Percy Jackson And The Lightning Thief

I Play Pinochle with a Horse

I had weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me.The rest wanted food.I must've woken up several times, but what I heard and saw made no sense, soI just passed out again. I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fedsomething that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. The girl withcurly blonde hair hovered over me, smirking as she scraped drips off my chinwith the spoon.When she saw my eyes open, she asked, 'What will happen at the summersolstice?'I managed to croak, 'What?'She looked around, as if afraid someone would overhear. 'What's going on?What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!''I'm sorry,' I mumbled, 'I don't...'Somebody knocked on the door, and the girl quickly filled my mouth withpudding.The next time I woke up, the girl was gone.A husky blond dude, like a surfer, stood in the corner of the bedroom keepingwatch over me. He had blue eyes – at least a dozen of them – on his cheeks, hisforehead, the backs of his hands.* * *When I finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about mysurroundings, except that they were nicer than I was used to. I was sitting in adeck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in thedistance. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over mylegs, a pillow behind my neck. All that was great, but my mouth felt like ascorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue was dry and nasty and everyone of my teeth hurt.On the table next to me was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with agreen straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry.My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers aroundit.'Careful,' a familiar voice said.Grover was leaning against the porch railing, looking like he hadn't slept in aweek. Under one arm, he cradled a shoe box. He was wearing blue jeans,Converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMP HALF-BLOOD.Just plain old Grover. Not the goat boy.So maybe I'd had a nightmare. Maybe my mom was okay. We were still onvacation, and we'd stopped here at this big house for some reason. And...'You saved my life,' Grover said. 'I... well, the least I could do... I went backto the hill. I thought you might want this.'Reverently, he placed the shoe box in my lap.Inside was a black-and-white bulls horn, the base jagged from being brokenoff, the tip splattered with dried blood. It hadn't been a nightmare.'The Minotaur,'said.'Um, Percy, it isn't a good idea –''That's what they call it in the Greek myths, isn't it?' I demanded. 'TheMinotaur. Half man, half bull.'Grover shifted uncomfortably. 'You've been out for two days. How much doyou remember?''My mom. Is she really...'He looked down.I stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream,acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surroundedby rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, was the one with thehuge pine tree on top. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight.My mother was gone. The whole world should be black and cold. Nothingshould look beautiful.'I'm sorry,' Grover sniffled. 'I'm a failure. I'm – I'm the worst satyr in theworld.'He moaned, stomping his foot so hard it came off. I mean, the Converse hi-topcame off. The inside was filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole.'Oh, Styx!' he mumbled.Thunder rolled across the clear sky.As he struggled to get his hoof back in the fake foot, I thought, Well, thatsettles it.Grover was a satyr. I was ready to bet that if I shaved his curly brown hair, I'dfind tiny horns on his head. But I was too miserable to care that satyrs existed, oreven Minotaurs. All that meant was my mom really had been squeezed intonothingness, dissolved into yellow light.I was alone. An orphan. I would have to live with... Smelly Gabe? No. Thatwould never happen. I would live on the streets first. I would pretend I wasseventeen and join the army. I'd do something.Grover was still sniffling. The poor kid – poor goat, satyr, whatever – lookedas if he expected to be hit.I said, 'It wasn't your fault.''Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you.''Did my mother ask you to protect me?''No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper. At least... I was.''But why...' I suddenly felt dizzy, my vision 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 – mymom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chipsstill melting. Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and good, full of energy. Mygrief didn't go away, but I felt as if my mom had just brushed her hand againstmy cheek, given me a cookie the way she used to when I was small, and told meeverything was going to be okay.Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warmdrink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.'Was it good?' Grover asked.I nodded.'What did it taste like?' He sounded so wistful, I felt guilty.'Sorry,' I said. 'I should've let you taste.'His eyes got wide. 'No! That's not what I meant. I just... wondered.''Chocolate-chip cookies,' I said. 'My mom's. Homemade.'He sighed. 'And how do you feel?''Like I could throw Nancy Bobofit a hundred metres.''That's good,' he said. 'That's good. I don't think you should risk drinking anymore of that stuff.''What do you mean?'He took the empty glass from me gingerly, as if it were dynamite, and set itback on the table. 'Come on. Chiron and Mr D are waiting.'The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse.My legs felt wobbly trying to walk that far. Grover offered to carry theMinotaur horn, but I held on to it. I'd paid for that souvenir the hard way. Iwasn't going to let it go.As we came around the opposite end of the house, I caught my breath.We must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side ofthe house, the valley marched all the way up to Long Island Sound, whichglittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply couldn'tprocess everything I was seeing. The landscape was dotted with buildings thatlooked like ancient Greek architecture – an open-air pavilion, an amphitheatre, acircular arena – except that they all looked brand new, their white marblecolumns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kidsand satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in brightorange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabinsnestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horsesdown a wooded trail, and, unless I was hallucinating, some of their horses hadwings.Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a cardtable. The blonde-haired girl who'd spoon-fed me popcorn-flavoured puddingwas leaning on the porch rail next to them.The man facing me was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyesand curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like those paintings ofbaby angels – what do you call them, hubbubs? No, cherubs. That's it. He lookedlike a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He wore a tiger-patternHawaiian shirt, and he would've fitted right in at one of Gabe's poker parties,except 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 longerthan just about anybody. And you already know Chiron...'He pointed at the guy whose back was to me.First, I realized he was sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognized the tweedjacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard.'Mr Brunner!' I cried.The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. His eyes had that mischievousglint they sometimes got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all themultiple choice answers B.'Ah, good, Percy,' he said. 