#And a Pax... I'll need a spare Pax handy....

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

             The Versatility of a Guitar String

                                       I

 Warning: Depictions of Violence.

***

           “Forget your family.”

           Flynn’s melody murmured in my dreams like the silkiest spider threads rocking a slumberer’s hammock. “You deserve to enjoy this: the start of your new life. Let yourself forget.”

           Her words cradled my mind in a tranquilizing solace. At the time, the only response I could utter was, “What other family? You’re all the family I need.”

 --Memoirs of a Talking Head[1]

 ***

         When Jack agreed to tear down the gods, he didn’t think it would involve him snorkeling in a toilet.

         It did.

         Jack thrashed and twisted, barely getting a gulp of air before being submerged again. His orange converses squeaked uselessly against the bathroom’s floor tiles.

         The girl shoving his head into the water bowl was much stronger and larger than he, despite being several years younger. Between dunkings, her and her friends’ laughter reverberated off the walls.

         This, unfortunately, wasn’t the first time someone had forced Jack to be well acquainted with the most vital part of a restroom. Last time, Ms. Daisy Blackwell, one of the prettiest girls at his church, had taken Jack behind the church after his solo at one of their concerts. She had said she wanted him to sing to her. When Tommy Higgles, her boyfriend, found out that she asked Jack to do more than sing to her, he and his friends cornered Jack in the boys’ bathroom at school.

         Last time, Tommy had emptied all of Jack’s medication into the toilet bowl. “That straightening out your memory, freak!” Tom had shouted.

         This time, the water was cleaner. Or, at least, it wouldn’t give him an overdose as he choked on it.

         Last time, Jack had no idea it was going to happen. Ms. Blackwell had heard Jack “confused” things a lot, and that he was “confused’ about her relations with Tommy. But, afterwards, Ms. Blackwell wouldn’t acknowledge him in public, or that anything had happened between the two of them, like the other boys and girls that had taken an interest in Jack at his small high school.

         This time, Luke had warned Jack that it was a Camp Half-Blood hazing ritual, one from which Luke could not spare him. Jack had to either fight off a hulking daughter of Ares or get humiliated.

         Despite the warning, Jack felt himself thinking the same thing he had before: I’m going to drown.

         The water seeped into his lungs during his squirming. Pressure mounted in his chest. There wasn’t enough time to cough. Panic made his heartbeat thud inside his head. His head smacked into the toilet bowl with each thrash.

         The worst difference surfaced as he forced his limbs to stop fighting. Last time, Jack knew he would reach eternal salvation if he died the humiliating death of a toilet warrior. This time, as Jack willed his body to give up, he wondered, Do half-bloods even have souls?

         The fingers clenching his hair pulled his head back, stretching his body in a strained arch.

         He sputtered and coughed out the water.

         Clarisse La Rue’s sneer loomed in his peripheral. “Had enough of a swim?”

         At least there was a toilet directly in front of him, so no one would have to clean up the content of his lungs and stomach. That would be rude to any godly janitorial staff. He hacked, unable to talk for a moment.

         Clarisse released him.

         Jack barely missed cracking his head against the toilet bowl. Blurrily, he searched around, trying to prop himself up on the cool, slick floor.

         The laughter echoed around the room. The massive girl stood.

         “Why?” Jack finally choked out.

         “To show you the pecking order,” Clarisse said. She and her friends got up and left the bathroom stalls.

         Jack trembled. The first time he tried to get up, his legs felt like jelly. Finally, he got to his feet and stumbled to the sinks. He turned one on and dunked his head under, reminding himself that he was in control of the water rinsing him off.

         The monsters on the Princess Andromeda had been way nicer on his first day. They at least ignored him or said he smelled good.

         Someone shook Jack’s shoulder.

         He flinched.

         “Hey, we’re not really supposed to be in the girl’s bathroom.”

         Jack tried to look through the water at his escort: a thirteen-year-old child of Apollo named Ryan. He had tan skin and an athletic build. Once he got Jack’s attention, he crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

         After a few more moments of feeling the water against the back of his head and his neck, Jack shut the sink off. He let his dripping bangs plaster onto his face and soak his flannel shirt. The top was already drenched. As it turned out, toilet water: not refreshing.

         “Why didn’t you help?” Jack asked. To still be there, Ryan must have stood by the entrance the whole time, watching.

         Ryan’s expression was skeptical. Like everyone else who had commented on how old Jack was, Ryan seemed disappointed by what he saw. “You think I can put a dent in a child of Ares?”

         Jack shrugged. “You could have run to get help.”

         “No one is going to help against Clarisse.”

