Eye of Hecate

Leo

I haven't felt this jumpy since Ozzy offered tofu burgers to the werewolves. When I get to the limestone cliff in the forest, I turn to the group and smile nervously. "Here we go."

I will my hand to catch fire, and set it against the door.

My cabinmates gasp.

"Leo!" Nyssa cries. "You're a fire user!"

"Yeah, thanks," I say. "I know."

Jake Mason, who's out of his body cast but still on crutches, says, "Holy Hephaestus. That means—it's so rare that—"

The massive stone door swings open, and everyone's mouth drops. My flaming hand seems insignificant now. Even Ozzy, Piper, and Jason look stunned, and they've seen enough amazing things lately.

Only Chiron doesn't look surprised. The centaur knits his bushy eyebrows and strokes his beard, as if the group is about to walk through a minefield.

That makes me even more nervous, but I can't change my mind now. My instincts tell me I'm meant to share this place—at least with the Hephaestus cabin—and I can't hide it from Chiron, or my two best friends, or my new girlfriend.

"Welcome to Bunker Nine," I say, as confidently as I can. "C'mon in."

The group is silent as they tour the facility. Everything is just as I left it—giant machines, worktables, old maps and schematics. Only one thing has changed. Festus's head is sitting on the central table, still battered and scorched from his final crash in Omaha.

I go over to it, a bitter taste in my mouth, and stroke the dragon's forehead. "I'm sorry, Festus. But I won't forget you."

Jason puts a hand on my shoulder. "Hephaestus brought it here for you?"

I nod.

"But you can't repair him," Jason guesses.

"No way," I say. "But the head is going to be reused. Festus will be going with us."

Piper comes over and frowns. "What do you mean?"

Ozzy joins my side, lacing her fingers in mine. We talked about a lot this morning, including what we think is coming next. "He means—"

Before she can finish, Nyssa cries out, "Guys, look at this!"

She's standing at one of the worktables, flipping through a sketchbook—diagrams for hundreds of different machines and weapons.

"I've never seen anything like these," Nyssa says. "There are more amazing ideas here than in Daedalus's workshop. It would take a century just to prototype them all."

"Who built this place?" Jake Mason says. "And why?"

Chiron stays silent, but I focus on the wall map I saw during my first visit. It shows Camp Half-Blood with a line of triremes in the Sound, catapults mounted in the hills around the valley, and spots marked for traps, trenches, and ambush sites.

"It's a wartime command center," I say. "The camp was attacked once, wasn't it?"

"In the Titan War?" Ozzy asks.

Nyssa shakes her head. "No. Besides, that map looks really old. The date...does that say 1864?"

We all turn to Chiron.

The centaur's tail swishes fretfully. "This camp has been attacked many times," he admits. "That map is from the last Civil War."

Apparently, I'm not the only one confused. The other Hephaestus campers look at each other and frown.

"Civil War..." Piper says. "You mean the American Civil War, like a hundred and fifty years ago?"

"Yes and no," Chiron says. "The two conflicts—mortal and demigod—mirrored each other, as they usually do in Western history. Look at any civil war or revolution from the fall of Rome onward, and it marks a time when demigods also fought one another. But that Civil War was particularly horrible. For American mortals, it is still their bloodiest conflict of all time—worse than their casualties in the two World Wars. For demigods, it was equally devastating. Even back then, this valley was Camp Half-Blood. There was a horrible battle in these woods lasting for days, with terrible losses on both sides."

"Both sides," I say. "You mean the camp split apart?"

"No," Jason speaks up. "He means two different groups. Camp Half-Blood was one side in the war."

I'm not sure I want an answer, but I ask, "Who was the other?"

Chiron glances up at the tattered BUNKER 9 banner, as if remembering the day it was raised.

"The answer is dangerous," he warns. "It is something I swore upon the River Styx never to speak of. After the American Civil War, the gods were so horrified by the toll it took on their children, that they swore it would never happen again. The two groups were separated. The gods bent all their will, wove the Mist as tightly as they could, to make sure the enemies never remembered each other, never met on their quests, so that bloodshed could be avoided. This map is from the final dark days of 1864, the last time the two groups fought. We've had several close calls since then. The nineteen sixties were particularly dicey. But we've managed to avoid another civil war—at least so far. Just as Leo guessed, this bunker was a command center for the Hephaestus cabin. In the last century, it has been reopened a few times, usually as a hiding place in times of great unrest. But coming here is dangerous. It stirs old memories, awakens the old feuds. Even when the Titans threatened last year, I did not think it worth the risk to use this place."

