O C E A N U S

C H A P T E R   T W O

( the patron )

⟶⬩⬥⬩⟵

          JASON WANTED MALIA to come back. Simple as that. He felt like without her there, his life was in danger of ending with the way the centaur was looking at him. Plus, Malia had this calming aura surrounding her, and when he looked into her eyes, he felt like he was on the beach, waves lapping against his bare feet. He felt serene around her, like his memory loss wasn't as big of a deal.

Whatever that meant for him, he didn't know. But having a centaur glaring down at him wasn't fun.

The centaur trotted over to the empty wheelchair on the porch. He slipped off his quiver and bow and backed up to the chair, which opened like a magician's box. Chiron gingerly stepped into it with his back legs and began scrunching himself into a space that should have been much too small. Jason imagined a truck's reversing noises—beep, beep, beep—as the centaur's lower half disappeared and the chair folded up, popping out a set of fake human legs covered in a blanket, so Chiron appeared to be a regular mortal guy in a wheelchair.

"Follow me," he ordered. "We have lemonade."

The living room looked like it had been swallowed by a rain forest. Grapevines curved up the walls and across the ceiling, which Jason found a little strange. He didn't think plants grew like that inside, especially in the winter, but these were leafy green and bursting with bunches of red grapes.

Leather couches faced a stone fireplace with a crackling fire. Wedged in one corner, an old-style Pac-Man arcade game beeped and blinked. Mounted on the walls was an assortment of masks—smiley/frowny Greek theater types, feathered Mardi Gras masks, Venetian Carnevale masks with big beaklike noses, carved wooden masks from Africa. Grapevines grew through their mouths so they seemed to have leafy tongues. Some had red grapes bulging through their eyeholes.

But the weirdest thing was the stuffed leopard's head above the fireplace. It looked so real, its eyes seemed to follow Jason. Then it snarled, and Jason nearly leaped out of his skin.

"Now, Seymour," Chiron chided. "Jason is a friend. Behave yourself."

"That thing is alive!" Jason said.

Chiron rummaged through the side pocket of his wheelchair and brought out a package of Snausages. He threw one to the leopard, who snapped it up and licked his lips.

"You must excuse the decor," Chiron said. "All this was a parting gift from our old director before he was recalled to Mount Olympus. He thought it would help us to remember him. Mr. D has a strange sense of humor."

"Mr. D," Jason said. "Dionysus?"

"Mmm hmm." Chiron poured lemonade, though his hands were trembling a little. "As for Seymour, well, Mr. D liberated him from a Long Island garage sale. The leopard is Mr. D's sacred animal, you see, and Mr. D was appalled that someone would stuff such a noble creature. He decided to grant it life, on the assumption that life as a mounted head was better than no life at all. I must say it's a kinder fate than Seymour's previous owner got."

Seymour bared his fangs and sniffed the air, as if hunting for more Snausages.

"If he's only a head," Jason said. "Where does the food go when he eats?"

"Better not to ask," Chiron said. "Please sit."

Jason took some lemonade, though his stomach was fluttering. Chiron sat back in his wheelchair and tried for a smile, but Jason could tell it was forced. The old man's eyes were as deep and dark as wells.

"So, Jason," he said. "Would you mind telling me—ah—where you're from?"

"I wish I knew." Jason told him the whole story, from waking up on the bus to crash-landing at Camp Half-Blood. He didn't see any point in hiding the details, and Chiron was a good listener. He didn't react to the story, other than to nod encouragingly for more.

When Jason was done, the old man sipped his lemonade.

"I see," Chiron said. "And you must have questions for me."

"Only one," Jason admitted. "What did you mean when you said that I should be dead?"

Chiron studied him with concern, as if he expected Jason to burst into flames. "My boy, do you know what those marks on your arm mean? The color of your shirt? Do you remember anything?"

Jason looked at the tattoo on his forearm: SPQR, the eagle, twelve straight lines.

"No," he said. "Nothing."

"Do you know where you are?" Chiron asked. "Do you understand what this place is, and who I am?"

