Atty Jackson and the Lightning Thief

My dreams were bizarre. Barnyard animals kept coming up to me for food, meanwhile it was raining. My head throbbed. I had to keep moving, otherwise these other barnyard animals would catch me and kill me. Rather silly stuff.

My brief moments of consciousness weren’t any less bizarre. Most of the time, everything was a blur of strange colours. One time, I woke up to find that cute boy from earlier spoon feeding me pudding that tasted like buttered popcorn. He had a grimace on his face, like the activity was somehow emasculating or something. I probably made some sort of embarrassing noise, because his eyes snapped to mine. I glanced away, looking around the room. It was a fairly basic bedroom.

“What’ll happen on the summer solstice?” the boy said, his voice too loud for the pounding headache I had.

“What?” I said, my voice sounding hoarse. I grimaced.

The boy looked around nervously, as if he didn’t want anyone overhearing. “What’s going on? What was stolen? We only have a few weeks!”

“Huh?” I mumbled. “What are you-”

I was interrupted by a knock on the door, and the boy promptly shoved a spoonful of pudding in my mouth.

The next time I woke up, he was gone. There was a blonde guy standing in the corner of the room, watching me, which I guess was really easy for him since he had eyes everywhere I could see, which was kind of unsettling.

When I was finally fully awake and coherent, my surroundings seemed to be normal enough. I was sitting on a wooden porch with a view across a meadow to some hills off in the distance. There was a faint smell of fruit in the air. My head was resting against a pillow, and I had a blanket pulled over me.

On the other hand, I didn’t feel so good. My mouth felt dry. My headache was fortunately gone, but my brain felt fuzzy. I felt gross and itchy all over. How long had I been out?

Sitting on a painted white wooden fold-up table next to me was a tall glass with a drink that looked like apple juice. It had one of those silly little umbrellas like you get in piña coladas sticking up out of it and some ice at the bottom.

I felt so weak that I nearly dropped the glass right after picking it up, which would have been really embarrassing.

“Careful,” a familiar voice cautioned me.

Grover was leaning against the railing not far from me, watching me with a nervous look. He was holding a shoebox for some reason. He looked like he hadn’t gotten any sleep in the time I’d been out. He was wearing blue jeans and shoes — no weird furry goat legs. He was wearing a bright orange t-shirt with a picture of a pegasus and the words “CAMP HALF-BLOOD” written in bold lettering.

Maybe it had all been a dream? Somehow I suspected I wasn’t so lucky, but I let myself hope. For whatever reason, my mom and I had stopped at this house, and Grover was here because…

“You saved my life, Atty,” Grover said. “I, uh, the least I could do was grab this for you. I went back to the hill last night.” He placed the shoebox reverently in my lap.

I opened it up. Inside was a black and white horn, the base jagged and the tip coated with a bit of dried blood.

Oh.

It hadn’t been a dream. It actually happened.

“How long was I out?” I croaked.

Grover shuffled his feet. “Two days.”

“Two days,” I said flatly. No wonder I felt so off. “Is my mom really… gone?”

Grover looked out across the meadow. I stared as well. It was pretty, which felt somehow wrong. My mom was gone, but the world still managed to look bright and cheerful. It did not match how I felt inside.

“I’m sorry,” Grover said. “I’m a total failure.”

“No you’re not!” I protested.

He stomped his foot so hard that it came right off. As in the shoe did, which was filled with styrofoam save for a hoof shaped hole.

Wonderful. Just wonderful. My best friend was part goat and my mom was dead.

I was now an orphan. Where would I live? I’d probably be able to live in that apartment for a couple weeks, but I wouldn’t be able to pay rent, much less for…

I shivered.

“Um, Grover,” I said.

“Yes, Atty?”

“You didn’t happen to grab my bag from the car as well, did you?”

Grover looked startled, like it hadn’t occurred to him to grab it. “Um, no, sorry. Is there something you need, or-”

“My estrogen, Grover. I need my estrogen.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Yes, ‘oh,’” I said sarcastically. Grover looked miserable, but I was feeling especially moody right then. I sighed. “Look, we can go get my bag in a bit.”

