by Amy Laine
I couldn’t get them out of my head anyways. I went into my cabin and under my bed I found some wrapping paper and a bag from when it was my birthday. It would have to do. I stuffed the book into the bag- it was a little too big for it, but I made it work. After that I got out some markers and went to work coloring tissue. Blue, green, pink and red. There, they looked sort of like tissue paper right? Who am I kidding? They looked awful, but I put them in the bag. I wrote a big
“Happy Anniversary Annabeth!”
On the bag. Or at least I think that’s what I wrote. Being dyslexic I had no idea. I did know that I could spell her name, so that part was at least correct.
Annabeth was just knocking on my cabin door when I opened it up. Her hand knocked me on the skull and I stumbled backwards. “Ow,” I rubbed my forehead.
“Oh gods Percy!” She helped me sit down on the log outside my cabin. “I’m sorry.” Her hands feel good, like she lotion them. She let’s go of me, but I grab her hands again. Not for the lotion (maybe partially) but to tell her about her gift.
“It’s our 2 month anniversary, you know.” I said grinning. Annabeth nods. “Yes?” I pull the bag out from behind my back.
She tears into it and pulls out the book. She looks so disappointed. “A…a…b-book, Percy?” I nod, trying not to notice her expression. “Yeah, you love books.” She nods sullenly. “Yep, I’m Annabeth. The one who loves books.”
She opens it up, and looks at me surprised. “It’s empty.” I shrug. “Think of something.” She closes the book and opens it again. This time the page is filled with Annabeth and I at the location of the Sirens. I’m holding her, and then it shows her, Luke, and her parents all in her newly built Manhattan. That was her fatal flaw- thinking she could make everything better, fix everything. That was what the Siren’s showed her.
A paragraph was written below. “Percy,” She breathed. “That’s amazing!” She hugs me, until I think my ribs are breaking.
I explained how it worked and she kept opening and closing it and staring at her memories and battle strategies she forgot when she was little. “I’d love to try these out in Capture the Flag.” She murmurs. I grin. “I hope I’m on your team then.”
The day goes well. We don’t yell at each other every two seconds and I end the day by kissing her in the lunch area. “Don’t ever think I would forget our anniversary, okay?” I say as I leave her there. She doesn’t have time to yell at me for spying. She’s too happy. She smiles as I leave, and little does she know: I am too.
I enter my cabin, sleepy and tired. I’m about to take off my shirt and crawl into bed when I have this sense, I’m not alone. My back straightens up and I whip around, pulling summoning Riptide from pen, to sword at the same time.
Nothing.
I shake my head, and tell myself, Stop being an idiot! Stop imaging stuff.
I turn back towards my bed and pick up a picture of Annabeth from when we were just 13 years old. She look’s so happy. The picture is a complete replica of the one a bully at my old (older) school I went too, tore up. I wish I had a recent picture. Maybe, tomorrow.
Suddenly, my knee’s crumple underneath me and the bedroom is spinning around me. And then- blackness.
Jason before Camp Halfblood
I poked my feet out from under the covers. It was going to be cold today, exactly 38 degree’s Fahrenheit. How did I know that? Because, being the son of Jupiter I could tell everything in the sky, from weather to stars, and such. December is my least favorite month, I remind myself.
I climbed the rest of the way out of bed and quickly lit a fire in the hearth. All the other members of the 5th cohort were scattered around me. Dakota, Hazel, Bobby and Gwendolyn. Their cohort was small, but I had a feeling that was going to change soon.
Besides, everybody knew it was because Michael Varus had thought he could complete the Great Prophecy early, and defeat the monster in the land beyond the gods- Alaska. Octavian warned him it was too early, but Michael went anyways and all the people who went with him either died or went insane. I was glad I hadn’t gone. I’d wanted too so bad- but Reyna told me that Michael already had more people going with him than the rule allowed.