         No wonder Luke hates Ares and his children.

         Although the room felt warm with the climate control, Jack hugged himself. It took every ounce of control not to tug at his hair and to, instead, dig his fingers deep into his ribs. He promised himself he wouldn’t mess this mission up and that meant acting as normal as possible.

Mission? Quest? Had Kronos called it a quest?

         This was the exact time Jack should be asking Ryan questions. Phil and Luke both said Jack was perfect for this type of quest, because he was so unassuming and genuinely curious when asking questions. Charming and harmless, as Ms. Blackwell had teased him.

         “Doesn’t that bother you?” Jack asked. “Were you dunked?”

         Jack tried to imagine coming in here as a young kid, before he met Flynn and knew Greek monsters were real. He would have thought this was whole place was a cruel prank or a bad dream.

         “All new people get dunked,” Ryan said. He looked impatient. “You get over it.”

         Jack felt like his tongue was four times too large. That didn’t seem right, but he doubted saying so would get him any points with Ryan.

         Only twenty-four hours, Jack reminded himself. Twenty-four hours before Luke, Lucille, Lou Ellen, and I need to get out. You can be normal for twenty-four hours.

         He hoped.    

Summer solstice was a day away. From what Luke got out of a quick Iris Message and a dream vision with Kronos, some kid named Percy Jackson should be starting some massive war with the gods. Percy should have been be dragged into Tartarus with something called the Master Bolt. Then, this camp wouldn’t be safe. It would crumble into a battlefield between the gods.

         “Just remember when Clarisse dunks you that she’ll be killed in the crossfire. I’ll make sure of it,” Luke had said.

         Jack didn’t want Clarisse and her friends to be killed in the crossfire. He just wanted her to be less mean. Seeing her in person, the former seemed much more likely.

         Ryan sighed. “Come on. Let’s see if you you’re as bad at horseback riding as you are with archery.”

         Jack shuffled forward. He guessed Ryan didn’t intend to sound so critical, but no one at camp could believe Jack had survived on his own for so long, being a son of Apollo. Although Phil immediately stated that Jack had been claimed—he hadn’t, whatever ‘claiming’ meant—whispers went around that maybe he was supposed to be in the Aphrodite cabin instead.

         “At least he’s good for the girls to look at. Don’t think he’ll do much in the coming war,” he had heard Lee Fletcher, his cabin counselor, muttering when Jack accidentally elbowed Chiron in the chest during their archery lesson.

         Jack knew he wouldn’t have survived on his own, but Luke had him under strict orders not to mention Flynn or Luke or anything about Kronos. As for that day, they didn’t know each other, which was a real shame. Jack wanted Luke to show him Thalia’s pine tree.

         The rest of the training was similar. Fortunately, his cabin mates—is that what they were called?—and Chiron were too distracted by the fights that kept breaking out between the children of Athena and Jack’s siblings. Something about Poseidon being in the right to take a stand against Zeus? Jack had only recently learned the gods and titans were real. He couldn’t keep the internal bickering straight.

         Most people were too distracted and tense to pay Jack much attention for the rest of training, which was a problem. That meant he couldn’t complete his mission either. He hoped Lucille was having more luck in the Aphrodite Cabin and Lou Ellen in the… where had Luke said she’d go?

         Luke’s words haunted him. “Either we turn them or we consider them sword fodder. Anyone on the Olympic side will need to die, so you’re doing them a favor if you can show them how corrupt the Olympians are.”

         Flynn, Jack’s girlfriend, understood immediately. That’s why Luke had sent her on a mission to a place called New Rome. Luke said that would be too difficult for Jack to tag along.

         This quest was a test for Jack, Lucille, and Lou Ellen: a way to prove they were worthy of Kronos’ next world.

         Like introducing people to Jesus, Jack mused. He remembered walking through the sterile halls of Botin’s Hill Hospital, how the sick welcomed him inside to hear him sing church songs. Pity he didn’t know any about our savor, Kronos.

Jack frowned. Luke and Phil kept saying he could heal people with his song. But, the sick people didn’t always get better when he sang. Sometimes…

         “Jake, right?”

         Jack flinched. The Apollo cabin was setting up for the campfire. He’d zoned out, watching as the Hephaestus campers stoked the flames. Everyone else referred to the cabins by numbers, but Jack couldn’t keep those numbers straight, so he tried to catalogue everyone by the few gods he did know.

         A friendly, blond nineteen-year-old stood beside him. The familiar scar made Jack grin, despite his feelings of being a failure. He shouldn’t want to talk to Luke. That would mean reporting that he’d had no luck converting any of his siblings, or even seeing if they could be converted down the road. The children of Apollo seemed to love their—his—dad wholeheartedly, though Jack hadn’t gotten any specific person’s story yet.

