Chapter Text
Zoey feels like she’s the only thing moving slowly as chaos reigns around her, Campers trying to fend off the dive bombing superflock of Stymphalian Birds.
The monsters appeared out of no where; one moment the Demeter, Athena, and Poseidon Cabins were running weapon drills, and then the next the swarm descended like a living, angry cloud above the Arena. Campers were still pouring into the Arena, the Apollo kids arriving to even the odds against flying enemies, but the superflock seemed endless.
And as the screams of war and fear from of her fellow Campers fill the air with noise, so too do the angry screeches from the birds.
Kill! Kill! Kill!
Gouge out their eyes!
Feast on their flesh!
Spear! Tear! Stab!
Spill demigod blood!
Beware the child of Time!
The traitoress!
Attack! Attack! Attack!
Demigod bones for our nest!
For Lord Kronos!
Demigod meat for our chicks!
For Mother Gaea!
Feast! Feast! Feast!
Fly! Fly! Fly!
There, our kin!
Our kin! Our kin! Our kin!
Zoey hunkers her head down, pressing her left hand against her ear while she tries to lean her head against right shoulder, trying in vain to block out what seems like hundreds of shrill voices piercing her mind. She notices with a vague detachment that a couple of Stymphalian Birds are circling her tightly, keeping any nearby Camper away.
Strange looking kin!
Demigod looking kin!
Where are your wings?!
Hunt with us!
Fly with us!
Fly! Fly! Fly!
Kill the demigods!
Large kin! Strong kin! Hungry kin!
Help us! Help us! Help us!
For Lord Kronos!
“S-shut up!” Zoey whimpers as more voices drill into her mind. She shuts her eyes tight, her breathing hard to come by. She isn’t their kin! They’re mistaken! She isn’t a monster!
Child of Time betrays!
Death or captured!
Rewarded for our service!
Hunt the demigods down!
Come with us kin!
Fly with us kin!
Fly away! Fly away! Fly away!
Danger surrounded by demigods!
Danger! Danger! Danger!
“Shut up!” Zoey shouts, throwing her Celestial bronze daggers wildly outward, but the Stymphalian Birds easily dodge it.
Lord Kronos commands!
We serve faithfully!
Destroy the demigods nest!
Help us kin!
You are the Beast—
“I said, shut up!” Zoey howls, lashing out with her left hand, and she feels a deep tug in her gut, and something shatters all around her. Her body cools down drastically, her mind blissfully silent. A chill covers Zoey’s skin, and she snaps open her eyes, startling when she sees her own breath in front of her.
The ten Stymphalian Birds that surrounded her are encased in freezing, columns of ice, and the entire Arena floor is covered in a thick coat of more ice. Dozens of jagged ice pillars spear out from the ice floor, all angled upward and facing away from Zoey, many coated in golden dust. The Campers unlucky enough to not reach the bleachers in time are struggling to wrench their legs out of the ice, while others help.
And the monsters have briefly retreated higher in the sky, their numbers thinned a little, but still a vengeful superflock hell bent on killing everyone.
Zoey rises from her crouch, feeling steady, even on ice.
“Zoey!” several voices cry out amongst the general shouting.
She turns, seeing Rumi, Percy, Tyson, and Annabeth half running half sliding toward her. Percy and Tyson are the more surefooted of the quartet. Zoey shimmies out from the ice columns she made, and Percy makes it to her first.
“Are you okay?!” he asks, and she nods, looking to the others when they arrive too. Rumi gives her a once over, eyes narrowing in concentration.
“Yeah, I-I’m okay,” she says.
“Are you sure?” Rumi asks, and a slight stab of annoyance hits Zoey.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she huffs, pulling away from all of them, now even more annoyed.
“Oh, um, okay, I just wanted to make sure, because I saw that you were surrounded—”
“I can take care of myself! I don’t want or need you to hover all the time!” Zoey snaps back, cutting Rumi off. More than a couple heads turn their way, and Percy winces. Annabeth slowly looks between the two of them, silently observing. Tyson’s got his eye up to the sky, watching the monsters.
Rumi looks like Zoey punched her.
“I—”
“Hey! We need to fo-cus! There’s literally a monster attack happening! These are Stymphalian Birds! They hate loud noises!” Annabeth says quickly.
“We can’t drive them away again, they’ll just come back! We need to get rid of them once and for all!” Rumi argues.
“Um, I think they’re going to attack now,” Tyson says, pointing up.
“You have a better idea than noise that will get rid of them all?” Annabeth asks Rumi.
“Bombs?” Rumi says, and then the Stymphalian Birds descend once again with a renewed ferveur. Annabeth tugs Percy’s arm, shouting something at him over the screeching, and then they take off, Tyson running behind them.
Zoey braces herself for the Birds’ voices, and she finds herself back to back with Rumi.
— . § Ø § . —
“Fucking fuck gods damnit bastard ice!” Clarisse roars, wrenching her legs from the sudden ice’s grip, and with her rage erupting in her, she punches one of the monsters out of the air into golden dust.
“Language!” Silena shouts next to her, slashing at another diving bird with a Celestial bronze sword she grabbed from the attic. Clarisse can tell with a single glance that the weapon is far too big and unwieldy for Silena; it’s blade its wide and thick as typical for a broadsword, and it requires two hands to swing effectively.
Clarisse holds up her fists, her skin hardening as her rage funnels through her body, numbing over her pain tolerance, and the world muting as she focuses only on her rage burning in her.
The sounds of Campers fighting, screaming, the massive host of monsters shrieking; it all becomes background noise. There’s only her, and close by, Silena. She flexes her empty hands, body tense like a coiled spring. Clarisse forgot to grab a weapon when she and Silena ran out of the attic, but she’s not deterred.
Clarisse snatches a Stymphalian Bird by its talons as it tries to swoop down and claw her face, it’s beak opening in surprise as she impales it on a nearby ice spike. It doesn’t even have time to scream before it bursts into monster dust, leaving several metal feathers as her spoils of war.