"You're Chiron the centaur," Jason said. "I'm guessing you're the same one from the old stories, who used to train the Greek heroes like Heracles. This is a camp for demigods, children of the Olympian gods."

"So you believe those gods still exist?"

"Yes," Jason said immediately. "I mean, I don't think we should worship them or sacrifice chickens to them or anything, but they're still around because they're a powerful part of civilization. They move from country to country as the center of power shifts—like they moved from Ancient Greece to Rome."

"I couldn't have said it better." Something about Chiron's voice had changed. "So you already know the gods are real. You have already been claimed, haven't you?"

"Maybe," Jason answered. "I'm not really sure."

Seymour the leopard snarled.

Chiron waited, and Jason realized what had just happened. The centaur had switched to another language and Jason had understood, automatically answering in the same tongue.

"Quis erat—" Jason faltered, then made a conscious effort to speak English. "What was that?"

"You know Latin," Chiron observed. "Most demigods recognize a few phrases, of course. It's in their blood, but not as much as Ancient Greek. None can speak Latin fluently without practice."

Jason tried to wrap his mind around what that meant, but too many pieces were missing from his memory. He still had the feeling that he shouldn't be here. It was wrong—and dangerous. But at least Chiron wasn't threatening. In fact the centaur seemed concerned for him, afraid for his safety. And don't even get him started on Malia and her kindness toward him.

The fire reflected in Chiron's eyes, making them dance fearfully. "I taught your namesake, you know, the original Jason. He had a hard path. I've seen many heroes come and go. Occasionally, they have happy endings. Mostly, they don't. It breaks my heart, like losing a child each time one of my pupils dies. But you—you are not like any pupil I've ever taught. You're presence here could be a disaster."

"Thanks," Jason said. "You must be an inspiring teacher."

"I am sorry, my boy. But it's true. I had hoped that after Malia and Percy's success—"

"Percy Jackson, you mean? Malia's older brother and Annabeth's boyfriend, the one who's missing."

Chiron nodded. "I hoped that after they succeeded in the Titan War and saved Mount Olympus, we might have some peace. I might be able to enjoy one final triumph, a happy ending, and perhaps retire quietly. I should have known better. The last chapter approaches, just as it did before. The worst is yet to come."

In the corner, the arcade game made a sad pew-pew-pew-pew sound, like a Pac-Man had just died.

"Ohh-kay," Jason said. "So—last chapter, happened before, worst yet to come. Sounds fun, but can we go back to the part where I'm supposed to be dead? I don't like that part."

"I'm afraid I can't explain, my boy. I swore on the River Styx and on all things sacred that I would never. . ." Chiron frowned. "But you're here, in violation of the same oath. That too, should not be possible. I don't understand. Who would've done such a thing? Who—"

Seymour the leopard howled. His mouth froze, half open. The arcade game stopped beeping. The fire stopped crackling, its flames hardening like red glass. The masks stared down silently at Jason with their grotesque grape eyes and leafy tongues.

"Chiron?" Jason asked. "What's going—"

The old centaur had frozen, too. Jason jumped off the couch, but Chiron kept staring at the same spot, his mouth open mid-sentence. His eyes didn't blink. His chest didn't move.

Jason, a voice said.

For a horrible moment, he thought the leopard had spoken. Then dark mist boiled out of Seymour's mouth, and an even worse thought occurred to Jason: storm spirits.

He grabbed the golden coin from his pocket. With a quick flip, it changed into a sword.

The mist took the form of a woman in black robes. Her face was hooded, but her eyes glowed in the darkness. Over her shoulders she wore a goatskin cloak. Jason wasn't sure how he knew it was goatskin, but he recognized it and knew it was important.

Would you attack you patron? the woman chided. Her voice echoed in Jason's head. Lower your sword.

"Who are you?" He demanded. "How did you—"

Our time is limited, Jason. My prison grows stronger by the hour. It took me a full month to gather enough energy to work even the smallest magic through its bonds. I've managed to bring you here, but now I have little time left, and even less power. This may be the last time I can speak to you.

"You're in prison?" Jason decided maybe he wouldn't lower his sword. "Look, I don't know you, and you're not my patron."

