Maze of Memories

Suprise guest

Before dinner, Tyson Percy and I went down to the sword arena. Quintus was glad to have company. He still wouldn't tell us what was in the wooden crates, but he did teach us a few sword moves. The guy was good. He fought the way some people play chess—like he was putting all the moves together and you couldn't see the pattern until he made the last stroke and won with a sword at your throat.

"Good try," he told me. "But your guard is too low."

He lunged and I blocked.

"Have you always been a swordsman?" I asked.

He parried my overhead cut. "I've been many things."

He jabbed and I sidestepped. His shoulder strap slipped down, and I saw that mark on his neck—the purple blotch. But it wasn't a random mark. It had a definite shape—a bird with folded wings, like a quail or something.

"What's that on your neck?" I asked, which was probably a rude question, but you can blame my ADHD. I tend to just blurt things out. Quintus lost his rhythm. I hit his sword hilt and knocked the blade out of his hand.

He rubbed his fingers. Then he shifted his armor to hide the mark. It wasn't a tattoo, I realized. It was an old burn...like he'd been branded.

"A reminder." He picked up his sword and forced a smile. "Now, shall we go again?"

He pressed me and Percy hard, not giving us time for any more questions. While we fought, Tyson played with Mrs. O'Leary, who he called the "little doggie." They had a great time wrestling for the bronze shield and playing Get the Greek. By sunset, Quintus hadn't even broken a sweat, which seemed kind of strange; but Tyson, Percy and I were hot and stick, so we hit the showers and got ready for dinner.

I was feeling good. It was almost like a normal day at camp. Then dinner came, and all the campers lined up by cabin and marched into the dining pavilion. Most of them ignored the sealed fissure in the marble floor at the entrance—a ten-foot-long jagged scar that hadn't been there last summer, but I was careful to step over it.

"Big crack," Tyson said when we were at our table. "Earthquake, maybe?"

"No," Percy said. "Not an earthquake."

I wasn't sure he would tell him. It was a secret only Percy, Annabeth, Grover, Christine and I knew. But looking in Tyson's big eye, I knew he couldn't hide it from him.

"Nico di Angelo," Percy said, lowering my voice. "He's this half-blood kid we brought to camp last winter. He, uh...he asked me to guard his sister on a quest, and I failed. She died. Now he blames me."

Tyson frowned. "So, he put a crack in the floor?"

"These skeletons attacked us," he said. "Nico told them to go away, and the ground just opened and swallowed them. Nico..." he looked around to make sure no one was listening. "Nico is a son of Hades."

Tyson nodded thoughtfully. "The god of dead people."

"Yeah."

"So the Nico boy is gone now?"

"I tried to search for him this spring. So did Christine. But we didn't have any luck. This is secret, Tyson. Okay? If anyone found out he was a son of Hades, he would be in danger. You can't even tell Chiron." I said being a little serious with him,

"The bad prophecy," Tyson said. "Titans might use him if they knew."

I stared at him. Sometimes it was easy to forget that as big and childlike as he was, Tyson was pretty smart. He knew that the next child of the Big Three gods—Zeus, Poseidon, or Hades—who turned sixteen was prophesied to either save or destroy Mount Olympus. Most people assumed that meant Percy, but if he died before I turned sixteen, the prophecy could just as easily apply to Nico.

"Exactly," Percy said. "So—"

"Mouth sealed," Tyson promised. "Like the crack in the ground."

***

Resting in my bunk, sleep eluded me, and I found solace in staring at the constellations that adorned the cabin ceiling. Among them, the constellation of the huntress stood out, a subtle reminder of a parting gift from my mother before she left last winter. The twinkling stars seemed to whisper tales of the hunt, reminding me of Zoe Nightshade.

Zoe, the formidable second-in-command of the Hunters, had once selected me to accompany her on a quest. At the time, her decision appeared perplexing – denying Percy participation due to his gender while insisting on my presence with cryptic reasoning: "He is more important than I realized. I need thee on my quest." Back then, the motive eluded me, clouded by the belief that I was a son of Apollo, a clever ruse conceived to safeguard me from the harsh realities is the gods found out.

As I lay under the canopy of simulated stars, the pieces of the puzzle began to align in retrospect. Zoe's choice had been influenced by my lineage, my connection to the divine, Artemis. The realization of my true parentage brought clarity, reshaping my understanding of the intricate web of relationships that bound us demigods to the whims of the gods. The constellation above seemed to hold secrets, echoing the untold stories of my journey and the enigmatic forces that guided it.

The cabin was bathed in a soft glow, and my thoughts continued to dance between the past and the present. The creak of the cabin door interrupted the quietude, and I turned my attention to its slow swing. Christine, a used-to-be Hunter with silver eyes that mirrored the moon's radiance, entered the room with an air of purpose.

"Orion," she greeted, her voice a melodic ripple in the tranquility of the night.

"Christine," I responded, a little flustered for her suddenly being here. The silvered light cast a subtle sheen on her features, accentuating the stoic grace that characterized the Hunters. In the moonlight she was beautiful.

"I noticed you couldn't find rest either," Christine remarked, her gaze shifting to the constellation-laden ceiling.

"The stars tell tales," I mused, "of quests undertaken and destinies intertwined."

"You sound like your mother!" She said while chuckling, she held her hand over her moth to not make too much noise. She looked cute while she laughed. I shrugged.

Christine settled on the bunk across from mine, her expression thoughtful. "Artemis's presence is strong tonight. I believe she watches over us."

I nodded in agreement, recognizing the divine influence that shaped our lives. "Have you found what you looked for, leaving the Hunt temporarily?" I asked, alluding to the unspoken understanding that Artemis had her own motives in orchestrating Christine's proximity to me.

Christine sighed, her eyes reflecting a complex mix of duty and personal conflict. "Artemis believes there's more to your story. Something beyond the mortal and immortal realms. I am to keep watch and, if needed, guide."

As the weight of Artemis's intentions lingered in the air, a soft knock echoed through the cabin. Christine and I exchanged a glance, both aware that the presence at the door held significance. With a sense of anticipation, I rose from my bunk, and Christine approached the door to answer the call.

As the door swung open, revealing the night beyond, a shiver of uncertainty mingled with the cosmic energy that enveloped the Artemis cabin. 

"Mother?" I said bewildered.