Clarisse snatches the feathers up, the sight of them reminding her of Zoey’s throwing daggers, but she’s never been one for small blades.
“Gods! How many are there?! Hrgh!” Silena pants, using her entire body weight to swing the broadsword wide, scattering four birds circling them, but she clips a fifth bird in its wing. It falls to the ground, and Clarisse quickly jumps on it, stomping it to death. It too leaves behind a cluster of feathers.
If only Clarisse had the spear from her father, she’d be able to do more in this fight, if only she had that spear . . . She glances down at the metal feathers in her bloody hands, the lethal sharp edges cutting her flesh, but she doesn’t feel it at all.
“Clarisse! What are you doing? Drop them!” Silena exclaims when she looks at the state of Clarisse’s hands.
An idea starts to form in Clarisse’s mind. She remembers seeing Mira first manipulate a weapon’s form those couple summers ago, and had initially thought that Mira was going to be one of her siblings. As far as Clarisse is aware, only kids of Ares—and Hephaestus kids to a degree—could manipulate weapons like that.
As a child of Ares, all weapons are hers to control, although she’s never trained much in weapon manipulation. However, while Mark’s the strongest at controlling a weapon’s form, and Ellis can conjure weapons easily, Clarisse’s still fairly decent at transmuting weapons from other objects.
Clarisse grabs the second batch of metal feathers, and realizes that if she wants to build her own spear, she’s going to need a lot more feathers.
“Protect the feathers, I have a plan!” Clarisse orders, dumping the feathers behind her, much to Silena’s bewilderment.
“What?!”
Clarisse skids forward on the ice, waving her bloody hands around, drawing as much attention to herself as she can as an unarmed demigod. A large flock of the monsters break from the main one, gathering swiftly, seeing what they think is vulnerable prey.
Clarisse smirks, and her rage froths in her blood, drowning out all noise until it’s just her breathing, and the angry shrieks from the Stymphalian Birds. She raises her hands, and in seconds, sharp talons rain down on her, but her rage is an inferno within her.
Clarisse grabs any piece of the monsters she can get her hands on, swinging their bodies against their brethren, fighting metal with metal. Golden dust explodes all around her, her blood flying in arcs from talon attacks, but the cuts are nothing to her. Clarisse soon notices the space around her thinning, and the icy ground surrounding her covered with metal feathers.
She winds up while holding a monster by its throat, and chucks it swiftly at another bird, taking both out. Thunder rumbles overhead, and nearby, lightning strikes as someone decides that now is the best time to play gods awful music that even confuses the monsters.
Quickly sweeping the metal feathers into her arms, Clarisse does her best to jog on the ice back to Silena, who frustratedly throws down the broadsword, and jabs a finger at a handful of Stymphalian Birds.
“Sleep!” Silena shouts, and Clarisse’s knees buckle from the Charmspeak, even her rage tempering to a dull roar as her brain registers the word. Her knees slam into the ice, sending faint twinges of pain. Shaking her head hard, Clarisse quickly gathers the rest of the metal feathers to her, and with her rage still boiling strong, she closes her eyes.
Holding out her hands, she imagines her old spear in her mind’s eye, the heft of it, the length, the texture of the metal. Concentrating on the heat of her rage, she wills her spoils of war to obey her silent order. The sounds of metal shaking rings in her ears, and Silena gasps hard.
Her body suddenly feels super warm, this new heat subsuming her rage, almost like by grander flames of fury. Clarisse can almost feel the weight of armored hands clamping down on her shoulders, commanding her to rise.
She snaps open her eyes, her vision a haze of swirling red. Standing tall, she slams the sauroter, the butt-spike, of her new spear into the ice, shattering thousands of shards into the air. Taking a shuttering breath, a bloodcurdling scream tears itself from Clarisse’s throat. Her challenge of war silences the entire Arena, the Stymphalian Birds all plummeting out of the sky, writhing in pain.
Those phantom armored hands shove at her back, and Clarisse is sprinting forward, spear a whirlwind in her hands as she stabs and slashes the prone monsters. With a mighty leap and roar, Clarisse pounces on the remaining mass, the red in her vision swirling stronger, and as she slams her spear into the ground, she’s drenched in a rain of golden dust.
— . § Ø § . —
Clarisse’s breathing is ragged, but not from exhaustion.
She’s never felt more alive, her rage filling every inch of her.
Clarisse feels invincible.
Slowly straightening, Clarisse raises her new spear high, the metal of the shaft bearing the sweeping groves from the countless feathers it was made from. The spear’s aichme, its leaf-shaped blade formed by two overlapping feathers, likewise bears similar feather-like inlines.
And right where the base of the aichme seamlessly meets the shaft, a blood-red piece of cloth is loosely tied to it.
Clarisse inspects the cloth, ripping it from the spear, the cloth unfolds in her hold, revealing a medium size flag bearing Ares’ boar symbol. It’s similar to the banner that she carries aloft during Capture the Flag, but with this one, the flag is broader, both the golden, bloody spear and boar head symbols far more detailed.
She feels a slight pressure on her arm—bleeding from numerous scratches, and Clarisse looks at a shocked Silena. Clarisse’s rage slips from her control, and she grips her new spear harder, digging it into the ice-sprinkled sand of the Arena for support. At least the pain she’s not starting to feel just feels like she got thrown into a sandpaper blender, and not stomped to Hades by a mega-ton mechanical bull.
Still hurts like a bitch though.
“Clarisse!” Silena says urgently, holding onto Clarisse’s arm more firmly, uncaring if she’s getting blood on her.
“Hey, that’s a ship flag.”
Clarisse turns her head to look at Jackson . . . Who’s holding a one pair of speakers, while his Cyclops brother holds the other pair, and Annabeth’s got a music player in her hands.
Exhaustion decides then to hit her, and Clarisse struggles to keep her hand holding the flag from touching the ground. She senses if she disrespected the blessing from her father then she’d be severely punished.
