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Chapter 13
Percy's New Half-Brother
Volume 2: The Sea of Monsters
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Percy always had the most dramatic entrances. Last summer, when they'd met, Percy had just defeated the Minotaur and dragged an unconscious body all the way to the Big House. It really shouldn't have been a surprise that he appeared in the middle of battle.
The camp borders had been fading ever since the poison set in, and the attacks had been increasing each month. This time, Percy was fighting two bronze bulls the size of elephants. And they breathed fired too, naturally.
He arrived with Annabeth and another tall stranger in tow. Ten heroes had been attempting to take down the bulls beforehand.
Pallas heard about all of this secondhand when he left the Aphrodite cabin (a torturous place) with Pat and saw the whole side of the hill was burning. On the porch, Pat paused.
"The hill is burning," He said. Pallas knew it was a guess that he wished for him to confirm, and he did.
"Oui," He squinted, "If I am not mistaken, Percy has arrived."
"Oh, of course," Pat sounded down, his head lulling on his shoulders. He didn't look excited, even at his friends arrival.
Pallas continued to study the scene. In tattered clothes, Annabeth's golden hair shimmered in the sun. His eyes went wide, "Annabeth!" He linked his arm with Pat's and started pulling him, "Pat, Annabeth and Percy have returned!"
They reached the burning hill, albeit slowly, just as the wounded campers were getting attention. There were two large, banged-up bronze bulls resting in the flames, the source of the chaos.
"Annabeth!" Pallas called. She turned, and once she saw him, she broke into a tired smile.
"Pallas, Pat," She said, "What's going on here?"
Percy was on the ground, and Pallas crouched by him, "Bonjour, Percy," He greeted, lifting Percy's arm and inspecting it, "Are you fatally wounded?"
Percy scoffed and pulled his arm back, "I'm fine. Hi."
Pat was smiling now. Quietly, he gestured to the large stranger, "Who's the newbie?" The way Pat knew everything without his sight was as unnerving to others as it was impressive to Pallas.
A sour look took Annabeth's face, and Pallas pulled away from Percy enough to try and study the new, tall man — child. At closer glance, he was clearly a boy. That, and he only had one eye.
"A cyclops," Pallas furrowed his brows and sent a look to Annabeth, "What is this?"
"His name is Tyson," Percy immediately got defensive, "He's my friend."
Naturally, Pallas wanted to scoff. Leave it to the son of Poseidon, prophesied savior of Olympus, to become best friends with a monsters.
Clarisse approached the group with soot on her forehead, sweaty from the battle. She took a moment to acknowledge Pat and Pallas, then looked at Percy on the ground, "Jackson, if you can stand, get up. We need to carry the wounded back to the Big House, let Tantalus know what's happened."
"Tantalus?" Percy asked.
"The activities director," Clarisse said impatiently.
"Chiron is the activities director," Percy shook his head, "And where's Argus? He's head of security. He should be here."
Pallas crossed his arms, "Argus has been fired. And Chiron is on his way to something worse."
"But Chiron..." Percy looked upset, though he was trying to steady his expression. Most of the kids at camp loved Chiron, it was obvious that each person Pallas told would feel the grief that he himself ignored. "He's trained kids to fight monsters for over three thousand years. He can't just be gone. What happened?"
"Thalia's tree," Pallas pointed up the hill to the wilting pine. It's needles were yellow, and a huge pile of dead ones littered the base of the tree. In the center of the trunk, three feet from the ground, was a puncture mark the size of a bullet hole, oozing green sap. "Someone poisoned it. Ever since then,"
"Monsters," Annabeth finished.
"Oui," Pallas agreed.
Clarisse took all of them back to the Big House to speak to Tantalus — Percy, Tyson, and Annabeth to talk about the bulls, and Pallas and Pat to avoid returning to the Aphrodite cabin. As they walked through the camp, Pallas wondered if Pat could feel the differences. He bet he could; there was an air of danger now, and Pallas didn't think you had to be sighted to feel it. You could just tell something was wrong. Instead of playing volleyball in the sandpit, counselors and satyrs were stockpiling weapons in the tool shed. Dryads armed with bows and arrows talked nervously at the edge of the woods. The forest looked sickly, the grass in the meadow was pale yellow, and the fire marks on Half-Blood Hill stood out like ugly scars.
Some kids did double takes when they saw Tyson, but most just walked grimly past and carried on with their duties—running messages, toting swords to sharpen on the grinding wheels. The camp felt like a military school.