You know me, she insisted. I have known you since your birth.

"I don't remember. I don't remember anything."

No, you don't, she agreed. That also was necessary. Long ago, your father gave me your life as a gift to placate my anger. He named you Jason, after my favorite mortal. You belong to me.

"Whoa," Jason said. "I don't belong to anyone."

Now is the time to pay your debt, she said. Find my prison. Free me, or their kind will rise from the earth, and I will be destroyed. You will never retrieve your memory.

"Is that a threat? You took my memories?"

You have until sunset on the solstice, Jason. Four short days. Do not fail me.

Time unfroze. Seymour's howl turned into a cough like he'd sucked in a hair ball. The fire crackled to life, the arcade machine beeped, and Chiron said, "—would dare to bring you here?"

"Probably the lady in the mist," Jason offered.

Chiron looked up in surprise. "Weren't you just sitting. . . why do you have a sword drawn?"

"I hate to tell you this," Jason said. "But I think your leopard just ate a goddess."

He told Chiron about the frozen-in-time visit, the dark misty figure that disappeared into Seymour's mouth.

"Oh, dear," Chiron murmured. "That does explain a lot."

"Then why don't you explain a lot to me?" Jason said. "Please."

Before Chiron could say anything, footsteps reverberated on the porch outside. The front door blew open, and Annabeth and another girl, a redhead, burst in, dragging Piper between them. Piper's head lolled like she was unconscious. After them stumbled in a very dizzy and unwell-looking Malia, who's tan complexion was stark white and who's eyes were swimming.

"What happened?" Jason rushed over, catching Malia as she fell. He felt electricity jolt through his muscles at the contact, but pushed it aside. More important matters at hand. "What's wrong with them?"

"Hera's cabin," Annabeth gasped, like they'd run all the way. "Vision. Bad. Malia's sick or something. I don't know.

The redheaded girl looked up, and Jason saw that she'd been crying.

"I think. . ." The redheaded girl gulped. "I think I may have killed her."

⟶⬩⬥⬩⟵

Jason helped a dizzy and shaking Malia to one of the armchairs while Annabeth and the redhead, who introduced herself as Rachel, put Piper on the couch. Once Piper was secure, Annabeth rushed down the hall to get a med kit. Piper was still breathing, but she wouldn't wake up. She seemed to be in some kind of coma.

Malia wouldn't stop shaking as she gripped Jason's arm so tightly, her knuckles were turning white. He didn't mind the small amount of pain, seeing as worry for the girl drowned it all out.

"We've got to heal them," Jason insisted. "There's a way, right?"

Seeing Malia so pale, so shaky and sickly, Jason felt a surge of protectiveness. He may have just met her and barely knew a thing about her, but she had done her best to make him feel welcomed. She'd even made him laugh a few times and been open with him about things she didn't have to tell him. Plus, she had looked so strong earlier that seeing her weak didn't feel right.

Chiron put his hand on Piper's forehead and grimaced, sending Malia concerned looks. "Her mind is in a fragile state. Malia's, too. I'm surprised she isn't in the same state as Piper. Rachel, what happened?"

"I wish I knew," she said. "As soon as I got to camp, I had a premonition about Hera's cabin. I went inside. Annabeth and Piper came in while I was there. Malia joined us after a bit. We talked, and then—I just blanked out. Annabeth said I spoke in a different voice."

"A prophecy?" Chiron asked.

"No. The spirit of Delphi comes from within. I know how that feels. This was like long distance, a power trying to speak through me. Plus, when I came through, Malia was shaking Piper's shoulders and her voice sounded. . . different."

Annabeth ran in with a leather pouch. She knelt next to Piper. "Chiron, what happened back there—I've never seen anything like it. I've heard Rachel's prophecy voice. This was different. She sounded like an older woman. And once she stopped talking, the voice came out of Malia's mouth. She grabbed Piper's shoulders and told her—"

"To free her from a prison?" Jason guessed at the same time as Malia spoke. Her voice was hoarse and cut out on a few words, but at least she was talking.

Annabeth stared at the two of them, mainly Jason. "How did you know that?"

