girl sitting a few benches away. “Her. Her brother’s missing. My guess is he’s a corpse in the woods, but I promised her I’d dedicate some resources to his recovery. Either way, it’s worth searching to give him a proper burial so that his spirit can rest in peace. You remember what happened last time they refused to properly bury a camper.” It wasn’t so much that the camp had refused a proper interring of the body, but rather that the camper’s body was never fully recovered. A hundred and twenty years ago a camper was locked out of the camp and left for dead. When he screamed for the campers to open the gates, they’d refused, telling him it was nigh impossible for them to save him. The monsters hauled him away as he screamed and clawed at the ground, begging for help, but the campers had stood there motionless. His blood had soaked half a mile of road while his entrails, staining the dirt for months, lay in bits and pieces all around. Stories had it that his restless soul, bounded to his body, was tormenting restlessly in the neck of the woods, pleading for travelers to save him in a ghastly and echoing voice. Annabeth shuddered at the image. “Of course; you told me the story yourself when I’d first arrived,” she said. “I had nightmares for weeks.” “Then you had better hope we find that the girl’s brother intact or you’ll find your dreams haunted once more. And don’t give me that look will you?” Amy added almost exasperatedly, seeing the bothered look in Annabeth’s eyes that screamed desperately ‘without help’? “I do have some information that’d be of some use to you. Did you really think I’d send you out there without any help? I spoke with some of the missing camper’s friends and the consensus is that he was one of the few with Percy—when the monsters broke in through the walls.” “Then I guess I should go then,” Annabeth said. She pushed her plate away and motioned to a satyr to take it away. “Will you need anything else?” She looked at Amy fully then—noticing the straightness of her friend’s posture and the way she carried herself as if a general presiding over men. Yet, despite her calm demeanor and commanding voice, exhaustion undoubtedly wrought her face, creating an unsightly pallor. There was also, Annabeth thought, an oasis of sorrow foaming beneath the exterior. She looked far different than the person Annabeth had known two days ago. Amy spoke, breaking her thoughts: “Actually, there is one thing I need to ask of you. I want you to take Percy.” Annabeth felt her face grow warm, though she was sure was owed to the rising sun, which had fully emerged like a butterfly from a cocoon over the crest of the hillsides. “—and Nico,” said Amy after a brief moment of hesitation. Was that pain Annabeth saw? “Take them both and dig up what you can about the poor girl’s brother. Anything will suffice, so long as we solve the mystery of his disappearance.” Annabeth blinked. “So where are they?” Amy looked surprised. “You can’t expect me to know the location of everyone’s whereabouts. I can hardly keep track of the time, much less keep a mental record of each person’s activities in the camp. Just look around, though I’m sure they’re bound to be practicing their swordsmanship in the fields. You know how those two are,” she said, grinning, “always trying to prove themselves. Boys.” Amy seemed to return to her younger self then—carefree and jubilant—but Annabeth knew that person was but a distant memory. She smiled and rose from her seat. “I better find those two idiots before they wreck the whole place up. You can’t imagine the damage they did before when you were away visiting mother—monstrous beasts those two are.” She turned to leave, but was held back when Amy spoke one last time, barely more audible than a whisper, “Take care of yourself will you? If anything happens to you I absolutely won’t forgive myself—or those two boys. I’ll drag you back from Hades myself if I have to.” Annabeth felt the perturbation in Amy’s voice, realizing then the immense toll leadership was having on her. She feels responsible for us now, whatever her feelings truly are. Annabeth felt a sudden crushing weight in her heart, which twisted as if a hand was gripping it violently and turning it like a doorknob. “Don’t you worry about me,” she said, and then in her mind. Worry about yourself. |
XariSep 20, 2014 9:03 PM
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| Guess I'm the online Percy Jackson books fan here? I think your style is definitely different from Riordan's. Please don't take that as an insult, I have never liked his writing style, too simple in my opinion ^^. Keep writing, I liked it :D |
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MrDoublel7 said: Guess I'm the online Percy Jackson books fan here? I think your style is definitely different from Riordan's. Please don't take that as an insult, I have never liked his writing style, too simple in my opinion ^^. Keep writing, I liked it :D Thanks(: I'd say my writing style is more akin to Christopher Paolini. I find it to be a good mix of description and dialogue, but then again it's my own work and my perspective can be skewed. |
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