None of that mattered to Tyson. He was absolutely fascinated by everything he saw. "Whasthat!" he gasped.
"The stables for pegasi," Percy said. "The winged horses."
"Whasthat!"
"Um . . . those are the toilets."
"Whasthat!"
"The cabins for the campers. If they don't know who your Olympian parent is, they put you in the Hermes cabin—that brown one over there—until you're determined. Then, once they know, they put you in your dad or mom's group."
He looked at Percy in awe. "You . . . have a cabin?"
"Number three." Percy pointed to a low gray building made of sea stone.
"You live with friends in the cabin?"
"No. No, just me."
Pallas didn't comment. Even back in France, he had never made friends easily. Pat and Annabeth had been accidents that Pallas wasn't angry about. If Percy had found an accident in the form of a cyclops, then Pallas would let Annabeth be angry while he hovered in the background.
In the Big House, Chiron was in his apartment. He was playing his favorite 1960s lounge music while he packed his saddlebags. As soon as they saw him, Tyson froze. "Pony!" he cried in total rapture.
Chiron turned, looking offended. "I beg your pardon?"
Annabeth ran up and hugged him. "Chiron, what's happening? You're not...leaving?" Her voice was shaky. Chiron was like a second father to her.
Chiron ruffled her hair and gave her a kindly smile. "Hello, child. And Percy, my goodness. You've grown over the year!" He fondly turned to Pat, "And hello to you too, Pat."
Pat's face was in a frown, and Percy swallowed. None of them were exactly alright with the news. It was Percy who spoke though, "Pallas said you were...you were..."
"Fired." Chiron's eyes glinted with dark humor. "Ah, well, someone had to take the blame. Lord Zeus was most upset. The tree he'd created from the spirit of his daughter, poisoned! Mr. D had to punish someone."
"Besides himself, you mean," Percy growled.
"Watch it, Percy," Pallas said loftily, though he wouldn't mind if Mr. D was embarrassed in a fight with Percy, as Ares had been last summer.
"But this is crazy!" Annabeth cried. "Chiron, you couldn't have had anything to do with poisoning Thalia's tree!"
"Nevertheless," Chiron sighed, "some in Olympus do not trust me now, under the circumstances."
"What circumstances?" Percy asked.
Chiron's face darkened. He stuffed a Latin-English dictionary into his saddlebag while the Frank Sinatra music oozed from his boom box.
Tyson was still staring at Chiron in amazement. He whimpered like he wanted to pat Chiron's flank but was afraid to come closer. "Pony?"
Chiron sniffed. "My dear young Cyclops! I am a centaur."
"Chiron," Percy said. "What about the tree? What happened?"
He shook his head sadly. "The poison used on Thalia's pine is something from the Underworld, Percy. Some venom even I have never seen. It must have come from a monster quite deep in the pits of Tartarus."
"Then we know who's responsible. Kro—"
"Do not invoke the titan lord's name, Percy." The centaur warned heavily, "Especially not here, not now."
"But last summer he tried to cause a civil war in Olympus!" Percy shouted, "This has to be his idea. He'd get Luke to do it, that traitor."
"Perhaps," Chiron said. "But I fear I am being held responsible because I did not prevent it and I cannot cure it. The tree has only a few weeks of life left unless..." He trailed off. Pallas raised an eyebrow. Was he baiting them?
"Unless what?" Annabeth asked.
"No," Chiron said. "A foolish thought. The whole valley is feeling the shock of the poison. The magical borders are deteriorating. The camp itself is dying. Only one source of magic would be strong enough to reverse the poison, and it was lost centuries ago."
"Tell us, Chiron," Pallas said.
Beside him, Percy nodded quickly, "What is it? We'll go find it!"
Chiron closed his saddlebag. He pressed the stop button on his boom box. Then he turned and rested his hand on Percy's shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes. "Percy, you must promise me that you will not act rashly. I told your mother I did not want you to come here at all this summer. It's much too dangerous. But now that you are here, stay here. Train hard. Learn to fight. But do not leave."
"Why?" Percy asked. "I want to do something! I can't just let the borders fail. The whole camp will be—"
"Overrun by monsters," Chiron said. "Yes, I fear so. But you must not let yourself be baited into hasty action! This could be a trap of the titan lord. Remember last summer! He almost took your life."