Grover sniffled. “Alright. You should probably drink that, by the way.” He came over and picked up the glass of apple juice, helping me put the straw to my lips. I took a sip and almost immediately recoiled at the taste. It did not taste like apple juice. It tasted, somehow, exactly like the cookies my mom would bake. As I drank it, I started to feel better. I felt weirdly energised, despite moments ago having felt like I was about to pass out again. It felt like my mom had just handed me one of her cookies.

I stared at the empty glass, blinking back a few tears.

“Was it good?” Grover asked.

“Yeah.”

“What did it taste like?”

I frowned at him. “Um, like cookies.”

“How do you feel?”

“Fine,” I said. “Much better. Still gonna need estrogen soon though, or this feeling will not last.”

Grover nodded. “Right. That’s good. You probably should stop there then.”

“Um, what?”

Grover took the glass from me carefully, placing it back on the table.

“Anyway, uh, Chiron and Mr. D are waiting for us.”

The porch wrapped all the way around the house, with an overhanging roof. It was actually really cosy. My legs felt a little wobbly, but I took a steadying breath, gripping the stupid Minotaur horn tighter, and marched along behind Grover as he led me around to meet whoever the fuck ‘Chiron’ and ‘Mr. D’ were.

As we rounded the corner to the other side of the house, I stopped, staring.

The valley went all the way up to the shore. We must have been on the north side of the island. Between there and here, things were… a bit less straightforward.

The valley was dotted with various buildings that looked like actual ancient Greek architecture, except, instead of being old and in total disrepair, this was all brand new. Not too far away was a volleyball net with a bunch of kids in orange t-shirts like Grover’s running around in the sand and bouncing a volleyball around. There was a lake where other kids were doing laps in canoes, there was a cluster of cabins with more kids hanging around. It was like a normal summer camp — except some kids were riding horses that had wings.

At one end of the porch were two men sitting across from each other at a table playing cards. The blond guy who’d been feeding me popcorn pudding was leaning against the railing nearby, looking out over the valley.

The man facing towards me was a short chubby clean-shaven guy with curly black hair. He was wearing a tiger-print Hawaiin shirt. I immediately felt wary of him. He reminded me of the kinds of guys Smelly Gabe used to hang around.

“That’s Mr. D,” Grover supplied, pointing at chubby Hawaiin shirt guy. “He’s the camp director, so be nice.”

“I’m nice,” I said defensively.

Grover gave me a skeptical look, and I rolled my eyes.

“That boy, that’s Noah Chase. He’s a camper, but he’s been around longer than most. You already know Chiron.” Grover pointed at the man who had his back to me.

I noticed he was sitting in a wheelchair. I recognized the jacket and his hair.

“Mr. Brunner?” I called, confused.

My former latin teacher turned his wheelchair around to face me. He gave me a mischievous smile. His eyes had this funny glint he had whenever it was tournament day or he was pulling a pop quiz on us.

“Ah, good, Atty. Nice to see you up and about. Now we have four for pinochle.”

“Um, for what?” I said.

Chiron indicated a seat to the right of Mr. D, and I sat down. Grover sat across from me nervously.

Mr. D looked at me with bloodshot eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “I guess I have to say it, huh? Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, blah blah blah and all that jazz. There, now that that’s out the way-” Mr. D stopped speaking, he gave me a look. “Grover,” he said.

“Y-Yes sir,” Grover said, stuttering.

“I would like you to grab this young lady’s things, if you don’t mind.”

“Um, alright,” Grover said, standing and running off.

I looked at him warily. “What was that about?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, instead turning to the boy leaning on the railing. “Nathan, come meet the new girl.”

The boy grumbled something under his breath, but came over to me anyway.

“Hey, I’m, uh, Noah,” he mumbled. I noticed Noah and Nathan were two entirely different names, but didn’t comment on that.

