¹Pocket Full of Posies, p. jackson

xii. State-of-the-Art Security

chapter twelve
❛ state-of-the-art security ❜

━━━━━  AFTER ONE SUCCESSFUL quest, another she had hijacked (even if Posie would never admit that Clarisse was right on that front), and knowing she was a demigod since she was ten, Posie would be accustomed to things inhabited by Greek monsters looking appealing to the unassuming eye. Perhaps some of it was the Mist or some magic controlled by the monsters like Circe or Medusa, but this island looked nothing like what a Cyclops's island would look like to a demigod's imagination.

There were craggy rocks, nor were there bones scattered about — all unlike the Island of the Sirens. There were no dried pools of blood; no skeletons of past heroes who had been washed up and killed by the monster. There weren't even any ugly mansions to suggest where the Cyclops could be hiding, stalking and waiting for their next prey to stumble upon them.

The scariest thing about the island (besides the complete and utter silence, no sign of any life, not even a Cyclops's bellows of anger) was a rope bridge that dangled across a large chasm. That was the only thing that even suggested danger. Even then, paired with the tropical paradise the rest of the island was, that bridge was a minor smudge of the picture-perfect island to hide away from all the demigod worries of Kronos rising and having the power of plagues. With its green fields, tropical fruit trees, and white beaches, Posie found the idea of staying and living on the island almost appealing — except for the small problem of a Cyclops infestation. That would prove a big problem, even for a demigod who could rust Celestial bronze, like Posie.

As they sailed closer toward the shore, Annabeth breathed in deeply, smelling the admittedly sweet air. "The Fleece," she decided, sounding sure of herself.

Even despite the picture-perfect appearance, Posie couldn't shake this nauseating feeling (and only part of it was caused by the lingering aftershock of surviving the Sirens by the skin of her teeth). Her mind went back to the many dreams — the man speaking to her as she stood on the edge of the white beach, telling her things of Onesimus. It irked her far more than she knew before. How could that man know so much when she was the one with the gift of foresight? Even if he was a god, they weren't all-knowing (despite what many of them liked to claim ...)

He doesn't need a gift of foresight, Onesimus suddenly spoke up. Not the way you need it. Or any other demigods — or mortals, more importantly.

It was the most he had spoken since the Sirens. To be fair, it wasn't like he had much time to speak — not between her own mind in such a panic, it shut him down, but also Annabeth and Percy chattering away as they connected pieces after learning another "gift" Posie had from Apollo.

So ... what is he exactly? she pried, hoping Onesimus would finally admit to something (beyond insulting her and adding snide remarks as commentary). Is he a god, like I think?

That ... is harder to say.

However, she noticed the tilt in his voice. Posie had known Onesimus long enough to know not only when he was keeping the truth from her, but when he was lying.

"If we take it — y'know, the Golden Fleece — away ..." Percy began, struggling to tear his eyes away from the island to look at the other two on the ship with him, "will the island die?"

Annabeth shook her head lightly, shrugging. "It'll fade," she replied. "It'll go back to what it would be normally ... whatever that is."