'Now we have four for pinochle.'He offered me a chair to the right of Mr D, who looked at me with bloodshoteyes and heaved a great sigh. 'Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to CampHalf-Blood. There. Now don't expect me to be glad to see you.''Uh, thanks.' I scooted a little further away from him because, if there was onething I had learned from living with Gabe, it was how to tell when an adult hasbeen hitting the happy juice. If Mr D was a stranger to alcohol, I was a satyr.'Annabeth?' Mr Brunner called to the blonde girl.She came forward and Mr Brunner introduced us. 'This young lady nursedyou back to health, Percy. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check onPercy'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 centimetres taller, and a wholelot more athletic-looking. With her deep tan and her curly blonde hair, she wasalmost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like,except her eyes ruined the image. They were a startling grey, like storm clouds;pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analysing the best way to take medown in a fight.She glanced at the Minotaur horn in my hands, then back at me. I imaginedshe was going to say, You killed a Minotaur! or Wow, you're so awesome! orsomething like that.Instead she said, 'You drool when you sleep.'Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blonde hair flying behind her.'So,' I said, anxious to change the subject. 'You, uh, work here, Mr Brunner?''Not Mr Brunner,' the ex-Mr Brunner said. 'I'm afraid that was a pseudonym.You may call me Chiron.''Okay.' Totally confused, I looked at the director. 'And Mr D... does thatstand for something?'Mr D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at me like I'd just belchedloudly. 'Young man, names are powerful things. You don't just go around usingthem for no reason.''Oh. Right. Sorry.''I must say, Percy,' Chiron-Brunner broke in, 'I'm glad to see you alive. It'sbeen a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate tothink I've wasted my time.''House call?''My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools,of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. Hesensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convincedthe other Latin teacher to... ah, take a leave of absence.'I tried to remember the beginning of the school year. It seemed like so longago, but I did have a fuzzy memory of there being another Latin teacher my firstweek at Yancy. Then, without explanation, he had disappeared and Mr Brunnerhad taken the class.'You came to Yancy just to teach me?' I asked.Chiron nodded. 'Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted yourmother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready forCamp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made ithere alive, and that's always the first test.''Grover,' Mr D said impatiently, 'are you playing or not?''Yes, sir!' Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair, though I didn't knowwhy he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt.'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.'Well,' he told me, 'it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of thegreatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young mento know the rules.''I'm sure the boy can learn,' Chiron said.'Please,' I said, 'what is this place? What am I doing here? Mr Brun – Chiron– why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?'Mr D snorted. 'I asked the same question.'The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed inhis pile.Chiron smiled at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if tolet me know that no matter what my average was, I was his star student. Heexpected me to have the right answer.'Percy,' he said. 'Did your mother tell you nothing?''She said...' I remembered her sad eyes, looking out over the sea. 'She toldme she was afraid to send me here, even though my father had wanted her to.She said that once I was here, I probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep meclose to her.''Typical,' Mr D said. 'That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are youbidding or not?''What?' I asked.He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did.'I'm afraid there's too much to tell,' Chiron said. 'I'm afraid our usualorientation 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 shoebox – 'that you have killed aMinotaur. No small feat, either, lad. What you may not know is that great powersare at work in your life. Gods – the forces you call the Greek gods – are verymuch alive.'I stared at the others around the table.I waited for somebody to yell, Not! But all I got was Mr D yelling, 'Oh, aroyal marriage. Trick! Trick!' He cackled as he tallied up his points.'Mr D,' Grover asked timidly, 'if you're not going to eat it, could I have yourDiet Coke can?''Eh? Oh, all right.'Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminium can and chewed itmournfully.'Wait,' I told Chiron. 'You're telling me there's such a thing as God.''Well, now,' Chiron said. 'God – capital G, God. That's a different matteraltogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical.''Metaphysical? But you were just talking about –''Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature andhuman endeavours: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter.''Smaller!''Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class.''Zeus,' I said. 'Hera. Apollo. You mean them.'And there it was again – distant thunder on a cloudless day.'Young man,' said Mr D. 'I would really be less casual about throwing thosenames around, if I were you.''But they're stories,' I said. 'They're – myths, to explain lightning and theseasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science.''Science!' Mr D scoffed. 'And tell me, Perseus Jackson –'I flinched when he said my real name, which I never told anybody.'– what will people think of your "science" two thousand years from now?'Mr D continued. 'Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what.Oh, I love mortals – they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They thinkthey've come so˜o˜o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me.'I wasn't liking Mr D much, but there was something about the way he calledme mortal, as if... he wasn't. It was enough to put a lump in my throat, tosuggest why Grover was dutifully minding his cards, chewing his soda can, andkeeping his mouth shut.'Percy,' Chiron said, 'you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is thatimmortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying?Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?'I was about to answer, off the top of my head, that it sounded like a prettygood deal, but the tone of Chiron's voice made me hesitate.'You mean, whether people believed in you or not,' I said.'Exactly,' Chiron agreed. 