Annabeth was trying hard not to cry. Chiron brushed a tear from her cheek.
"Stay with Percy, child," he told her. "Keep him safe. The prophecy—remember it!"
"I—I will."
"Um . . ." Percy said. "Would this be the super-dangerous prophecy that has me in it, but the gods have forbidden you to tell me about?"
Nobody answered.
"Right," Percy muttered. "Just checking."
"Chiron . . ." Annabeth said. "You told me the gods made you immortal only so long as you were needed to train heroes. If they dismiss you from camp—"
"Swear you will do your best to keep Percy from danger," he insisted. "Swear upon the River Styx."
"I—I swear it upon the River Styx," Annabeth said. Thunder rumbled outside.
"Very well," Chiron said. He seemed to relax just a little. "Perhaps my name will be cleared and I shall return. Until then, I go to visit my wild kinsmen in the Everglades. It's possible they know of some cure for the poisoned tree that I have forgotten. In any event, I will stay in exile until this matter is resolved...one way or another."
Annabeth stifled a sob. Chiron patted her shoulder awkwardly. "There, now, child. I must entrust your safety to Mr. D and the new activities director. We must hope . . . well, perhaps they won't destroy the camp quite as quickly as I fear."
"Who is this Tantalus guy, anyway?" demanded. "Where does he get off taking your job?"
A conch horn blew across the valley. The fight on the hill had taken up most of the remaining day; it was time for the campers to assemble for dinner.
"Go," Chiron said. "You will meet him at the pavilion. And Pat," He turned his gaze on the only dry-faced boy in the room (Pallas wouldn't admit to any tears if you asked him), "Remember your own prophecy."
Pat tapped the button on his walking stick and lifted up his sword. He left it to rest in both hands, across his palms, and though he looked down at it, he couldn't see his reflection in the bronze. Then he said, "Don't worry about me,"
Chiron glanced at him for a second, then went back to Percy, "I will contact your mother, Percy, and let her know you're safe. No doubt she'll be worried by now. Just remember my warning! You are in grave danger. Do not think for a moment that the titan lord has forgotten you!"
With that, he clopped out of the apartment and down the hall, Tyson calling after him, "Pony! Don't go!" Tyson started bawling almost as bad as Annabeth.
The sun was setting behind the dining pavilion as the campers came up from their cabins. The five of them stood in the shadow of a marble column and watched them file in. Annabeth was still pretty shaken up, but she promised she'd talk to them later. Then she went off to join her siblings from the Athena cabin—a dozen boys and girls with gray eyes like hers.
Annabeth wasn't the oldest, but she'd been at camp more summers than just about anybody. You could tell that by looking at her camp necklace—one bead for every summer, and Annabeth had six. No one questioned her right to lead the line.
Next came Clarisse, leading the Ares cabin. She had one arm in a sling and a nasty-looking gash on her cheek, but otherwise her encounter with the bronze bulls didn't seem to have fazed her. Someone had taped a piece of paper to her back that said, YOU MOO, GIRL! But nobody in her cabin was bothering to tell her about it.
"I will go," Pallas said, "Pat,"
Pat followed, biding farewell to Percy and going off to Silena Beauregard. Pallas lined up behind his older sister and followed Lee to the pavilion.
The other cabins filed in: Demeter, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Dionysus. Naiads came up from the canoe lake. Dryads melted out of the trees. From the meadow came a dozen satyrs, though Pallas' friend from last summer — Grover — was not with them; he was still off searching for the lost god of the wild, Pan.
After the satyrs filed in to dinner, the Hermes cabin brought up the rear. They were always the biggest cabin. Last summer, it had been led by Luke. Now, the Hermes cabin was led by Travis and Connor Stoll. They weren't twins, but they looked so much alike it didn't matter. They had all the elvish features of their father, Hermes, Pallas' favorite Olympian.
As soon as the last campers had filed in, Percy led Tyson into the middle of the pavilion. Conversations faltered. Heads turned. "Who invited that?" One of his younger brothers asked.
Percy glared in cabin seven's direction, and Pallas leaned around his sister to smack the boy upside the head. He warned him in French to shut up, but none of his siblings spoke French, so he quickly repeated it in sharp English.
From the head table, Mr. D drawled, "Well, well, if it isn't Peter Johnson. My millennium is complete."
Percy gritted his teeth. "Percy Jackson . . . sir."
Mr. D sipped his Diet Coke. "Yes. Well, as you young people say these days: Whatever."