Silena presses closer to Clarisse, firmly standing strong for Clarisse to lean against. Normally, Clarisse wouldn’t, but as bone-aching weariness tugs at her, she allows herself to shift her center of gravity a little to press back against Silena.
“Lord Ares has bestowed his blessing this day, it seems,” Celine strides forward through the crowd of Campers, the settling electricity still racing along her body garnering everyone’s attention.
“For a quest! The ship flag is evident of his approval to journey to the Sea of Monsters to recover the Golden Fleece!” Annabeth blurts out, and immediately hushed whispers break out. Celine, to her credit, doesn’t look annoyed or even surprised by Annabeth’s interjection.
“It would appear so. Well then, Clarisse la Rue, daughter of Ares, do you accept the quest to sail through the Sea of Monsters to retrieve the Golden Fleece to heal our borders, or die trying?” Celine declares, and Clarisse lifts her head proudly.
“I do!” she says firmly.
“Very well, you have the right to choo—”
“I choose Zoey as my questmate!” Clarisse interrupts Celine quickly. She needs to say what she wants before her oncoming lightheadedness turns into fainting.
“And . . .”
Clarisse glances at Silena, memories of this entire stressful, fearful summer thus far racing through her head.
We’ll find a cure . . . Right?
We will, I swear it.
Her head feels so heavy, but her mind so light, and Clarisse makes a snap choice.
“And?!” someone shouts.
“And I choose Silena!” Clarisse declares, and then promptly passes out, sagging against Silena.
— . § Ø § . —
Rumi nervously fiddles with the tiny gat in her pocket as she stands on the porch of the Poseidon Cabin. Inside, she can hear Zoey, Percy, and Tyson moving around, no doubt Zoey’s brothers helping her pack for her quest.
Due to Clarisse passing out, Celine’s decided that the quest will leave tomorrow morning, and confined to the Infirmary while Will heals her. Again. Silena’s apparently had to be pried off Clarisse by her siblings to get ready for the quest as well.
Rumi raises a hand, preparing to knock, when the door swings open, Tyson filling the doorway. He smiles down at her happily.
“Zoey’s friend!” he says, and Rumi forces down the knee-jerk reaction to stab him with her xiphos. She’s trying to get over the fact that he’s not an agressive Cyclops, gods help her, but she was trained to kill monsters on sight since practically birth. Rumi smiles awkwardly, and shoves her hand back into her pocket.
“Hi, Tyson,” she says. This Cyclops is Zoey’s brother, he’s family. Rumi just has to remember that.
“Come in! Come in! Percy and I are helping Zoey pack; are you want to help too?” he ushers her into the Cabin, shutting the door behind her. Inside, Rumi beholds an explosion of clothes and snacks spread out over bunkbeds and the floor. Tyson carefully picks his way through the chaotically organized mess to hunch close to Percy, who’s inspecting two seashells with a serious expression.
Zoey pauses as she slowly folds a shirt on a desk with her left hand, and looks over at Rumi, her face guarded. Rumi hates that she made Zoey feel like she has to have walls around her.
“Hey,” Rumi says softly, ducking her head a little. Zoey carefully finishes folding her shirt.
“Hey,” Zoey says just as softly.
Percy finally ends his seashell inspection to glance between them.
“Come on big guy, why don’t we find some better shells under the pier?” he says.
“Oooh, yes! Pretty shells for stronger protections!” Tyson says, and both boys scamper out the back door to the Cabin’s pier.
Leaving Rumi and Zoey alone inside the Cabin. Rumi distracts herself by surveying the range of other items spread about.
On the fountain rim are various kinds of seashells, some grouped in piles and others not. On one of the desks are a pile of Korean snacks mixed in with American ones, clothes are everywhere. And on the bedside table closest to Zoey is a glittering collection of sea-made bracelets, along with Mr. Bubbles, the seriously old, beat up, Green Sea Turtle plush toy cowboy turtle.
It’s still a damn miracle that it survived their entire quest.
Resting on a bottom bunk are two ziplock bags, one filled with one-hundred dollars and the other twenty gold drachmas, a canteen of nectar, and another ziplock bag of emergency ambrosia squares. Someone from the Camp store must have already dropped off the normal questing supplies.
Throughout Rumi’s surveying, Zoey stays completely silent, just watching her.
Rumi takes a deep breath, gathering her courage. She faced down her own father attempting to destroy the Acropolis, she can talk to Zoey.
“So, a quest, huh,” she says, and then winces. Zoey shrugs.
“Yeah, Clarisse’s whole getting blessed thing finally convinced Celine,” Zoey says, shrugging again.
“Yeah,” Rumi mumbles. Why don’t the words come to her? What does she even want to say? Why did she even come here before she even knew what to say? Does she congratulate Zoey? Give her advice? No, probably not that.
“So, I, um . . .” Rumi trails off, unsure what to really say. Zoey got mad when she apologized, and then got mad when Rumi was worried about any injuries she may have sustained from the Stymphalian Birds.
Rumi takes a step forward, and Zoey looks more attentively at her.
“Um?” Zoey repeats, not even trying to help Rumi through her thought process. Rumi fiddles with the tiny gat, and half considers telling Zoey about it, but Zoey’s already got a lot to think about with this quest.
A tiny, nonmagical gat delivered by Hermes from Aphrodite is probably the least of Zoey’s worries.
“I wanted to—well, I wanted to say—actually, wait, no—I justed wanted to—er, tell you something?” Rumi stammers. Zoey moves away from the desk, walking up to Rumi, a guarded, yet hopeful gleam in her eyes.
“Yes?”
Rumi gulps.
“I . . . I—I wanted to wish you good luck! May the mighty Aeolus bless your sails with fair winds, and may powerful Poseidon bless your course with calm waters!” Rumi’s words spill out of her, and Zoey blinks, surprised, then settles back to a soft kind of neutral.
“Thanks, Rumi, that means a lot to me,” Zoey says, and Rumi stiffly nods. Zoey takes a step back, and it hurts something in Rumi’s chest. She doesn’t know how to bridge this ever-widening gap between them. She doesn’t know if she’ll survive it if Zoey completely steps away from her.