Chiron made a three-fingered gesture over his heart, like a ward against evil.

"Jason, tell them. Annabeth, the medical bag, please."

Chiron trickled drops from a medicine vial into Piper's mouth and handed Malia a glass of water that she greedily drank from while Jason explained what had happened when the room froze—the dark misty woman who had claimed to be Jason's patron.

When he was done, no one spoke, which made him more anxious. The only sounds to be heard were Seymour's growls for Snausages and Malia drinking her water.

"So does this happen often?" He asked. "Supernatural phone calls from convicts demanding you bust them out of jail?"

"Your patron," Annabeth said. "Not your godly parent?"

"No, she said patron. She also said my dad had given her my life."

Malia choked on her water beside him, her eyes widening. She coughed for a solid minute before taking a deep breath and setting the empty cup down on the floor by her feet. Jason went to ask her if she was okay, but she waved him off. "I'm fine. Just almost died for a second. Continue."

Annabeth sent her friend a concerned glance and frowned. "I've never heard of anything like that before. You said the storm spirit on the skywalk—he claimed to be working for some mistress who was giving him orders, right? Could it be this woman you saw, messing with your mind?"

"I don't think so," Jason said. "If she were my enemy, why would she be asking for my help? She's imprisoned. She's worried about some enemy getting more powerful. Something about a king rising from the earth on the solstice—"

Annabeth turned to Chiron. "Not Kronos. Please tell me it's not that."

The centaur looked miserable. He held Piper's wrist, checking her pulse.

At last he said, "It is not Kronos. That threat has ended. But. . ."

"But what?" Malia asked, sounding a bit better.

Chiron closed the medicine bag. "Piper needs rest. We should discuss this later."

"Or now," Jason said. "Sir, Mr. Chiron, you told me the greatest threat was coming. The last chapter. You can't possibly mean something worse than an army of Titans, right?"

"Oh," Rachel said in a small voice. "Oh, dear. The woman was Hera. Of course. Her cabin, her voice. She showed herself to Jason at the same moment."

Malia shivered beside Jason, like she had just gotten cold. Though, he assumed it was more because she had learned that a goddess had used her as a cell phone, which would leave anyone with enough trauma to last them a lifetime.

"Hera?" Annabeth's snarl was even fiercer than Seymour's. "She took you over? She did this to Piper and Malia? She possessed my best friend?"

"I think Rachel's right," Jason said. "The woman did seem like a goddess. And she wore this—this goatskin cloak. That's a symbol of Juno, isn't it?"

"It is?" Annabeth scowled. "I've never heard that."

Malia nodded slowly. "Of Juno, Hera's Roman form, apparently in her most warlike state. The goatskin cloak was a symbol of the Roman soldier." Annabeth, Rachel, and Chiron looked at her in surprise. "Hello, I'm not as dumb as my brother. I read sometimes. Plus, getting full on possessed by the goddess lets you know a few up close and personal things about her."

"So Hera is imprisoned?" Rachel asked. "Who could do that to the queen of the gods?"

Annabeth crossed her arms. "Well, whoever they are, maybe we should thank them. If they can shut up Hera—"

"Annabeth," Chiron warned. "She is still one of the Olympians. In many ways, she is the glue that holds the gods' family together. If she truly has been imprisoned and is in danger of destruction, this could shake the foundations of the world. It could unravel the stability of Olympus, which is never great even in the best of times. And if Hera has asked Jason for help—"

"Fine," Annabeth grumbled. "Well, we know Titans can capture a god, right? Atlas captured Artemis a few years ago. And in the old stories, the gods captured each other in traps all the time. But something worse than a Titan. . . ?"

Jason looked at the leopard's head. Seymour was smacking his lips like the goddess had tasted much better than a Snausage. "Hera said she'd been trying to break through her prison bonds for a month."

"Which is how long Olympus has been closed," Malia said. "So the gods must know something bad is going on."

"But why use her energy to send me here?" Jason asked. "She wiped my memory, plopped me into the Wilderness School field trip, and sent you a dream vision to come pick me up. Why am I so important? Why not just send up an emergency flare to the other gods—let them know where she is so they bust her out?"