         Luke squeezed Jack’s shoulder. “How’s your first day going? You came in at a rough time.”

         Jack knew that Luke had to pretend they’d never met before, but the convincing, detached quality of Luke’s voice was demoralizing, especially with how he got his name wrong.

         Jack managed to nod at him. He hadn’t realized that, when he sat down on the log, he’d pulled his knees up and was rocking.

         Almost frantic, Jack straightened out his legs and stopped rocking. Normal for one day. Normal for one day. He repeated to himself. Then, he could tell Flynn that he’d done a quest, right? He could show Luke that he’d be worthwhile in his army. Besides, the campfire was all about singing. This is where Jack could shine.

         Jack gave Luke a much more confident smile.

         “Just keep it together, buddy,” Luke said, his grip on Jack’s shoulder becoming uncomfortable. “I’m sure the rest of your night will be a success—”

         Another camper, an Athena boy, raised his voice in middle of a discussion, drowning out Luke. “—maybe because someone needs to keep order in this camp—”

         “Oh, can it! You’re still pissy at Poseidon for a rivalry that you won. Get over it! There’s no reason you’d be on Zeus’ side otherwise!” one of Jack’s siblings shouted at the Athena camper.

         More shouts broke out. The campfire flickered uncomfortable, dark red. The flames looked too low on the wood to still be lit.

Jack felt like something was about to go wrong, something important.

         One of the Ares campers shoved the Athena kid—Malcolm? He stumbled, barely dodging around the fire. He slammed into another camper to keep his balance. And—

         The movement was too fast for Jack to dodge, not that he would have thought to.

         One of Jack’s siblings toppled backwards.

         Pain flared in Jack’s throat, as the kid’s—Will’s?—elbow smashed into Jack’s windpipe. Will hadn’t meant to, he’d been trying to pinwheel to keep his balance—

         Jack flopped backwards, clutching at his neck. He coughed. Each breath rasped painfully.

         Hands gripped Jack’s shoulders. They dug into his skin, dragging him away from the campfire. Another member of his cabin went to pummel Malcolm, even though the incident hadn’t been Malcolm’s fault.

         The yells were jumbled. The bodies crashed into a scuffle—they looked more like a random mob of strangers than cousins and siblings. All Jack could think was, My throat—Dear God—can I still sing?! What if they crushed it? What if they crushed my windpipe?

         A more logical part of him said that his windpipe would be fine. He needed a few minutes to recover. That would be it, right? What am I without a voice? That’s my only useful trait. Would Flynn want me anymore?

         He wheezed.

         Whoever was dragging him pulled him up onto his feet.

         The pain lessened, but the panic made Jack clutch at his neck. He tried to talk. His voice came out a squeaky rasp.

         He expected Luke to be his savor, to be chastising him for over-dramatics.

         The person beside him was a foot too short.

         “Come on. We have throat lozenges in the cabin,” Ryan said. He released Jack and started walking back towards the housing.

         Jack pointed frantically back to where the campfire had become a battle zone. The Ares and Apollo campers teamed up against Athena. A centaur already stood in the fray, pulling teenagers off each other.

         “Chiron will take care of it,” Ryan said, “We plenty outnumber Cabin Six and you’ll be in the way if you stay.” This time, the irritation in Ryan’s voice was unmistakable. “You’re really not cut out for this, are you? You had plenty of time to move.”

         Jack trembled. He reminded himself that Ryan, like other kids that had mocked him, was a child of God’s and that all God’s children were…

         Something flipped in Jack’s head. They weren’t equal, were they? And God—the gods—didn’t love them equally. Luke said that Percy Jackson—the son of Poseidon that Luke had framed for the thievery of the Master Bolt—that kid could control water. Thalia had been able to shoot lightning. These gods, the Greek gods, didn’t treat them as equal, else Thalia wouldn’t be a pine tree.

         By the time Jack got enough of his voice back to talk, they approached the golden exterior of Apollo’s empty cabin. “You seem like such a natural,” Jack said. His voice was raspy, but functional.

         A tightness squeezed Jack’s stomach when he examined his little half-brother. Throughout all the training that day, Ryan had excelled.

         Ryan sighed. Tension released from his shoulders as he opened the cabin door. He paused. After a moment, Ryan held the door open for Jack. “My mom told me I was a half-blood when I was very little. She knew Apollo was a god, so she set me up with archery lessons as soon as I could pull back a bow. She was a pediatrician and let me play with all of her college text books.” He shrugged. “The other campers think I’ll surpass Chiron with a bow one day, and I’m already a better healer than Will, but I had a head start.”