For something Rumi doesn’t know how to explain to Zoey without Zoey getting mad at her.
How does Rumi tell Zoey that she only wants to keep Zoey safe and alive? With Zoey unable to use an entire arm, her dominate one, she’s realistically more vulnerable to attacks. Her balance will probably be off; her aim as well; without the natural use of her right arm to act as a counter balance. Rumi’s not sure if Zoey’s ever been trained to fight one handed, but given what she knows of her girl’s history, she doubts it.
Once again Rumi’s thankful Celine had her learn swordplay with one arm tied to her side, for both hands.
“Percy, Tyson, and Annabeth took the Grey Sisters to get to Camp, did you know?” Zoey says as she goes back to folding clothes. Rumi stays where she is, a little nervous to move toward Zoey, lest she anger Zoey.
“Um, no?” Rumi replies.
“Turns out they told him the sailing coordinates of Polythemus’ Island, although Annabeth only figured it out when Percy pointed out Clarisse’s ship flag. Thirty degrees, thirty-one minutes north, and seventy-five degrees, twelve minutes west, that’s our destination,” Zoey continues.
“That’s good, you know where to go,” Rumi says, relieved. Zoey, Clarisse, and Silena won’t be sailing around aimlessly, they have a direction to head to.
Wait . . . Speaking of . . . It’s probably stupid to ask, but Rumi has to know.
“. . . Do you already have a ship prepared?” she asks tentatively.
“Uh, about that, I think one of Clarisse’s siblings said not to worry about it? I figured we could ride on Cetus, but then again, that’s probably not the best for traveling for multiple days,” Zoey says.
“Oh, okay. Right,” Rumi mutters.
There’s a brief moment of silence, and just as Rumi opens her mouth to speak again, Tyson bursts back into the Cabin, Percy following right behind.
“Zoey! I found a pretty shell!” he exclaims. Zoey turns to look at him, smiling, and Rumi quietly excuses herself, slipping away unnoticed with a heavy heart as the siblings gather around the seashells.
— . § Ø § . —
In the early morning, Silena finalizes packing a modest amount of supplies in her backpack. The tension is palpable in the Aphrodite Cabin, the quest on everyone’s minds. Silena had slept poorly the night before, her thoughts on the quest, the prophecy, and on Clarisse, so she was up the earliest.
Usually, most of her siblings would be waking up at the chiming of the Breakfast bell, but today, everyone gets up early.
Emmy makes her to Silena’s side, both of them carefully inspecting the neat and orderly arrangement of clothes and other quest paraphernalia in her pink backpack.
“You sure about this?” Emmy whispers, and Silena sighs.
“No, but this is our best shot to save Camp, it has to work, it will work,” she insists, and she believes it. The Golden Fleece will work, she just has to have faith that everything will work out.
Faith that Clarisse will lead them to the Fleece.
Faith that Zoey’s presence will keep them alive in the Sea of Monsters.
Faith that Percy’s dream is true and Annabeth’s interpretations are correct.
And lastly, faith in herself that she won’t be the quest’s weak link. Sure, Clarisse chose her, but Silena wants to prove that she deserves to be on the quest.
That she isn’t going to sabotage the quest for the Titans.
Silena’s done with anything Titan related.
Emmy gives her a side-eye, but doesn’t say anything. Sometimes living with a bunch of empaths can be a little intrusive when everyone can tell what everyone else is feeling.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Valentina drawls, appearing by Silena’s other side, dropping a scabbard on her bed, a sword sheathed in it.
“Nope, I was saving it for last,” Silena smiles a little, tracing the dove-wing crossguard of the Celestial bronze sword.
When Mira agreed to train other Campers in swordplay and other weaponry last summer, Silena and a few of her siblings took to it eagerly. Problem was, while Mira could alter balanced swords for them during training, the swords would revert back to normal when Mira stopped concentrating on them.
Drew was the first to commission the Hephaestus kids for a sword, Valentia right after. Soon enough, all of the Aphrodite kids had knives, and an assortment of swords and spears.
Silena had initially not even attempted to ask any of the Hephaestus kids for a weapon. She saw their lingering looks when she accompanied a few of her siblings to pick up their swords, the wariness, the distrust. She had known asking would be met with reluctance.
That was until the day that Aphrodite Cabin had their turn to polish armor, that Charles gently pulled her aside, lead her out of the Armory to the Forge, and presented her this sword.
“No friend of mine should be without a weapon,” he had said as he offered his creation to her. Silena had been touched by his kindness, and had hugged him, declaring that she still considered him a friend too.
Silena’s still touched by Charles’ thoughtfulness. The sword is perfectly balanced for her, and just the right length for her too. She attaches the scabbard straps to her belt, adjusting it securely to her side. Zipping up her backpack, Silena turns to face her siblings, giving them a smile.
“Anyone want a goodbye hug?” she asks, holding her arms out, and immediately she’s attacked by a small swarm of bodies. With great care, Silena holds each of her siblings close. The older ones, like Emmy, Drew, Valentina, Mitchell, and James, understand the gravity of her quest, and so they wrap around her tightly. For the younger ones, such as Lacy, Cassidy, Jaxi, Aurelia, Margot, Alora, Evelyn, and Lovelace, Silena whispers promises that she’ll back before they know it, and to not miss her too much.
A knock at the door heightens the tension. Drew answers it, revealing Zoey. She gives a little wave, and James points at her sternly as a twelve year old boy can muster.
“You keep her safe at sea, okay?” he demands, and Zoey blinks, a little startled by his tone.
“Of course I will, I’m like a sailing good luck charm,” she grins.
“You better, or there will be swift and brutal retaliation,” Drew warns.
“Guys,” Silena sighs, but feels warm inside by their show of love for her. Lacy tugs on her shirt, and hands Silena a pink paper flower. She takes it, and tucks it safely in her jeans pocket. She’ll treasure Lacy’s gift.