"The gods need heroes to do their will down here on earth," Rachel said. "That's right, isn't it? Their fates are always intertwined with demigods."

"That's true," Annabeth said. "But Jason's got a point. Why him? Why take his memory?"

"And Piper and Malia are involved somehow," Rachel said. "Here sent Piper the same message—Free me. Malia had been the one to tell her the message and she's been having some weird dreams lately. And, Annabeth, this must have something to do with Percy's disappearing."

Jason glanced at Malia when she rested her head against his arm. Unintentionally? He didn't know. But he didn't mind it either. The same electric jolt shot through his system as she leaned against him, looking tired and drained.

Annabeth fixed her eyes on Chiron. "Why are you so quiet, Chiron? What is it we're facing?"

The old centaur's face looked like it had aged ten years in a matter of minutes. The lines around his eyes were deeply etched. "My dear, in this, I cannot help you. I am so sorry."

Annabeth blinked. "You've never. . . you've never kept information from me." Malia mumbled something that sounded like, Welcome to my world. "Even the last great prophecy—"

"I will be in my office." His voice was heavy. "I need some time to think before dinner. Rachel, will you watch the girl? Call Argus to bring her to the infirmary, if you'd like. And Annabeth, Malia, you should speak with Jason. Tell him about—about the Greek and Roman gods."

"But. . ."

The centaur turned his wheelchair and rolled off down the hallway. Annabeth's eyes turned stormy while Malia stayed the same way she had been, like she was used to only knowing half of the story. Annabeth muttered something in Greek, and Jason got the feeling it wasn't complimentary toward centaurs.

"I'm sorry," Jason said. "I think my being here—I don't know. I've messed things up coming to the camp, somehow. Chiron said he'd sworn an oath and couldn't talk about it."

"What oath?" Annabeth demanded. "I've never seen him act this way."

"I have," Malia mumbled.

"And why would he tell me to talk to you about the gods. . ." Her voice trailed off. Apparently she'd just noticed Jason's sword sitting on the coffee table. She sent a glance toward Malia as she touched the blade gingerly, like it might be hot. "Is this gold? Do you remember where you got it?"

"No," Jason said. "Like I said, I don't remember anything."

Annabeth nodded. Malia shakily stood up and pursed her lips, looking between Jason and the sword. Her hand went to the pocket of her sweatshirt, like there was something in there that she thought of while looking at his sword. She then spoke, "If Chiron won't help, we'll need to figure things out ourselves. Which means. . . Cabin Fifteen. Rachel, you'll keep an eye on Piper?"

"Sure," Rachel promised. "Good luck, you three."

"Hold on," Jason said. "What's in Cabin Fifteen."

Malia took Jason's wrist with a small grin while Annabeth stood. "Maybe a way to get your memory back. Come on!"

⟶⬩⬥⬩⟵

They headed toward a newer wing of cabins in the southwest corner of the green. Some were fancy, with glowing walls or blazing torches, but Cabin Fifteen was not so dramatic. It looked like an old-fashioned prairie house with mud walls and a rush roof. On the door hung a wreath of crimson flowers—red poppies, Jason thought, though he wasn't sure how he knew.

"You think this is my parent's cabin?" he asked.

"No," Annabeth said. "This is the cabin for Hypnos, the god of sleep."

"Then why—"

"You've forgotten everything," Malia said. "If there's any god who can help us figure out memory loss, it's Hypnos."

Inside, even though it was almost dinnertime, three kids were sound asleep under piles of covers. A warm fire crackled in the hearth. Above the mantel hung a tree branch, each twig dripping white liquid into a collection of tin bowls. Jason was tempted to catch a drop on his finger just to see what it was, but he held himself back.

Soft violin music played from somewhere. The air smelled like fresh laundry. The cabin was so cozy and peaceful that Jason's eyelids started to feel heavy. A nap sounded like a great idea. He was exhausted. There were plenty of empty beds, all with feather pillows and fresh sheets and fluffy quilts and—Malia nudged him. "Snap out of it."