         This is was it! What Jack was supposed to be doing all day! Getting his new cabin mates to open up: about themselves, their feelings about being demigods, their opinions of their parents. For some reason, Jack didn’t feel better about the success. The tightness in his stomach squeezed until he felt his breath going short again. He wanted Ryan to shut up.

         “You knew the monsters were real,” Jack said. He hadn’t realized that would be an option. He stepped inside.

         “Well, yea, we all did,” Ryan said like it was obvious. The cabin door shut behind them. No one else was around. Ryan walked past the corner stacked with instruments to the medicine cabinet. He withdrew the lozenges and handed them to Jack.

         Jack frowned, examining the packaging: ambrosia coated. Even with simple things like pain killers, he always checked ingredients in case they conflicted with his medication. Jack popped one in his mouth and bit down hard.

         Everyone knew that you were supposed to suck on lozenges; but, Jack wanted a sharp sensation in his mouth. Cinnamon spiked his taste buds.

         Ryan gave Jack a wary look. “Listen, Jack, maybe you’d be better off at home with your mortal family,” he said. “It’s not that we don’t want you here, I just don’t know if this is the safest place for you with this war brewing. Tomorrow, Summer Solstice, this camp might be about to explode, and you’re not really trained for combat yet…”

         Ryan looked genuinely concerned. “We can loan you a weapon from the armory. Since you’ve made it so long without any help, I doubt your aura is that strong or ever will be strong enough to attract monsters. It’s not that we don’t want you here—or that Dad doesn’t want you here. I mean, he claimed you. That’s a big deal. It means he loves you and all, but—”

         Jack bit down harder on the lozenge, wanting to crush it. He hadn’t been claimed.

         “How soon were you claimed?” Jack interrupted. The twisting in his stomach kept getting tighter. He felt like he was on the cusp of something important and that something would make all the tension disappear. It had to do with what Ryan was saying, but he wanted the kid to stop talking.

         “As soon as I stepped foot into camp,” Ryan said. He rocked onto his tiptoes, like he was getting impatient to go back outside. His gaze shifted back to the door as though the eye motion could shove Jack back out.

         Jack hugged himself. “Apollo… Dad. You speak really highly of him.”

         Ryan glanced at the door again, then back at Jack. He sighed, rolling back onto his heels. “Yea… I—I owe Dad. He’s kinda awesome.”

         These campers seemed to know so much more about him. How could you say that a Dad you’ve never met was awesome? Had Ryan met him?

         At Jack’s silence, Ryan got a sad smile on his face. “I guess I can tell you about it. My mom never fell in love after him. She said it was impossible after she had a full summer with him—”

         A one night stand. A one night mistake, Jack remembered his mother assuring Steve about his conception, when Steven got nervous about the guy before him. They thought Jack hadn’t come downstairs for a nighttime snack. His Mom had never held that one night stand against Jack, had she?

         “—so I was raised with my cousins like they were my siblings. My older cousin, Cindy, she was diagnosed with leukemia. Mom and I prayed to Apollo every night and I sang to her every night for a week. She… she got better. Way faster than medicine by itself should have allowed—”

         The package slipped from Jack’s fingers.

         The individually wrapped lozenges scattered across the cabin floor.

         “Wow—you okay, dude? You look like you’re about to be sick,” Ryan said. The smile vanished from his face. He knelt down, plucking some lozenges from the ground.

         Jack should have apologized. He should have knelt down to help. Normal for one day, echoed in his mind. The thought couldn’t penetrate his other ones. It couldn’t stop his hands from clutching at his hair.

         What would it have been like? To grow up with a family that knew what was happening to him, to know he wasn’t crazy. Not to be medicated. Or outcast. No “you’re just confused, sweetie.” No, “All children are equal in the eyes of God.”

         In that instance, Jack realized something. People treated life like it was a living thing that chose to be fair or unfair. It wasn’t. It just existed. People were made unequal. They would be treated unequal. These gods, their gods, played favorites.

         “Ryan…” Jack whispered, trying not to hyperventilate. “You saved your cousin with your singing. Could you kill someone with your singing?”

         His vision had tunneled. All Jack could see was the smaller boy, crouched under the instrument table, gathering a lozenge from a guitar. There were spare strings on the table. When Ryan put his hand on the table for balance, he knocked them to the side.

         Then, Jack couldn’t see Ryan.