If Percy picked a fight with Dionysus, the day really would be complete. A complete waste of daylight, that is. Behind him, a nervous-looking satyr was peeling the skins off grapes and handing them to Mr. D one at a time.
Next to him, where Chiron usually sat (or stood, in centaur form), was Tantalus. Tantalus was a pale, horribly thin man in a threadbare orange prisoner's jumpsuit. The number over his pocket read 0001. He had blue shadows under his eyes, dirty fingernails, and badly cut gray hair, like his last haircut had been done with a weed whacker. He stared at Percy; he looked fractured. Angry and frustrated and hungry all at the same time.
"This boy," Dionysus told him, "you need to watch. Poseidon's child, you know."
"Ah!" the prisoner said. "That one." His tone made it obvious that he and Dionysus had already discussed Percy at length.
"I am Tantalus," the prisoner said, smiling coldly. "On special assignment here until, well, until my Lord Dionysus decides otherwise. And you, Perseus Jackson, I do expect you to refrain from causing any more trouble."
"Trouble?" Percy demanded.
Dionysus snapped his fingers. A newspaper appeared on the table—the front page of today's New York Post. There was Percy's yearbook picture, but Pallas didn't both trying to read it. English and dyslexia? It wasn't a good match. He would just assume Percy had done something stupid — stupid was rational to him.
"Yes, trouble," Tantalus said with satisfaction. "You caused plenty of it last summer, I understand."
Percy looked too mad to speak.
A satyr inched forward nervously and set a plate of barbecue in front of Tantalus. The new activities director licked his lips. He looked at his empty goblet and said, "Root beer. Barq's special stock. 1967."
The glass filled itself with foamy soda. Tantalus stretched out his hand hesitantly, as if he were afraid the goblet was hot.
"Go on, then, old fellow," Dionysus said, a strange sparkle in his eyes. "Perhaps now it will work."
Tantalus grabbed for the glass, but it scooted away before he could touch it.
A few drops of root beer spilled, and Tantalus tried to dab them up with his fingers, but the drops rolled away like quicksilver before he could touch them.
He growled and turned toward the plate of barbecue. He picked up a fork and tried to stab a piece of brisket, but the plate skittered down the table and flew off the end, straight into the coals of the brazier.
"Blast!" Tantalus muttered.
"Ah, well," Dionysus said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Perhaps a few more days. Believe me, old chap, working at this camp will be torture enough. I'm sure your old curse will fade eventually."
"Eventually," muttered Tantalus, staring at Dionysus's Diet Coke. "Do you have any idea how dry one's throat gets after three thousand years?"
"You're that spirit from the Fields of Punishment," Percy said as if he'd just only figured it out. Maybe he had. "The one who stands in the lake with the fruit tree hanging over you, but you can't eat or drink."
Tantalus sneered at him. "A real scholar, aren't you, boy?"
"You must've done something really horrible when you were alive," Percy said, mildly impressed. "What was it?"
Tantalus's eyes narrowed. Behind him, the satyrs were shaking their heads vigorously, trying to warn Percy against idiocy. Pallas had learned last summer that arguing Percy wasn't normally wise, and warning him was even worse.
"I'll be watching you, Percy Jackson," Tantalus said. "I don't want any problems at my camp."
"Your camp has problems already...sir." He added the last title after a pause, taking away all of the respect from it.
"Oh, go sit down, Johnson," Dionysus sighed. "I believe that table over there is yours—the one where no one else ever wants to sit."
Percy's face burned. He said, "Come on, Tyson."
"Oh, no," Tantalus said. "The monster stays here. We must decide what to do with it."
"Him," Percy snapped. "His name is Tyson."
The new activities director raised an eyebrow.
"Tyson saved the camp," Percy insisted. "He pounded those bronze bulls. Otherwise they would've burned down this whole place."
"Yes," Tantalus sighed, "and what a pity that would've been."
Dionysus snickered.
"Leave us," Tantalus ordered, "while we decide this creature's fate." Tyson looked scared, but there wasn't anything Percy could do.
"I'll be right over here, big guy," Percy promised. "Don't worry. We'll find you a good place to sleep tonight."
Tyson nodded. "I believe you. You are my friend."
Percy trudged over to the Poseidon table and slumped onto the bench. With the theatrics out of the way, Pallas went with his cabin to the brazier and poured the best of his food into the flames for Hermes and Apollo. He took a moment longer than his younger siblings (who were always anxious to sit down and eat after a long days work, as all growing children are) and prayed with his older siblings. Then, they sat down and ate.
