The King bearer three

Part 10: Toby

Toby had stood on the foot of half - blood hill for, around five minutes, before deciding that whatever was going on with that boy, the one who'd accosted him in the woods under that tree and demanded that Toby bring Jay to him, and was now acting like old pals with Jay, he distinctly did not want to be apart of it. He found that to be a reasonable estimation, and had walked, or run if you prefer to be strictly accurate, back to camp. There he'd headed to the dinning pavilion, where the evening meal was now in full swing, and grabbed a plate and cup. Man do I ever love magic, he thought as he conjured a full English and some chips. One of the things that both he and Jay loved about camp was the infinite food conjured by the enchanted plates at the dinning pavilion. He had even once seen Jay, probably not knowing how things were supposed to work yet, pour platefuls of food into the fire, a different piece of food for each of the main gods, and then chuck an entire roast chicken with all the trimmings for her father. Not too few people had burst out laughing, and she was only kept from pouring an entire thanksgiving into the flames by Chiron's screaming for her to stop. After that she had been taken aside and given a good talking to with strict instructions to never do that again. 

He was reminiscing about this while walking over to the hearth to make his offering. He had planned to offer three slices of white pudding to Hestia, and three slices of black pudding to Apollo, for the health of his oracle. He knew that, whatever was going on, the girl would need it. He was just pushing the last of the black pudding slices into the fire, when he felt a hideous pain overwhelm him. He clutched his head in pain, dropping his plate to the floor, and slowly released an agonised grunt, then bellow, then scream, into the night sky. This pain was like nothing he'd ever experienced, less a physical agony than an overwhelming sensation to the point of pain. It was like his head was bursting into pieces, the world tearing at the seams, the universe breaking like shards of glass, scattering over every fibber of his being, exploding them into fragments, less, over and over. When the pain, the sensation, subsided, he let go of his head and looked around. The dinning pavilion's white marble floor was gone, replaced with soft green grass that rustled in the breeze, tables replaced with the shadows of cabins in a shape that was once a U. He was back at the cabins, in the grassy courtyard in between them all. 

He groaned in exasperation, tired and confused by what ever was going on. He didn't know what it was, he didn't know what that inhuman, excruciating sensation was that had seemingly lead him here, and he didn't know what was so important about this location, where he had met a goddess and where he stood now. He just knew that the day he'd had was confusing, that he wanted it to end, and that he was hungry. He knew he was supposed to be in the dinning pavilion, making offering to the gods and devouring a full English right then, so he made his way to the dinning pavilion now, grumbling. His foot hit something along the way, and he looked down to see what it was. 

It was a severed block of tanzanite, shining like the stars in the night sky above him, carved and smoothed at the edges. The sight sent a prickling sense of unwelcome familiarity running up his spine, and he bent to get a better look, the rest of the rock hidden in the dirt. The rock had holes in it, like the handles on scissors. The same handles, lead to blades, overlapping as scissors do, and barely poking up from the grass and dirt. The prickling sensation returned, and this time Toby knew what it meant. The blades were damascene, the handles exquisitely smooth, and they were what they looked to be - that was a pair of scissors. He remembered the boy's furious words to him in the forest, have the fates not given you the cursed blade. Not the fates, he thought, Hestia. Hestia gave me the blade, the cursed scissors. Still he was confused; what did this matter, what did this have to do with anything? Why was this so important, what was he supposed to know, to do, and what would happen if he didn't do anything, didn't do it right? 

He knew one thing; these scissors were important, and he'd need them. He yanked the handles out of the dirt, and continued making his way toward the dining pavilion, a plan forming in his mind. On his way, he light a match and flung it into the hearth pit, then continued on. He knew Hestia would be able to see him, on some level through the flames, and he wanted her to. He wanted her to see what was to come next. If he was going to ruin things, if things were going down because of his not knowing, he would ensure she could see it all. She had been closed off, Clotho had been illusive, the boy had been demanding, and none of them had offered an explanation as to why. He made no more offering that night, he ate in silence as he schemed. If the world would not give him the answers he needed, he would find them, take them. It was this promise he was making when he saw two people enter the pavilion, though he paid them no heed.