Shelby was the worst. Her body was sprawled in the middle of the hallway, on top of Charger, their German Sheppard. The other bodies—those Jack could easily pretend weren’t real. But, Shelby, had face-planted in a pool of her own vomit. The bile plastered her black hair around the wooden floor like a drowned victim’s hair splayed into a water halo… She was impossible to ignore. Jack had to carefully edge his way around her and Charger’s bodies, hoping the real one would show up and tell him to stop being silly, and terrified the real one would show up since they might increase his medication.

The day after they found his family, Jack had been too scared to tell Luke and Flynn why he thought their deaths were his fault.

He had been singing in the shower. He was thinking about how angry he was at his family while he sang. Then, they were dead, just like some of the patients at the hospital died as soon as he finished singing to them.

         Why could Ryan save people, his loved ones, with his voice, when Jack could kill?

         The pressure in Jack’s stomach made him feel like he’d throw up. That tension was wound so tightly, Jack knew it would snap. It was about to snap. He couldn’t stop—

“I guess, in theory,” Ryan said, beginning to rise from under the table, “I’ve never heard of someone—”

         There was a loud thwack.

         Jack didn’t know he’d cracked Ryan’s skull into the table. Not until the second time he did it. Ryan’s hair felt silky under his fingers. The head under his hand resisted the first time. Not so much the second.

         Jack’s heartbeat thudded in his head, deafening. He didn’t hear the noises Ryan made. He didn’t feel Ryan’s head slip from his hands or how Ryan kicked backwards—how Jack’s leg gave out under the kick so Jack was level with the instrument table.

         He saw Ryan’s mouth move, to sing to heal or call for help. Some autopilot took over, shut him up. Shut. Him. Up. We’ll make the two of us equal. We’ll play favorites the way that gods do.

         A dull ache nagged at Jack’s knee, where he’d collapsed behind his little half-brother. He fumbled for something in the room to gag Ryan. His fingers snatched up something thin, metal, and pliable.

         Jack didn’t remember shoving Ryan back to the floor; he must have. The intention was to wrap the guitar cord between Ryan’s teeth. Just to soften Ryan’s screams.

Then the metal cord pinched the skin around Ryan’s neck. The small kid bucked and thrashed. Ryan’s nails dug at metal. Those fingers fumbled backwards, swatting at Jack.

         None of his attempts reached Jack. Jack’s knee now pressed into the small of Ryan’s back. The guitar cord was long enough that Jack could pull it taught at such a distance that Ryan couldn’t touch him.

         The way Ryan squirmed, Jack’s own screams, the pain in his bruised knee as Jack simultaneously kneed the back of Ryan’s spine while jerking Ryan’s neck backwards: it felt distant, muffled.

         Until someone covered Jack’s mouth.

         “Be quiet!”

         The words brought Jack back into reality. So did the hands that dragged him backwards.

         “Holy Hera!” another familiar voice said.

         There was a clop of hooves on the wooden floor.

         Until that someone removed the hands from his mouth, Jack didn’t realize what he’d been screaming over and over.

Why does Dad love you more?

         Ryan wasn’t moving.

         Dad couldn’t love him now.

         Jack trembled. He stared at his hands. Cuts lined his palms, where he had wrapped the guitar string to anchor them. Bruising would follow. His breath tightened. That tension inside him had snapped. He didn’t have any energy left. No anger. Just a sense of queer calm.

         That same autopilot took control. Guilt nagged at his consciousness the same way pain nagged at his knee.

“No,” Jack said, “No—no. I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”

“Shut up,” Luke repeated, slapping Jack upside the head. He sounded terrified.

Jack clutched at his hair. The strands felt slick with sweat. A sob caught his throat. What was happening to him? Had he just—

“Watch it, Luke.” Someone stepped around the two of them. Phil’s furry legs blocked off Jack’s view of Ryan’s body. “Flynn isn’t going to like it if she hears you’ve been smacking around her Jackie-boy. Now, let’s see. It’s been a long time since I needed to sneak a corpse out of a cabin. You sure like to keep me young and spry, don’t you, Jak-Jak?”

Phil’s comment was light.

No answer would come from Jack’s lips, at least, not beyond a whine.

Phil turned towards Jack and knelt down. Those dark eyes glittered with something that made Jack nauseous: compassion. He put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Kid, I need you with us. We gotta move fast. Which blanket won’t be missed if we wrap Ryan in it?”

*****

My betatester was very angry at me for the deficit of hugs and happiness for Jak-Jak. Don’t worry. Part II is more lighthearted. Okay, PHiL says it’s more lighthearted, though that guy could probably say that at a wax clown museum.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned next week for the last part of this short! I hope everyone had an awesome Halloween! :D

Footnote:

[1] I’m going to write this one day.