Reyna was the praetor and since Michael Varus was going he could only take so many campers with him. He promised me as he left, “Next time okay?” Like I was seven years old. It still made me both angry and sad when I thought about Michael. No one knew exactly what killed him but one of the gone-insane
Campers announced that he was indeed deceased.
Now I am praetor with Reyna, the second one in history of the fifth cohort. (The first was Michael Varus). Everyone knew that Octavian the augur wanted to be praetor though. He blackmailed people into promising to vote for him, when Reyna or I died.
I never wanted to be praetor, but I stepped into the Elections when I hear what Octavian was doing- no way could that skinny, devious Romaios Ilithios be praetor- so with the help of my friends and the homeless fauns rooting for me, I came through by a landslide.
Roman Ilithios means ‘Roman Idiot’, commonly used by Greeks more than the Romans themselves…for obvious reasons.)
Things went fairly smoothly. I found out a lot the girls had taken interest in me, but there was no time for dating at Camp Jupiter. Activities to do, chores, and tasks.
Being praetor, all those things doubled and sometimes I felt like spending the entire day in the Bath House. It was always the best way to get you awake and ready for battle, or if you had wounds you just needed a soak in the Bath House for a little while. They would heal you almost until you couldn’t feel any pain. Same, if you needed just to get away and be renewed with strength.
We would pray to Neptune in thanks for the water, but Roman’s fear the water. Back in Old Rome Neptune sank many of our boats and sent hurricanes. The last hurricane had destroyed our old camp, forcing us to move here, in California to build a new camp.
I wasn’t here then, but the older centurions say it was even better than the camp we have now. And for me, that’s hard to imagine.
I head to the dining hall for breakfast. The aurae are busy at work, giving the legions their favorite foods. Aurae are like wind spirits, and they work in the dining hall. They stay invisible once in a while, and if you see one beside you, it means it likes you. I’ve only seen one in my lifetime and it’s hard to tell, but based from the other cohort’s they dress in white.
They carry plates, and supply all our food- but if you stand up without notice you may be beheaded by some silverware and a delicious cut of steak. (
(It happened to me once. Steak juice is not something you want on your toga.)
I got a glass of orange juice, bacon, black berry jam on my toast and an over easy egg. Exactly, the way I like it. I breathed in the food and took a huge bite.
Dakota arrived first, carrying a red flask of Kool Aid. “Morning,” I said without looking up. Dakota muttered something like ‘hello’, except it sounded like, ‘fgullo’. I decided to take it as a compliment. You could never tell what he was really trying to portray- it was better not to ask.
We ate in mostly silence, serious things on our minds. Last night I had just heard Octavian’s “Prophecy” and it still bothered me. I was awake all night trying to figure it out.
Seven half-bloods shall answer the call
To storm or fire, the world must fall
An oath to keep with a final breath,
And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death
Normally, I don’t believe any of the centaur dung Octavian tells anybody, but this? This sounded more serious…greater than New Rome even.
I didn’t do a great job of deciphering the prophecy, but here’s what I came up with.
Seven demigods do something for somebody.
A son of Neptune or Jupiter= Storm most likely
The fire? Could be anything really, anyone could go to the store and ask for a lighter and some matches<
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Out of those choices, the world is going to go down. (Sad.)
A promise somebody makes and dies doing it.
And something about Doors of Death- like, from Pluto or something.
I know real clever right? But that’s what I came up with. I planned to tell Reyna when we had our scheduled meeting today at noon. I could round of some demigods and we’d all go down to Temple Hill to pray to the gods about it. Unless Reyna had more sense than I did (and she usually did), and vetoed my ideas.
Hazel came to sit with us-she arrived at camp about two and a half weeks ago. Her spatha hung by her side, half out of its sheathe, as if she had just used it. Her brown hair looked like a bird made a nest in it, and then died. Her gold eyes reflected with fear.
Totally, unlike the Hazel Levesque I know.