In the distance, a loud, and deep horn blows, deeper than the horns on eighteen-wheeler trucks.
Zoey’s expression perks up.
“That’s probably Clarisse! Come on, let’s go!” she says, reaching out for Silena.
Silena takes Zoey’s hand, and then she’s running down to the beach, her siblings and the rest of Camp following as the horn from the ship blows again.
— . § Ø § . —
Rumi hears the sound of the horn in the distance. She turns away from the window with a heavy sigh, slouching in her chair to lean on Mira’s bed. She presses her head against Mira’s, feeling the faint, but steady thrumming of power from her girl’s golden laurel wreath.
“I think I’m losing her,” she whispers to Mira. She and Mira are the only ones in the Infirmary, it’s just them and the silence. Mira doesn’t say anything back, of course. She’s still unconscious, sleeping away while time continues to flow.
The ship horn blows again, and Rumi can hear the excited voices of Campers heading in the direction of the beach. Where Zoey no doubt is, about to embark on a dangerous quest that will determine the entire fate of Camp.
Rumi planned to see Zoey off, but she’s still here with Mira, stalling for some reason.
“What should I do? You were always better at understanding what I was feeling. What all of us were,” Rumi sighs. She taps her foot, and Derpy slides out of her shadow. His tail immediately starts wagging when he sees Mira, ears perking, but when he nudges her limp hand with his nose, he whines.
“She’s sleeping,” Rumi tells him. Derpy presses his nose into Mira’s hand, and whines when she doesn’t pet him. Rumi reaches over to scratch behind his ear.
“Singing didn’t help, it didn’t wake her up,” she sighs, dropping her hand into her lap. Derpy tilts his head, sitting down next to her.
“You’d stay if I told you, right?” Rumi asks, and Derpy gives her a soft woof!
“You’re a good boy,” she smiles weakly, petting his head, playing with his ears—
Do you not understand the concept of personal boundaries? Huh?!
Rumi freezes, Zoey’s words coming back to her.
If you do, then you should also understand that violating said boundaries is a super shitty thing to do! Which includes, oh, I don’t know, forcibly tying me up and removing my agency to leave the damn Infirmary!
Derpy watches at her curiously, obediently waiting for Rumi’s next move. It viciously reminds her of how Zoey’s looked at her with an intrigued smile, interested in hearing what Rumi has to say. Rumi blinks hard, removing her hand, but Derpy nuzzles her hand again, wanting more attention.
“Hold on, hold on—I don’t treat her like—” Rumi stammers, but her memories keep replaying Zoey’s words.
You can’t—you will not—ever do that again, you hear me? I don’t care if we’re soulmates, you will not decide where I can or can’t go.
Oh. Oh gods.
I don’t care if we’re soulmates, you will not decide where I can or can’t go.
Rumi slowly stands on shaky legs, her thoughts swirling.
You will not decide where I can or can’t go.
And she did that, she took away Zoey’s agency, like Zoey was someone who she could command, like a dog.
The ship horn calls once again, and then she hears cheers, shouts of farewell.
Rumi tears out of the Infirmary.
— . § Ø § . —
Clarisse leans smugly against the railing of the Ironclad warship, giving a two-finger wave to the entire Camp, Campers spread out on the beach. Silena and Zoey stand next to her, their backpacks still on their shoulders—both having decline to allow the Captain to take them—waving as well, the canoe they used to board Clarisse’s ship.
Her ship.
What a feeling.
Sure, the CSS Birmingham is technically a Confederate ship, manned by Confederate spirits, but they lost the American Civil War, so their souls internally belong to Ares, unable to rest in the Underworld.
Clarisse wasn’t sure what would happen when she prayed to Ares for sea transportation to the Sea of Monsters upon waking up before the dawn—all better in no time thanks to her own swift healing and Will’s help—but this ship is great. These soldiers may not be ones she would ever have picked, but they’re now hers to command, and command with strength she shall.
“M’lady, she’s ready to set sail,” the Captain appears by her side, his ghostly face a shimmering mirage over his old skeleton.
“Good, get those engines going, I want to New York to be a distant speck long before nightfall,” Clarisse orders, and he nods.
“You heard m’lady! All hands, boys!” the Captain shouts, and the ship deck is suddenly full of spirit crew rushing about, the last horn blowing. The CSS Birmingham begins to gather distance from the Camp’s Fireworks beach.
Clarisse takes a few steps away, about to take another survey of her ship, when she realizes her two questmates aren’t by her side.
Silena and Zoey are still by the railing, still waving. Zoey leans forward, raising a hand over her eyes at the beach. The CSS Birmingham is now a good distance away from Camp, the Campers now a couple inches tall as the ship sails out further into deeper waters.
“She didn’t come,” Zoey says sadly, shoulders sagging. Silena wraps an arm around Zoey.
“Who?” Clarisse asks, confused. Silena throws her a sharp, pointed look, but Zoey gives Clarisse a big smile.
Clarisse notices Silena give Zoey a concerned look, but Zoey shrugs her arm off.
“It’s okay, now, where are we sleeping? Is this going to be a hammock situation, or everyone gets a single bed?” Zoey asks Clarisse instead.
“Please let there not be hammocks, think of our backs,” Silena sighs.
“Nooooo, hammocks are aesthetically stylish! It’s the true sailer way!” Zoey grins.
“Dunno on that, but I was going to take another walk through, so you two should come as well, get a lay of the ship,” Clarisse says.
“Oooh! Lets! I’ve never been on a reenactment ship before!” Zoey grins, skipping ahead of them, following behind a random sailor. Silena’s instantly by Clarisse’s side, giving her a serious look.
“She’s not okay, you know that right?” Silena whispers.
“Dunno, she seems fine?” Clarisse mutters back, glancing at Zoey watching the same sailor chip away barnacles stuck to the a section of railing.
“On the surface, yeah, but inside? She’s hurting, so be gentle with her, okay?” Silena says sincerely, and this close Clarisse can count her individual eye lashes, can see the intricate patterns in Silena’s pretty blue eyes.