Jason blinked. He realized his knees had been starting to buckle.

"Cabin Fifteen does that to everyone," Annabeth warned. "If you ask me, this place is even more dangerous than the Ares cabin. At least with Ares, you can learn where the land mines are."

"Land mines?"

Annabeth walked up to the nearest snoring kid and shook his shoulder. "Clovis! Wake up!"

The kid looked like a baby cow. He had a blond tuft of hair on a wedge-shaped head, with thick features and a thick neck. His body was stocky, but he had spindly little arms like he'd never lifted anything heavier than a pillow.

"Clovis!" Annabeth shook harder, then finally knocked on his forehead about six times. Malia laughed beside Jason, which in turn caused the blond to laugh. Her laugh was contagious, if he were being honest. It was bubbly and light and made his heart flutter wildly.

"Wh— wh— what?" Clovis complained, sitting up and squinting. He yawned hugely, and Jason, Annabeth, and Malia yawned too.

"Stop that!" Annabeth said. "We need your help."

"I was sleeping."

"You're always sleeping."

"Good night."

Before he could pass out, Annabeth yanked his pillow off the bed.

"That's not fair," Clovis complained meekly. "Give it back."

"First help," Annabeth said. "Then sleep."

Clovis sighed. His breath smelled like warm milk. "Fine. What?"

Malia explained about Jason's problem. Every once in a while Annabeth would have to snap her fingers under Clovis's nose to keep him awake.

Clovis must have been really excited, because when Malia was done, he didn't pass out. He actually stood and stretched, then blinked at Jason. "So you don't remember anything, huh?"

"Just impressions," Jason said. "Feelings, like. . ."

"Yes?" Clovis said.

"Like I know I shouldn't be here. At this camp. I'm in danger."

"Hmm. Close your eyes."

Jason glanced at Annabeth, but she nodded reassuringly. He then looked down at Malia, who stood beside him. She gave him a soft smile of encouragement and patted his arm.

Jason was afraid he'd end up snoring in one of the bunks forever, but he closed his eyes. His thoughts became murky, as if he were sinking into a dark lake.

The next thing he knew, his eyes snapped open. He was sitting in a chair by the fire. Clovis and Annabeth knelt next to him while Malia was at his side, dabbing at his forehead with a wet cloth, looking like one of the nurses from an old movie. What had happened while he was out?"

"—serious, all right," Clovis was saying.

"What happened?" Jason said. "How long—"

"Just a few minutes," Malia said, placing the cloth back into the bowl of water. She knelt down next to him. "But it was tense. You almost dissolved."

Jason hoped she didn't mean literally, but her expression was solemn, eyes swimming with oceans of worry.

"Usually," Clovis said, "memories are lost for a good reason. They sink under the surface like dreams, and with a good sleep, I can bring them back. But this. . ."

"Lethe?" Annabeth asked.

"No," Clovis said. "Not Lethe."

"Lethe?" Jason asked.

Clovis pointed to the tree branch dripping milky drops above the fireplace. "The River Lethe in the Underworld. It dissolves your memories, wipes your mind clean permanently. That's the branch of a poplar tree from the Underworld, dipped into the Lethe. It's the symbol of my father, Hypnos. Lethe is not a place you want to go swimming."

Malia nodded. "I went there once with Percy. It was powerful enough to wipe the mind of a Titan."

Jason was suddenly glad he hadn't touched the branch. He looked at Malia with wide eyes. She'd battled a Titan and managed to make it fall into the Lethe? "But. . . that's not my problem?"

"No," Clovis agreed. "Your mind wasn't wiped, and your memories weren't buried. They've been stolen."

The fire crackled. Drops of Lethe water plinked into the tin cups on the mantel. One of the other Hypnos campers muttered in his sleep—something about a duck.

"Stolen," Jason said. "How?"

"A god," Clovis said. "Only a god would have that kind of power."

"We know that," said Jason. "It was Juno. But how did she do it, and why?"

Clovis scratched his neck. "Juno?"

"He means Hera," Annabeth said. "For some reason, Jason likes the Roman names."

"Hmm," Clovis said.