“This young man nursed you back to health,” Chiron said proudly.

Noah grimaced at that statement. I rolled my eyes.

“I’m Atty,” I said, sticking out my hand for him to shake. He didn’t accept. I pulled my hand away. “Um, how are you?”

He mumbled something unintelligible.

“Noah, my dear,” Chiron spoke up. “Why don’t you go check on Atty’s bunk? We’re putting her in cabin eleven for now.”

Noah turned towards Chiron. “Sure.” He turned back to me. He glanced at the Minotaur horn I had clutched in my lap. I imagined he’d congratulate me or something, but he just glanced up at my face. “Um, are you a boy?”

I glared at him. “Fuck off.”

He cringed. “I’m just ask-”

“No. Nuh uh. Not that question. Ask me anything else. I’m a girl. End of story. Period. Well, actually, I get those too. NOT FUN. Anyway, you should go check on that bunk or whatever.”

He cringed, and turned to leave, sprinting away across the valley towards where the cabins were.

Jerk.

Chiron sighed. “That could have gone much better. Of all the questions he could ask you, that was the one I had hoped he didn’t choose to ask.”

I nodded. “Um, so, uh, you, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?”

“Not Mr. Brunner, I’m afraid,” he replied. “That was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron.”

“O-ok,” I said, completely confused. “And, uh, Mr. D, right?” I turned to the other guy. “Does that, uh, stand for something?”

Mr. D paused shuffling the cards, and gave me a look. “Young lady, names have power, you know. You can’t just use them for no reason, after all.”

“Ok then,” I said, not exactly getting it. “Sorry.”

“I am glad to see you alive, Atty,” Chiron said. “It has been a good while since I made a house call to a potential camper, and I would hate for that to have been wasted.”

“House call?”

“My year at Yancy, teaching you,” he said. “We have satyrs in most schools, searching for kids like yourself. Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come and meet you. I convinced the other latin teacher to take a sabbatical for a year.”

“I see,” I said, not letting on that I barely remember this first latin teacher. “You, uh, came to Yancy just to teach me?” I asked.

Chiron nodded. “Indeed. I wasn’t sure about you at first. We contacted your mother to let her know we were watching you just in case you were ready to join us here at Camp Half-Blood.”

I nodded slowly. “Um, well, I’m here now, I guess.”

“You are here,” Chiron said. “So it’s no use worrying over all that now. Anyway, it appears Grover has returned.”

I turned to see Grover coming around the porch, my overnight bag clutched in his hands. I got up out of my chair and made my way over to him. I took my bag from him. “Thanks,” I said as I sat back down, opening up my bag and digging through it, pushing aside the various articles of clothing I’d shoved in there a few days ago. I eventually found my prize: two pill bottles. I popped out some pills, dry swallowing the anti-androgen (don’t ask me to spell the name) and sticking three of the little estradiol pills under my tongue.

“Now that that’s been taken care of,” Mr. D said as I zipped up my bag. “Grover, would you care to join us for a game of pinochle?”

“Um, y-yes sir,” Grover said, sitting back down across from me.

“You know how to play, young lady?” Mr. D turned to me, giving me an expectant look.

I shook my head. “Never even heard of the game.”

Mr. D snorted. “Typical. Well, pinochle is, alongside gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. Horribly underappreciated, if you ask me.”

“I’m sure she can learn the rules, Mr. D,” Chiron said.

“So um,” I said, trying to bring the subject back to whatever the hell was going on. “What is this place? Why am I here? Mr. Br- Chiron, why did you come to Yancy just to teach me?”

Mr. D smirked to himself. “The girl asks good questions.” He started dealing cards. Grover flinched whenever one landed in front of him.

Chiron gave me a sympathetic smile. “Did your mother not tell you anything?”

I shook my head. “She, um, told me she was worried about sending me here. She said that once I was here, I probably wouldn’t leave. She wanted to keep me close.”

Mr. D sighed. “Of course she did. That’s how they always get killed. Young lady, are you bidding, or not?”