“Uh, yeah,” Clarisse says intelligently.
Then blinks.
She forces her brain to focus.
“Right, the tour, come on, this way,” Clarisse says gruffly. She marches forward, roughly herding Zoey in the direction she wants in front of her, ignoring the younger girl’s startled exclamations.
“What did I just say?! Gentle! Gods!” Silena sighs exasperatedly, slapping at Clarisse’s shoulders. Clarisse lets up on her herding when they enter the ship, ordering her questmates into rank and file. Both girls share a side eye with each other, rolling their eyes, but they obey.
Clarisse leads them through dimly lit metal corridors and rooms overcrowded with the spirit sailors, showing them the pilothouse, powder magazine, engine room—which creaked and groaned disturbingly like it’s seconds from bursting—coal bunker, boilers, diner, berth deck, and Clarisse’s favorite: the gunnery deck.
Gesturing proudly at the cramped space, she pats the side of a large cannon.
“This baby here is a Dahlgren smoothbore, thirty-two pounder canon, we’ve got two to cover both port and starboard, and these two here are Brooke nine-inch rifled guns, they cover the prow and aft, and all of them have been specially retrofitted to fire Celestial bronze cannon balls!” Clarisse grins widely, pointing out the weapons.
Silena and Zoey stare at her with wide eyes.
Clarisse crosses her arms, feeling smug that they’re in awe of her artillery knowledge.
Then Zoey giggles—she slaps a hand over her mouth, but she can’t stifle more of her giggling.
Clarisse scowls at her.
“You wanna say something, punk?” she growls, but Zoey waves her off.
“I’m sorry—really—it’s just—you sounded like such a nerd, for big guns, it’s kinda a-dorkable, like, it reminds me of the older kids at my school bragging about their COD builds,” Zoey laughs.
“I’m not a damn fish,” Clarisse snaps, and that really sets Zoey off, howling with laughter.
“The fuck is your problem?” Clarisse sneers, feeling mad that there’s a hot flush of embarrassment building in her chest. She glances at Silena, except she finds no help there, since Silena’s looking away from her, her cheeks weirdly flushed.
“Whatever, you’re both weird,” Clarisse grouches, stomping her way to the Captain’s quarters.
“Wait wait, I wasn’t making fun of you, promise! Although, I defintely think you should nerd out about guns—or other weapons more often, it makes you look more friendly!” Zoey says happily, quickly catching up to Clarisse. Silena trails behind them, quietly keeping her thoughts to herself.
“Shut up, punk,” Clarisse huffs. Zoey sticks her tongue out at her. Clarisse rolls her eyes. Wow, real mature there.
Entering the Captain’s quarters, she holds the heavy door open for her questmates, Zoey immediately exploring the room the size of basically a walk-in closet, while Silena pauses by Clarisse.
“For the record, Zoey was just teasing you,” she says.
“Yeah I got that, I’m not stupid,” Clarisse replies back, her tone still a little sharp. Silena merely gives her a chastising look.
“I also agree with her that it was a-dorkable,” Silena smiles like she just won something, and walks over to Zoey, both of them paying more attention to the seafaring nicknames on the shelves than to Clarisse.
Clarisse just stands by the door, feeling dumb, confused, and something else that she can’t describe. Maybe annoyance? Yeah, that’s probably it.
“Okay, this is my room, so you’ll have to find somewhere in the berth deck to sleep,” she declares, striding over and snatching the cool looking gold compass-spyglass thing from Zoey’s hands. It’s like taking candy from a child, with how short Zoey is compared to Clarisse.
“Hey! I was still adjusting that sextant!” Zoey complains.
“Too bad. Go claim your own bed,” Clarisse drawls.
“Wait, you mean with the Confederate spirits?” Silena asks nervously.
“Uh, yeah? There’s literally no other beds on the ship than in the berth deck,” Clarisse says.
“Do they even need to sleep, being dead and all?” Zoey wonders aloud.
“Can’t we all stay in here? You know, where the undead spirits aren’t?” Silena asks. Clarisse looks around the cramped space. With all three of them in the Captain’s quarters, there’s not a lot of space to move around, much less get any peace and quiet.
“I second that, I’d rather not be killed in my sleep by dead white racist assholes,” Zoey says, holding up her left hand.
Clarisse lets out a heavy sigh.
“They can’t, and won’t kill you. You’re a demigod on a quest, furthermore, my Father owns their souls, and he placed them under my command, so they are literally soul bound to obey me,” Clarisse explains.
“Hmmmmm, yeah no, that doesn’t really inspire me with much confidence. Did you tell them explicitly not to kill us?” Zoey presses, and Clarisse rubs her face. How did Mira and Rumi ever get anything done on their quest with Zoey?
“I don’t have to tell them not to kill a demigod, they already know,” Clarisse sighs.
“I’m going to ere on the side of caution here too, you should probably tell them, it would make us feel safer,” Silena says.
“Ugh, fine! I’ll tell the Captain, happy? Geez,” Clarisse throws up a hand, exasperated. Silena and Zoey glance at each other, and then Silena turns back to Clarisse, nodding.
“Yes, it would make us feel better. Thanks,” Silena says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Clarisse clears her throat, and readjusts a book on a nearby shelf. It was out of place, and required her immediate attention.
Zoey glances rapidly between them.
“Wow. Is this seriously what’s happening?” she asks.
“She’ll get it, I have faith in her,” Silena says with a small, devastatingly good looking smirk.
Clarisse has no idea who they’re talking about, and decides she doesn’t have the energy to try to decipher who it is.
Suddenly, the Captain is banging on the door. Clarisse immediately wrenches it open, and the Captain salutes her swiftly.
“M’lady! We have a huge sea monster inbound! One of the boys just spotted it following us from the direction of the Yankees’ land!” he shouts.
Clarisse tenses, dread and anticipation swelling in her—
“Oh! Right! I forgot to mention Cetus! I told him to follow us, and protect the ship!” Zoey snaps her fingers, smiling happily.