"What?" Jason asked. "Does that mean something?"

"Hmm," Clovis said again, and this time Jason realized he was snoring.

"Clovis!" he yelled.

"What? What?" His eyes fluttered open. "We were talking about pillows, right? No, gods. I remember. Greek and Roman. Sure, could be important."

"But they're the same gods," Malia said. "Just different names."

"Not exactly," Clovis said.

Jason sat forward, now very much awake. "What do you mean, not exactly?"

"Well. . ." Clovis yawned. "Some gods are only Roman. Like Janus, or Pompona. But even the major Greek gods—it's not just their names that changed when they moved to Rome. Their appearances changed. Their attributes changed. They even had slightly different personalities."

"But. . ." Annabeth faltered. "Okay, so maybe people saw them differently through the centuries. That doesn't change who they are."

"Sure it does." Clovis began to nod off, and Malia snapped her fingers under his nose.

"Coming, Mother!" he yelped. "I mean. . . Yeah, I'm awake. So, um, personalities. The gods change to reflect their host cultures. You know that, Annabeth, Malia. I mean, these days, Zeus likes tailored suits, reality television, and that Chinese food place on East Twenty-eighth Street, right? It was the same in Roman times, and the gods were Roman almost as long as they were Greek. It was a big empire, lasted for centuries. So of course their Roman aspects are still a big part of their character."

"Makes sense," Jason said.

Malia shook her head with a grin. "Clovis, how did you manage to learn all of this while sleeping half the day away?"

"Oh, I spend a lot of time dreaming. I see the gods there all the time—always shifting forms. Dreams are fluid, you know. You can be in different places at once, always changing identities. It's a lot like being a god, actually. Like recently, I dreamed I was watching a Michael Jackson concert, and then I was onstage with Michael Jackson, and we were singing this duet, and I could not remember the words for 'The Girl Is Mine.' Oh, man, it was so embarrassing, I—"

"Clovis," Malia interrupted. "Back to Rome?"

"Right, Rome," Clovis said. "So we call the gods by their Greek names because that's their original form. But saying their Roman aspects are exactly the same—that's not true. In Rome, they became more warlike. They didn't mingle with mortals as much. They were harsher, more powerful—the gods of an empire."

"Like the dark side of the gods?" Annabeth asked.

"Not exactly," Clovis said. "They stood for discipline, honor, strength—"

"Good things, then," Jason said. For some reason, he felt the need to speak up for the Roman gods, though wasn't sure why it mattered to him. "I mean, discipline is important, right? That's what made Rome last so long."

Clovis gave him a curious look. "That's true. But the Roman gods weren't very friendly. For instance, my dad, Hypnos. . . he didn't do much except sleep in Greek times. In Roman times, they called him Somnus. He liked killing people who didn't stay alert at their jobs. If they nodded off at the wrong time, boom—they never woke up. He killed the helmsman of Aeneas when they were sailing from Troy."

"Nice guy," Annabeth said. "But I still don't understand what it has to do with Jason."

"Neither do I," Clovis said. "But if Hera took your memory, only she can give it back. And if I had to meet the queen of the gods, I'd hope she was more in a Hera mood than a Juno mood. Can I go back to sleep now?"

Annabeth stared at the branch above the fire, dripping Lethe water into the cups. She looked so worried, Jason wondered if she was considering a drink to forget her troubles. Then she stood and tossed Clovis his pillow. "Thanks, Clovis. We'll see you at dinner."

"Can I get room service?" Clovis yawned and stumbled to his bunk. "I feel like. . . zzz. . ." He collapsed with his butt in the air and his face buried in the pillow.

"Won't he suffocate?" Jason asked.

"He'll be fine," Malia dismissed, waving her hand. "But I'm beginning to think that you are in some serious trouble."

⟶⬩⬥⬩⟵

A U T H O R S   N O T E

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Here's another chapter. This one is pretty long as well and it took forever for me to write so appreciate it! Appreciate the fuck out of it! Jason's confused and all that and he's already a simp for Malia, but that was predictable for him. Jason is a complete simp.

Please comment and vote!

Love you all!

~ a.h.