“Um, what?” I said.

Mr. D explained to me how to bid in pinochle, and I followed his instructions.

“I’m afraid explaining everything may take too long,” Chiron said. “I do not believe our usual orientation film will be sufficient.”

“Orientation film?” I asked.

“No,” Chiron said thoughtfully, as if I hadn’t said anything. “You know, Atty, that your friend, Grover, is a satyr. You know that you have killed the Minotaur. Not an easy feat, mind you. The bull is a formidable foe. What I am gathering you do not yet know is that the gods — that is, the gods of ancient Greece — are real, and are still around today.”

I waited for someone contradict him, but all that could be heard was Mr. D cackling about getting a royal marriage and tallying his one hundred and fifty points.

“Um, right, yeah, that makes sense,” I said. “Satyrs and Minotaurs are real, why not Aphrodite and Hermes too?”

Thunder boomed just over the horizon.

“Mr. D,” Grover said nervously. “If you aren’t going to eat it, may I have your Diet Coke can?”

“Hm?” Mr. D said, looking up from his cards. “Oh, sure, sure. Take it.” He waved at Grover dismissively.

Grover bit a chunk out of the aluminum can and started chewing. I tried not to stare.

“Right, so, all those gods, the ones you taught me about, are real?”

“Yes,” Chiron replied.

“But-” I groaned. “That’s insane. They’re just- Just stories! Myths that people came up with to explain lightning and all that before science came along!”

“Science,” Mr. D scoffed. “Give me a break, mortal science could never comprehend metaphysics.”

“Um, what?”

Mr. D laughed a dry, humorless laugh. “Tell me, Atalanta Jackson. What do you think people two thousand years from now will think of your science, hm? They’ll call it primitive too. Doesn’t make it any less real.”

My head spun. “I don’t understand.”

“Mortals think they’ve come so far. But have they? Eh, Chiron. Have they? Look at this clueless girl and tell me your honest answer.”

I felt conflicted about Mr. D, but there was something about him that put me on edge. The way he talked about ‘mortals’ and ‘humans’ as though he was something… other than. It gave me some idea as to why Grover was so nervous.

“Atty,” Chiron said. “Immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that? Never dying, never fading away, just existing as you are now for all eternity.”

I wanted to say it sounded good, but the way Chiron spoke gave me pause. “You mean, even if no one believes in you any more.”

“Yes,” Chiron said. “If you were a god, how would you feel if someone said you were just a myth to explain lightning. What if I said that in a thousand years, you too would be regarded as a myth, explaining how girls such as yourself could cope with the loss of a loved one.”

I frowned. It felt like he was trying to bait me into anger. “I wouldn’t like that,” I said. “But I’m not sure I believe in gods.”

“You probably should,” Mr. D said. “At least, before one of them incinerates you for disrespect.”

Grover spoke up. “P-please, sir. She’s just lost her mom.”

Mr. D’s look softened. “I understand that. Unfortunately, not all the gods are as forgiving as I am.”

My eyes went wide. “You’re a god?”

“Yes.” He waved his hand and a bronze goblet appeared on the table, shining in the sun. As I watched, it filled itself with wine.

“Mr. D,” Chiron said, looking down at his cards. “Your restrictions.”

Mr. D looked at the goblet, feigning a surprised look. “Oh, dearie me,” he said. He looked up to the sky. “Old habits, sorry!”

Thunder sounded again.

The apparent god waved his hand, and the goblet shimmered, being replaced with a can of Diet Coke. He let out a wistful sigh, then opened the can, taking a sip and turning his attention back to the card game.

Chiron looked up from his cards and winked at me. “Mr. D offended his father a while back. He took a fancy to a wood nymph that had been declared off limits.”

“A wood nymph,” I muttered, eyeing the Coke can warily, like it would jump out and attack me.

“Yes,” Mr. D grumbled. “Father loves to punish me. The first time, prohibition! Absolutely dreadful decade, that! The second time, he sent me here, to this stupid Camp. ‘Be a better influence.’ Bah! Completely unfair, I tell you!”