'If you were a god, how would you like being calleda myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, Perseus Jackson,that someday people would call you a myth, just created to explain how littleboys can get over losing their mothers?'My heart pounded. He was trying to make me angry for some reason, but Iwasn't going to let him. I said, 'I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods.''Oh, you'd better,' Mr D murmured. 'Before one of them incinerates you.'Grover said, 'P-please, sir. He's just lost his mother. He's in shock.''A lucky thing, too,' Mr D grumbled, playing a card. 'Bad enough I'mconfined to this miserable job, working with boys who don't even believe!'He waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight hadbent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet filled itself with redwine.My jaw dropped, but Chiron hardly looked up.'Mr D,' he warned, 'your restrictions.'Mr D looked at the wine and feigned surprise.'Dear me.' He looked at the sky and yelled, 'Old habits! Sorry!'More thunder.Mr D waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can ofDiet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back tohis card game.Chiron winked at me. 'Mr D offended his father a while back, took a fancy toa wood nymph who had been declared off-limits.''A wood nymph,' I repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was fromouter space.'Yes,' Mr D confessed. 'Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition.Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time – well, she really waspretty, and I couldn't stay away – the second time, he sent me here. Half-BloodHill. Summer camp for brats like you. "Be a better influence," he told me."Work with youths rather than tearing them down." Ha! Absolutely unfair.'Mr D sounded about six years old, like a pouting little kid.'And...' I stammered, 'your father is...''Di immortales, Chiron,' Mr D said. 'I thought you taught this boy the basics.My father is Zeus, of course.'I ran through D names from Greek mythology. Wine. The skin of a tiger. Thesatyrs that all seemed to work here. The way Grover cringed, as if Mr D were hismaster.'You're Dionysus,' I said. 'The god of wine.'Mr D rolled his eyes. 'What do they say, these days, Grover? Do the childrensay, "Well, duh!"?''Y-yes, Mr D.''Then, "Well, duh!" Percy Jackson. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?''You're a god.''Yes, child.''A god. You.'He turned to look at me straight on, and I saw a kind of purplish fire in hiseyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing me the tiniest bitof his true nature. I saw visions of grape vines choking unbelievers to death,drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turnedto flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I knew that if I pushedhim, Mr D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brainthat would leave me wearing a straitjacket in a rubber room for the rest of mylife.'Would you like to test me, child?' he said quietly.'No. No, sir.'The fire died a little. 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, andsaid, 'The game goes to me.'I thought Mr D was going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, buthe just sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latinteacher. 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-perfectperformance 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 reallymad. 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 toOlympus.''Mount Olympus,' I said. 'You're telling me there really is a palace there?''Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home ofthe gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be onMount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways,but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do.''You mean the Greek gods are here? Like... in America?''Well, certainly. The gods move with the heart of the West.''The what?''Come now, Percy. What you call "Western civilization". Do you think it'sjust an abstract concept? No, it's a living force. A collective consciousness thathas burned bright for thousands of years. The gods are part of it. You might evensay they are the source of it, or at least, they are tied so tightly to it that theycouldn't possibly fade, not unless all of Western civilization were obliterated.The fire started in Greece. Then, as you well know – or as I hope you know,since you passed my course – the heart of the fire moved to Rome, and so did thegods. Oh, different names, perhaps – Jupiter for Zeus, Venus for Aphrodite, andso on – but the same forces, the same gods.''And then they died.''Died? No. Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France,to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there.They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at thearchitecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for thelast three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the mostimportant buildings. And yes, Percy, of course they are now in your UnitedStates. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheusin Rockefeller Center, the Greek facades of your government buildings inWashington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are notprominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not – and believe me, plentyof people weren't very fond of Rome, either – America is now the heart of theflame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we arehere.'It was all too much, especially the fact that I seemed to be included inChiron's we, as if I were part of some club.'Who are you, Chiron? Who... who am I?'Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of hiswheelchair, but I knew that was impossible. He was paralysed from the waistdown.'Who are you,' he mused. 'Well, that's the question we all want answered,isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will benew friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, therewill be toasted marshmallows at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore them.'And then he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd aboutthe way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move.His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I thought he waswearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he kept rising out of the chair,taller than any man, I realized that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; itwas the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And thewheelchair wasn't a chair. It was some kind of container, an enormous box onwheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all ofhim. A leg came out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Thenanother front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but ametal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.I stared at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge whitestallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher,smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk.'What a relief the centaur said. 'I'd been cooped up in there so long, myfetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy Jackson. Let's meet the othercampers.'