Date: May 15 2006
(PERCY'S POV)
I slashed through the last couple of hellhounds with riptide and tried to carry Grover at the same time. I was completely exhausted and was still reeling from losing mom to the Minotaur.
Grover was unconscious and the only thing I have to kill the Minotaur with is my sword, I rested Grover on the Ground and taunted it, "Ay meat head—you to scared to finish me off without your lackeys?".
Well it certainly worked and it was clearly angry and looked dangerous despite wearing nothing but a tightly-whitey. It charged at me with full speed and only then did I realize how but I screwed up, "Ah Shit." I quickly dived away at the last moment but it had read the move despite being a generally dumb monster and put his arm out at the last second and swung at me with full force.
I went flying away and hit the ground hard—I was still reeling from the intense pain when the thing charged me while I was down.
I gathered all the hate I had for it to let adrenaline pump throughout my body and stood up shakily, "Is that all you got?". It bellowed at me and pulled out both its swords with looked like the Greek symbol of 'omega' and slashed at my left arm. I somehow ducked it and slashed his right arm off but not before it got a good cut on my chest.
The Minotaur roared in pain and slashed at me with its remaining weapon which I just barely managed to block with riptide with great effort. I then headbutted its chest which dazed it momentarily but it was all the time I needed to slash of its head.
I couldn't believe I finally killed it but my eyes were getting tired and I thought I was going to die despite being so close to camp.
Then I blacked out.
I had weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Needless to say, all of them wanted to kill me mostly because they were hungry.
I must have woken up several times, but what I heard and saw made no sense whatsoever, so I just passed out again.
I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like pudding. I could barely make out the figure of the girl with curly blond hair hovering over me.
When she saw my eyes open, she asked, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"
"I'm sorry" I mumbled, "I don't…."
Somebody knocked on the door, and the girl was quickly filled my mouth with pudding.
The next time I woke up, the girl was gone.
When my surroundings started to register—my body was aching all over and I felt a dull throb in my chest. My throat felt drier than Death Valley and my arms were extremely sore.
When I looked to my right I saw a tall drink which seemed to be apple juice with a green straw.
My thirst got the better of me but I almost dropped it.
"Careful" said a familiar voice.
Grover was leaning against the porch railing and looked like he hadn't slept for a week.He was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shirt that said 'CAMPHALF-BLOOD'.
"The Minotaur…and my mom disappearing—it was real wasn't it?" I said.
Urn, Percy, it isn't a good idea—"
"That's what they call him in the Greek myths, isn't it?" I demanded. "The Minotaur. Half man, half bull."
Grover shifted uncomfortably. "You've been out for two days. How much do you remember?"
"My mom. Is she really ..."
He looked down.
I stared at my blanket trying to process what had happened and started falling into despair when I realized I would never see my mom again.
"I'm sorry," Grover sniffled. "I'm a failure. I'm—I'm a horrible satyr…I should have been protecting you not the other way around."
I suddenly felt dizzy, my vision started swimming.
"Don't strain yourself," Grover said. "Here." He helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips.
I recoiled at the taste, because I was expecting apple juice. It wasn't that at all. It was chocolate-chip cookies. Liquid cookies. And not just any cookies—my mom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips still melting. Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and good, full of energy.
Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.
"What is this?" I questioned.
"It's called nectar—the god's drink. It supposed to taste like what you think tastes best. I don't think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff though." He replied.
"What do you mean?"
He took the empty glass from me gingerly, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table. "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting.
Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl who'd spoon-fed me popcorn-flavored pudding was leaning on the porch rail next to them.
The man facing me was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt, and
I got the feeling this guy could've out-gambled even my stepfather.
"That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron... ."
He pointed at the guy whose back was to me.
Then I realized who it was.
"Mr Brunner!" I cried.
The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me and said, "Ah, good, Percy—Now we have four for pinochle."
"Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the blond girl.
She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady nursed you back to health, Percy. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now."
Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron."
She was probably my age, maybe a couple of inches taller, and a whole lot more athletic looking. I realized that she was the girl who fed me when I was unconscious.
"You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed me suspiciously.
"I'm afraid not," I said.
"I'm afraid not, sir," he said.
"Sir," I repeated. I was liking the camp director less and less.
"I'm sure the boy can learn," Chiron said.
The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile.
Chiron smiled at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what my average was, I was his star student. He expected me to have the right answer.
"I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient."
"Orientation film?" I asked.
"No," Chiron decided. "Well, Percy. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know"—he pointed to the horn in the shoe box—"that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either, lad. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods—the forces you call the Greek gods—are very much alive."
I felt like my world had turned upside down again and said,"Wait..so does that mean I am a demigod?".
Mr. D raised an eyebrow at me, "Well perhaps this one's smarter than I give him credit for. Almost no one else figured it out that fast."
I ran through D names from Greek mythology. The scent of Wine. The skin of a tiger. The satyrs that all seemed to work here. The way Grover cringed, as if Mr. D were his master.
"You're Dionysus," I said. "The god of wine."
Mr. D rolled his eyes. "What do they say, these days, Grover? Do the children say, 'Well, duh!'?"
"Y-yes, Mr. D."
"Then, well, duh! Percy Jackson. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?"
He turned back to his card game. "I believe I win."
"Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron said. He set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me."
I thought Mr. D was going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He got up, and Grover rose, too.
"I'm tired," Mr. D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."
Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes, sir."
Mr. D turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson. And mind your manners."
He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably.
"Will Grover be okay?" I asked Chiron.
Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been ... ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."
Once I got over the fact that my Latin teacher was a horse, we had a nice tour, though I was careful not to walk behind him. I'd done pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times, and, I'm sorry, I did not trust Chiron's back end the way I trusted his front.
We passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the minotaur horn I was carrying. Another said, "That's him."
Most of the campers were older than me. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMPHALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their behinds. I wasn't normally shy, but the way they stared at me made me uncomfortable. I felt like they were expecting me to do a flip or something.
I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I'd realized—four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something caught my eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I got the distinct impression I was being watched.
"What's up there?" I asked Chiron.
He looked where I was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic."
"Somebody lives there?"
"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing."
I got the feeling he was being truthful. But I was also sure something had moved that curtain.
"Come along, Percy," Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."
He showed around the strawberry fields, training grounds until we finally reached the cabins.
There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were without doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings I'd ever seen.
In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smoldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick. It seemed a bit odd to me—so I decided to talk to her later as she looked kind of lonely.
"Oh, look," he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us."
The blond girl I'd met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven.
I tried to see what she was reading, but I couldn't make out the title. I thought my dyslexia was acting up. Then I realized the title wasn't even English. The letters looked Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There were pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.
"Annabeth," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Percy from here?"
"Yes, sir." She replied.
"Cabin eleven," Chiron told me, gesturing toward the doorway. "Make yourself at home."
The door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him they all stood and bowed respectfully.
"Well, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Percy. I'll see you at dinner."
He galloped away toward the archery range.
I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at me, sizing me up. I knew this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.
"Well?" Annabeth prompted. "Go on."
So naturally I tripped coming in the door and made a total fool of myself. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything.
Annabeth announced, "Percy Jackson, meet cabin eleven.