Suddenly my sense of triumph turns to guilt. "Hey, look, this place found me. It was meant to happen. It's a good thing."

"I hope you're right," Chiron says.

"I am!" I pull the old drawing out of my pocket and spread it on the table for everyone to see.

"There," I say proudly. "Aeolus returned that to me. I drew it when I was five. That's my destiny."

Ozzy gasps, but no one else does.

Nyssa frowns. "Leo, it's a crayon drawing of a boat."

Ozzy rolls her eyes. "Look." She points at the largest schematic on the bulletin board—the blueprint showing a Greek trireme. Slowly, my cabinmates' eyes widen as they compare the two designs. The number of masts and oars, even the decorations on the shields and sails are exactly the same as on my drawing.

"That's impossible," Nyssa says. "That blueprint has to be a century old at least."

"'Prophecy—Unclear—Flight,'" Jake Mason reads from the notes on the blueprint. "It's a diagram for a flying ship. Look, that's the landing gear. And weaponry—Holy Hephaestus: rotating ballista, mounted crossbows, Celestial bronze plating. That thing would be one spankin' hot war machine. Was it ever made?"

"Not yet," I say. "Look at the masthead."

There's no doubt—the figure at the front of the ship is the head of a dragon. A very particular dragon.

"Festus," Piper says. Everyone turns and looks at the dragon's head sitting on the table.

"He's meant to be our masthead," I say. "Our good luck charm, our eyes at sea. I'm supposed to build this ship. I'm gonna call it the Argo II. And guys, I'll need your help."

"The Argo II." Piper smiles. "After Jason's ship."

Jason looks a little uncomfortable, but he nods. "Leo's right. That ship is just what we need for our journey."

"What journey?" Nyssa says. "You just got back!"

Ozzy runs her fingers over the old crayon drawing, surely remembering the day it was made. "We've got to confront Porphyrion, the giant king. He said he would destroy the gods at their roots."

"Indeed," Chiron says. "Much of Rachel's Great Prophecy is still a mystery to me, but one thing is clear. You four—Ozzy, Jason, Piper, and Leo—are among the eight demigods who must take on that quest. You must confront the giants in their homeland, where they are strongest. You must stop them before they can wake Gaea fully, before they destroy Mount Olympus."

"Um..." Nyssa shifts. "You don't mean Manhattan, do you?"

"No," I say. "The original Mount Olympus. We have to sail to Greece."
It takes a few minutes for that to settle in. Then the other Hephaestus campers start asking questions all at once. Who are the other four demigods? How long will it take to build the boat? Why doesn't everyone get to go to Greece?

"Heroes!" Chiron strikes his hoof on the floor. "All the details are not clear yet, but Leo is correct. He will need your help to build the Argo II. It is perhaps the greatest project Cabin Nine has even undertaken, even greater than the bronze dragon."

"It'll take a year at least," Nyssa guesses. "Do we have that much time?"

"You have six months at most," Chiron says. "You should sail by summer solstice, when the gods' power is strongest. Besides, we evidently cannot trust the wind gods, and the summer winds are the least powerful and easiest to navigate. You dare not sail any later, or you may be too late to stop the giants. You must avoid ground travel, using only air and sea, so this vehicle is perfect. Jason being the son of the sky god..."

His voice trails off, but I figure Chiron is thinking about his missing student, Percy Jackson, the son of Poseidon. He would be good on this voyage, too.

Jake Mason turns to me. "Well, one thing's for sure. You are now senior counselor. This is the biggest honor the cabin has ever had. Anyone object?"

Nobody does. All my cabinmates smile at me, and I can almost feel our cabin's curse breaking, their sense of hopelessness melting away.

"It's official, then," Jake says. "You're the man."

For once, I'm speechless. Ever since my mom died, I've spent my life on the run. Now I've found a home and a family. I've found a job to do. And as scary as it is, I'm not tempted to run—not even a little.

Ozzy grins at me and gives an overly enthusiastic thumbs up. 

"Well," I say at last, "if you guys elect me leader, you must be even crazier than I am. So let's build a spankin' hot war machine!"