Eventually, Tantalus had one of the satyrs blow the conch horn to get their attention for announcements.
"Yes, well," Tantalus said, once the talking had died down. "Another fine meal! Or so I am told." As he spoke, he inched his hand toward his refilled dinner plate, as if maybe the food wouldn't notice what he was doing, but it did. It shot away down the table as soon as he got within six inches.
"And here on my first day of authority," he continued, "I'd like to say what a pleasant form of punishment it is to be here. Over the course of the summer, I hope to torture, er, interact with each and every one of you children. You all look good enough to eat."
Dionysus clapped politely, leading to some halfhearted applause from the satyrs. Tyson was still standing at the head table, looking uncomfortable, but every time he tried to scoot out of the limelight, Tantalus pulled him back.
"And now some changes!" Tantalus gave the campers a crooked smile. "We are reinstituting the chariot races!"
Murmuring broke out at all the tables—excitement, fear, disbelief.
"Now I know," Tantalus continued, raising his voice, "that these races were discontinued some years ago due to, ah, technical problems."
"Three deaths and twenty-six mutilations," Lee called.
"Yes, yes!" Tantalus said. "But I know that you will all join me in welcoming the return of this camp tradition. Golden laurels will go to the winning charioteers each month. Teams may register in the morning! The first race will be held in three days time. We will release you from most of your regular activities to prepare your chariots and choose your horses. Oh, and did I mention, the victorious team's cabin will have no chores for the month in which they win?"
An explosion of excited conversation—no KP for a whole month? No stable cleaning? Was he serious?
"But, sir!" Clarisse said. She looked nervous, but she stood up to speak from the Ares table. Some of the campers snickered when they saw the YOU MOO, GIRL! sign on her back. "What about patrol duty? I mean, if we drop everything to ready our chariots—"
"Ah, the hero of the day," Tantalus exclaimed. "Brave Clarisse, who single-handedly bested the bronze bulls!"
Clarisse blinked, then blushed. "Um, I didn't—"
"And modest, too." Tantalus grinned. "Not to worry, my dear! This is a summer camp. We are here to enjoy ourselves, yes?"
"But the tree—"
"And now," Tantalus said, as several of Clarisse's cabin mates pulled her back into her seat, "before we proceed to the campfire and sing-along, one slight housekeeping issue. Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase have seen fit, for some reason, to bring this here." Tantalus waved a hand toward Tyson.
Uneasy murmuring spread among the campers. A lot of sideways looks at Percy.
"Now, of course," he said, "Cyclopes have a reputation for being bloodthirsty monsters with a very small brain capacity. Under normal circumstances, I would release this beast into the woods and have you hunt it down with torches and pointed sticks. But who knows? Perhaps this Cyclops is not as horrible as most of its brethren. Until it proves worthy of destruction, we need a place to keep it! I've thought about the stables, but that will make the horses nervous. Hermes's cabin, possibly?"
Silence at the Hermes table. Travis and Connor Stoll developed a sudden interest in the tablecloth. Pallas would not blame them. The Hermes cabin was always full to bursting. There was no way they could take in a six-foot-three Cyclops.
"Come now," Tantalus chided. "The monster may be able to do some menial chores. Any suggestions as to where such a beast should be kenneled?"
Suddenly everybody gasped.
Tantalus scooted away from Tyson in surprise.
Swirling over Tyson was a glowing green trident—the same symbol that had appeared above Percy the day Poseidon had claimed him as his son.
There was a moment of awed silence.
Being claimed was a rare event. Some campers waited in vain for it their whole lives. Apollo had not even gone through the motions for Pallas; Hermes had told him, and his mother had hinted at it throughout his whole life.
Last summer, the camp fell to their knees and knelt at Percy's feet when he was claimed. But now, they followed Tantalus's lead, and Tantalus roared with laughter. "Well! I think we know where to put the beast now. By the gods, I can see the family resemblance!"
Everybody laughed except Percy's old quest mates and a few of his other friends. Pallas glared at Lee until he shushed the Apollo cabin.
Tyson didn't seem to notice. He was too mystified, trying to swat the glowing trident that was now fading over his head. Percy now had a cabin mate, one that the whole camp was bound to be cruel towards. He had a monster for a half-brother.