“. . . Cetus,” Clarisse repeats.
“Yeah, him! You know, the big leapard seal-like sea monster that everyone saw when I was claimed?” Zoey explains.
Clarisse does remember that. Vividly. She closes her eyes, then turns back to the Captain.
“Consider the sea monster Cetus an ally, and under absolutely no circumstances are you to waste precious ammo attacking him, understood?” she orders, and he nods crisply.
“Yes, m’lady!”
“Oh, and one more thing,” Clarisse says, holding the Captain attention.
“You and this crew are not to harm my questmates’ at all, not even a scratch, and also you are to obey an order from them as if it was coming from me. Tell all your men this order, is that crystal clear?” she says firmly. The green glow of the Captain’s eyes slide to Zoey and Silena for only a split second, but he nods again.
“As you will it, m’lady, we shall obey,” he says, although his tone is quite as happy as before. Clarisse doesn’t give a damn if he dislikes his orders, he has to obey them.
“Good, now see to lunch preparations,” she orders, and shuts the door in his face.
Turning around, she once again is greeted by her questmates’ shocked expressions.
“Now what?” she demands.
Zoey glances at Silena, who’s slowly beginning to smile warmly at Clarisse.
Clarisse feels the back of her neck get hot, and she suddenly hates how tight the Captain’s quarters are. She wishes there were more portholes in this floating iron junk piece.
— . § Ø § . —
Under the night sky, Percy sits on a towel on the beach, drinking a can of Diet Coke. Staring out to sea to the south, he wonders how far Zoey, Clarisse, and Silena have sailed. Have they reached the Sea of Monsters yet? Did they run into any monster trouble? That ship, it flew the flag of Ares, so did that mean that god blessed the ship as well?
He has to have faith that they’ll succeed. They can’t not afford to. Besides, Zoey is a child of the water, and with Cetus—that monster still has a murder boner for Percy—he’s certain they’ll get through anything that comes their way.
He just wishes he was on the quest to help save Grover.
Percy sighs, taking another swig of soda.
He wonders about Grover, how his best friend is doing. He wonders if any second, Grover’s disguise will be uncovered, and then Percy will drop dead because Grover became the goat meat for a Cyclops’ sandwich.
Percy looks up to the constellations in the sky, picking out the ways Annabeth taught him. He wonders if Zoey’s looking at the same—
“Do you see the Lepus?”
Percy spits out his soda at the voice next to him. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he looks up and sees a guy damn near dressed like a neon star itself.
“Uh, who are you?” Percy asks, and the man chuckles.
“May I sit with you?” he asks, and Percy’s stranger danger immediately pings. He stands up, holding his soda can firmly in his hand. He doesn’t know what monster this could be, but a good hit to the face with a soda can will certainly distract him, surely.
“Sorry man, Mom said I can’t talk to strangers,” Percy says.
The man observes Percy, and he then grins widely, showing flat, pearly white teeth.
“Ah, I didn’t mean to scare you, Perseus Jackson. I’ve come bearing a—”
The ringing of a phone interrupts him. The man sighs, and holds up a finger.
“Terribly sorry, just a one moment,” he says, taking out a cell phone that glows with a blue light. When the man stretches out the antenna, two small snakes start to slither around it, looping in a familiar shape. Where Percy’s seen that shape he can’t quite recall at that moment.
“Eris, I told you, I’m out delivering a very special package and I can’t be—well, that’s not my purview, it hasn’t been since I allowed him to have a subbranch of my domain eons ago! Didn’t you tell him that—ok—‘humanity’s greatest gift’? Please, we get so many of those these days—yes, I know—look, Eris, gal, just tell him to fax the shipping number to the Amazons, alright? Thanks,” the man hangs up with a sigh.
“Sorry about that, sometimes clients just don’t bother reading the fine print,” he says. Percy’s staring at him differently now, almost certain he’s talking to a god.
“Your phone is snaked,” he says.
“Snaked? Oh, yes, it is. Meet George and Martha, they don’t bite,” the god smiles.
I do bite, George hisses in Percy’s mind.
Don’t mind him, his scales are dusty, Martha says.
“Talking snakes,” Percy says.
You talk to horses, boy, George retorts.
Don’t be rude! The boy is obvious a dolt and needs time to process! Martha snaps.
Percy’s not sure if he likes either snake.
“Hey now, none of that, behave you two,” the god chides.
“Now, Perseus, quick question, what’s your favorite constellation?” the god asks.
“Uh, Hercules,” Percy replies, shrugging. At the god’s curious gaze, Percy explains himself.
“Like, even though he was the son of Zeus, he still had shit luck in all his quests, was famous for it, so it makes me feel better that he constantly was having it worse than me, since bad luck always seems to find me,” Percy says.
“Are you certain you haven’t offended the Lady Luck herself in the past?” the god muses.
“I’ve got no idea, who knows really,” Percy says.
“Hmm, a compelling answer. You’re quite the interesting young demigod, you know that?” the god chuckles. The glowing phone with the small snakes lights up with thousands of messages, symbols flashing across the screen at insane speeds. Something clicks in Percy’s brain, an understanding.
He looks at the god carefully, and the god gazes back at him with a sly smile.
“You’re Hermes, the father of Luke the traitor,” Percy says, and Hermes’ smile drops. He observes Percy neutrally, and then lets out a sigh, looking out to the sea.
“Usually, ‘father of Luke the traitor’ isn’t the title most address me by,” he says slowly.
Percy wonders if this is when he dies a premature death for possibly reminding Hermes of Luke’s betrayal. Hermes probably doesn’t like being reminded of that fact.
“Er, it’s the first one I was told,” Percy says awkwardly.
Hermes lets out a low noise, almost like a sad bird coo.
“I’m aware of the reputation my son has set for everyone at Camp, for my other children, for newcomers. It is my burden as a father I must carry,” Hermes says.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that it happened to you, no one should be betrayed by family,” Percy says, trying to be comforting. Hermes gives him a genuine smile, and taps his cell phone, the device transforming into caduceus, and the snakes enlarging too.
