The Silver Archer 2️⃣ (Percy Jackson)

07. Tyson's Back!!

Adira

I spent the rest of the day with Annabeth and Percy, and to my happiness, Tyson too.

Tyson was really fascinated with my power to create fire with my hands and my ability to lift earth (mud, grass, rocks) and move the air at my dismay.

Annabeth was also really glad to see Tyson, but I could tell she was distracted. She kept looking over at the forest, like she was thinking about Grover's problem with the council. I couldn't blame her.

Grover was nowhere to be seen, and I felt really bad for him. Finding the lost god Pan had been his lifelong goal. His father and his uncle had both disappeared following the same dream.

Last winter, Grover had heard a voice in his head: I await you—a voice he was sure belonged to Pan—but apparently his search had led nowhere. If the council took away his searcher's license now, it would crush him.

"What's this 'other way'?" Percy asked me. "The thing Clarisse mentioned?"

I picked up a stone and skipped it across the lake. "Something Clarisse scouted out. I helped her a little this spring. But it would be dangerous. Especially for Grover."

"Goat boy scares me," Tyson murmured.

I stared at him. Tyson had faced down fire-breathing bulls and sea monsters and cannibal giants. "Why would you be scared of Grover?"

"Hooves and horns," Tyson muttered nervously. "And goat fur makes my nose itchy."

And that pretty much ended our Grover conversation.

🪨

Before dinner, Percy, Tyson and I went down to the sword arena. Quintus was glad to have company. He still wouldn't tell me what was in the wooden crates, but he did teach Percy and me a few sword moves. The guy was good. He fought the way some people play chess—like he was putting all the moves together and you couldn't see the pattern until he made the last stroke and won with a sword at your throat.

"Good try," he told Percy, as I stood at the sidelines, shooting at an archery target. "But your guard is too low."

He lunged and Percy blocked.

"Have you always been a swordsman?" I asked.

He parried Percy's overhead cut. "I've been... many things."

He jabbed and Percy sidestepped. His shoulder strap slipped down, and I saw that mark on his neck—the purple blotch. But it wasn't a random mark. It had a definite shape—a bird with folded wings, like a quail or something.

"What's that on your neck?" Percy asked, which was probably a rude question, but you can blame ADHD. We tend to just blurt things out.

Quintus lost his rhythm. Percy hit his sword hilt and knocked the blade out of his hand.

He rubbed his fingers. Then he shifted his armor to hide the mark. It wasn't a tattoo, I realized. It was an old burn...like he'd been branded.

"A reminder." He picked up his sword and forced a smile. "Now, shall we go again?"

He pressed Percy hard, not giving him time for any more questions.

While he and Percy fought, Tyson played with Mrs. O'Leary, who he called the "little doggie." They had a great time wrestling for the bronze shield and playing Get the Greek. By sunset, Quintus hadn't even broken a sweat, which seemed kind of strange; but Percy and Tyson were hot and sweaty, so they hit the showers and got ready for dinner. I stayed and shot for awhile, going between throwing my dagger, and fighting with my dagger, and learning how to kill someone with a fork.