The New Trinity -- Percy Jackson Batman Crossover -- The Olympian Heroes Book 4

32. Annabeth

There were too many good-byes.
That night was the first time I actually saw camp burial shrouds used on bodies, and it was not something I wanted to see again.
Among the dead, Lee Fletcher from the Apollo cabin had been downed by a giant’s club. He was wrapped in a golden shroud without any decoration. The son of Dionysus who’d gone down fighting an enemy half-blood was wrapped in a deep purple shroud embroidered with grapevines.
His name was Castor. His twin brother, Pollux, tried to say a few words, but he choked up and just took the torch. He lit the funeral pyre in the middle of the amphitheater, and within seconds the row of shrouds was engulfed in fire, sending smoke and sparks up to the stars.
We spent the next day treating the wounded, which was almost everybody. The satyrs and dryads worked to repair the damage to the woods.
At noon, the Council of Cloven Elders held an emergency meeting in their sacred grove. The three senior satyrs were there, along with Chiron, who was in wheelchair form. His broken horse leg was still mending, so he would be confined to the chair for a few months, until the leg was strong enough to take his weight. The grove was filled with satyrs and dryads and naiads up from the water—hundreds of them, anxious to hear what would happen. Juniper, Percy, and I stood by Grover’s side.
Silenus wanted to exile Grover immediately, but Chiron persuaded him to at least hear evidence first, so we told everyone what had happened in the crystal cavern, and what Pan had said. Then several eyewitnesses from the battle described the weird sound Grover had made, which drove the Titan’s army back underground.
“It was panic,” insisted Juniper. “Grover summoned the power of the wild god.”
“Panic?” Percy asked
“Percy,” Chiron explained, “during the first war of the gods and the Titans, Lord Pan let forth a horrible cry that scared away the enemy armies. It is—it was his greatest power—a massive wave of fear that helped the gods win the day. The word panic is named after
Pan, you see. And Grover used that power, calling it forth from within himself.”
“Preposterous!” Silenus bellowed. “Sacrilege! Perhaps the wild god favored us with a blessing. Or perhaps Grover’s music was so awful it scared the enemy away!”
“That wasn’t it, sir,” Grover said. He sounded a lot calmer than I would have if I’d been insulted like that. “He let his spirit pass into all of us. We must act. Each of us must work to renew the wild, to protect what’s left of it. We must spread the word. Pan is dead. There is no one but us.”
“After two thousand years of searching, this is what you would have us believe?” Silenus cried. “Never! We must continue the search! Exile the traitor!”
Some of the older satyrs muttered assent.
“A vote!” Silenus demanded. “Who would believe this ridiculous young satyr, anyway?”
“I would,” said a familiar voice.
Everyone turned. Striding into the grove was Dionysus. He wore a formal black suit, so I almost didn’t recognize him, a deep purple tie and violet dress shirt, his curly dark hair carefully combed. His eyes were bloodshot as usual, and his pudgy face was flushed, but he looked like he was suffering from grief more than wine-withdrawal.
The satyrs all stood respectfully and bowed as he approached. Dionysus waved his hand, and a new chair grew out of the ground next to Silenus’s—a throne made of grapevines.
Dionysus sat down and crossed his legs. He snapped his fingers and satyr hurried forward with a plate of cheese and crackers and a Diet Coke.
The god of wine looked around at the assembled crowd. “Miss me?”
The satyrs fell over themselves nodding and bowing. “Oh, yes, very much, sire!”
“Well, I did not miss this place!” Dionysus snapped. “I bear bad news, my friends. Evil news. The minor gods are changing sides. Morpheus has gone over to the enemy. Hecate, Janus, and
Nemesis, as well. Zeus knows how many more.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Strike that,” Dionysus said. “Even Zeus doesn’t know. Now, I want to hear Grover’s story. Again, from the top.”
“But, my lord,” Silenus protested. “It’s just nonsense!”
Dionysus’s eyes flared with purple fire. “I have just learned that my son Castor is dead, Silenus. I am not in a good mood. You would do well to humor me.”
Silenus gulped, and waved at Grover to start again.
When Grover was done, Mr. D nodded. “It sounds like just the sort of thing Pan would do. Grover is right. The search is tiresome. You must start thinking for yourselves.” He turned to a satyr. “Bring me some peeled grapes, right away!”
“Yes, sire!” The satyr scampered off.
“We must exile the traitor!” Silenus insisted.
“I say no,” Dionysus countered. “That is my vote.”
“I vote no as well,” Chiron put in.
Silenus set his jaw stubbornly. “All in favor of the exile?”
He and the two other old satyrs raised their hands.
“Three to two,” Silenus said.
“Ah, yes,” Dionysus said. “But unfortunately for you, a god’s vote counts twice. And as I voted against, we are tied.”
Silenus stood, indignant. “This is an outrage! The council cannot stand at an impasse.”
“Then let it be dissolved!” Mr. D said. “I don’t care.”
Silenus bowed stiffly, along with his two friends, and they left the grove. About twenty satyrs went with them. The rest stood around murmuring uncomfortably.
“Don’t worry,” Grover told them. “We don’t need the council to tell us what to do. We can figure it out ourselves.”
He told them again the words of Pan—how they must save the wild a little at a time. He started dividing the satyrs into groups—which ones would go to the national parks, which ones would search out the last wild places, which ones would defend the parks in the big cities.
“Well,” I said to Percy “Grover seems to be growing up.”