“That’s thing about family, even if you hurt each other deeply, you still want try to save them from themselves,” he says.
Percy stares at Hermes, waiting for a follow up statement, but when none follows, his eyes widen.
“Wait, are you serious? You want to save Luke? After he betrayed Camp? He sided with the Titans! You know, the child eating and world destroying evil guys! Everyone knows that Luke hates the gods, he wants to destroy the gods! And he hurt—” Percy shuts his mouth, Annabeth’s name on the tip of his tongue.
While Percy’s never met this Luke guy, he’s seen how his name affects older Campers, how they get mad at the very mention of him, how Annabeth looks torn between fury and confusion.
Hermes looks up to the night sky, eyes tracing the constellations above.
“Percy, of all the terrible and great things I’ve learned about this world over the ages, is that family is the most important thing there is. You don’t give up on your family, even if they try to kill you, embarrass you, or don’t appreciate your efforts in inventing the internet—”
“I thought it was a woman who was the first computer programmer,” Percy states.
“—that’s a different thing—anyway! What I’m saying is that, the souls who are your family, those are your forever people. Do you understand?” Hermes asks.
“I’m . . . I guess, but I’m just not sure Luke is worth it, even if you want him to change, from what I’ve heard, he’s been hiding his anger for a long time,” Percy says haltingly.
“All I can ask is that you think on it, okay?”
Percy nods, accepting the god’s request. His thoughts turn to his family; his mom, Zoey, Tyson, his father. He thinks of Mira and Rumi, Zoey’s girlfriends or soulmates or whatever label she has for them, they’re her family, so they’re Percy’s family.
He thinks of accidentally seeing Rumi sobbing into Mira’s pillow after Zoey left when he was going to visit Mira.
He’d never betray any of them, and he knows they’d never betray him.
“Now, I didn’t come all this way just to only talk to you,” Hermes grins.
You’re missing sixty calls, Martha reports.
And over two-thousand emails and counting, George adds.
Demeter’s on the line now since you ignored her nymphs, Martha says.
“Put her on hold, tell her I’m in a meeting,” Hermes says dismissively.
She isn’t going to like that, remember what she did to all of our flower deliveries for a year? Martha warns.
We could send her a rat as consolidation? George says.
I’m putting her on hold, Martha says, ignoring George.
“Um, huh?” Percy says.
“First package, Martha,” Hermes smiles, and she unhinges her jaw impossibly wide, spitting out something. Percy catches it, and almost drops it. The foot-long, stainless steel canister looks like an old-fashioned, lunch box thermos with a black plastic top, but its sides are enameled with a handful of red and yellow Ancient Greek heroic scenes.
One side is freezing cold, the images on that side of the thermos depicting heroes on boats in the sea, and the other is burning hot, with heroes on land. Percy shifts the thermos in his hands, holding it up to the stars for light to see the heroes better, when he realizes that the temperatures moved when he did. Swiveling, Percy realizes that the cold side always faces north.
He also notices that there’s words etched into near the bottom of the thermos. There’s a strange symbol, and official Ancient Greek text reading: Limited Collector’s Item from Hercules Busts Heads, Season 1.
“Hercules Busts Heads?” Percy asks.
“Wonderful show, terrible that Hephaestus-TV never adapted it to his streaming service, a true shame. Anyway, this bad boy contains the winds from all four corners of the earth—NO!”
At Hermes’ shriek, Percy startles, and the god instantly seals the cap shut before any winds can escape. Hermes takes in a deep breath, and Percy stares as small wings on the god’s head and feathers along the god’s body settle down, disappearing out of sight again.
“Not. Now. Gods above, boy, now I know why your father is developing grey scales. Don’t uncap this unless it’s dire, and please, by the speed of all that is swift, only crack open the cap a tiny bit. The winds in there are always restless, a little like me, so they’ll be roaring to escape if you give them the chance,” Hermes says slowly, making sure Percy understands before he hands the thermos back.
“Got it, just a crack,” Percy says, embarrassed that he almost released the winds.
“Alright, now for the second package, George?” Hermes instructs, and George likewise unhinges his mouth, something shooting out of it. Percy catches it with one hand, holding up a plastic bottle filled with chewable vitamins, the different colors shaped into different monsters. The yellow ones are Minotaurs, the purple ones are Hydras, and more monster shapes in all colors of the rainbow.
“Behold, Hermes Multivitamin Gummies! A single gummy contains all nine essential vitamins, minerals, amino acids, and etc. for you to bounce back from just about anything that could ever harm you!” Hermes says smugly. Percy has to admit, of the two packages, the second one seems very handy for demigods in general.
Although, he wonders why Hermes is giving him these two things, and he asks the god.
“Well, I always have a soft spot for those who break the rules, and people who desire to travel, but for self imposed reasons, don’t. For these people, I always like to give them a push in the right direction,” Hermes says with a grin.
“. . . Are you saying I should break the rules? I should go rescue Grover myself?” Percy asks, and Hermes laughs.
“On the contrary, I’m not saying to not do that. These are waterproof by the way,” he smirks, snapping his fingers, and three yellow duffle bags appear by Percy’s feet.
“Regardless, you have five minutes to pray to your father if you and your friends want to catch your ride,” Hermes says, pointing out to the Long Island Sound, where a huge cruise ship cuts through the dark waters.
“Wait, this is all some big mistake, it’s not my quest! It’s Zoey’s! And what do you mean me and my friends?” Percy asks, and then he hears Annabeth’s and Tyson’s frantic voices calling his name further up the beach.
“Four minutes now, if you want to reach the ship in time, I’d make a decision snappy if I were you, fate waits for no one,” Hermes says, throwing Percy a pair of finger guns as he summons his caduceus to him. The staff returns to its cell phone shape, and Hermes is taking off down the beach, disappearing in a shower of silver sparkles.