Mr. D sounded like a pouty child.

“And, your father would be…?”

Mr. D rolled his eyes. “Zeus, of course.”

I quickly searched through my disorganized brain. D names, tiger skin, sons of Zeus, wine. It was obvious, wasn’t it?

“Dionysus,” I said. “The wine god.”

“Well, duh, Atalanta Jackson,” he said. “Would you like a medal?”

“I don’t think I need one, it’s not as if you’re some obscure god, is it?”

Mr. D let out a loud guffaw. “You think you can flatter me?”

“No,” I said honestly. “You’re one of the twelve Olympians. Or, well, you sometimes are, other times it’s Hestia instead of you.”

Mr. D nodded. “I am indeed. Hestia stepped down when I ascended to godhood. Trying to keep the peace.” He turned back to the game. “Well, I believe I win.”

“Not quite,” Chiron said, placing down some cards. “The game goes to me.”

I figured Mr. D would zap Chiron out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed as if used to being beaten by him. He stood, Grover following seconds after him. “I’m tired,” he declared. “I think I’ll take a nap before the campfire tonight. First, however, Grover, we must talk about your poor performance on this assignment.”

Grover’s head bobbed up and down, his face beaded with sweat. “Y-yes sir!”

Mr. D turned his gaze on me again. “Cabin eleven, Atalanta Jackson.”

He turned and pushed through a screen door into the big house, Grover following dejectedly behind him.

“Will Grover be alright?” I asked.

Chiron sighed. “Dionysus isn’t really mad,” he said. “He’s just resentful of having to work here. He hates his job. He’s been, well, I guess you could say he’s grounded. He can’t stand waiting another century before being allowed to return to Olympus.”

“Mount Olympus,” I said. “Sure, there’s a palace there, yeah.”

“Well, not exactly,” Chiron said. “There’s Mount Olympus, in Greece, and then there’s Olympus, the meeting place of the gods. It did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus, but it has since moved. It’s still called Olympus since no one has really thought to change the name, not that it is needed, really. The palace follows the gods around, of course.”

“Of course,” I said. “So, the gods are here, then? In the states?”

“Of course,” Chiron said. “The gods move with the heart of the west.”

“The west,” I said.

“Western civilization. It’s not merely an abstract concept, but an actual, living force. It is a collective consciousness that has been around for thousands of years. It probably started somewhere before Greece, perhaps in the Middle East, but then it would move to Greece, then to Rome. The gods are so strongly tied to it that they couldn’t possibly fade.”

“And then what?”

“It continued moving around. After Rome fell, it would move to France, then to Germany under the Holy Roman Empire — which, by the way, wasn’t exactly Roman. After that it went to Spain, back to France for a little while, then to England for several centuries. Now it is here in America. The current heart of western civilization. Everywhere they have ruled, you can find signs of them in architecture, in art. Greek and Roman influence has an iron grip on culture. Do you know just how many empires throughout history have claimed to be a successor to Rome in some capacity?”

“A lot,” I guessed.

“Indeed. Not all have been the heart of the west. Modern Italy, as an example. Although, I suppose, if you wanted to get really technical, the Vatican is technically the most direct successor to the Roman Empire, although that, of course, doesn’t take into account where the gods actually moved to. Regardless, America is now the great power of the west, and so Olympus is here. We are here.”

“We,” I said. “Who are you, Chiron? And how do I fit into all of- of- of this?”

Chiron gave me a soft smile. “Well, that is what we need to determine, isn’t it?” He shifted as if to get up from his chair, but I knew that was impossible. “For now, though, you will have a bunk in cabin eleven. We must be off now. I will take you there. Also, I do hope you’ll be at the campfire tonight. There’s going to be s’mores.”

And then, because things had to get weirder, he did get up from his wheelchair. Of course, his legs didn’t actually move — that would just be silly, wouldn’t it? No, they stayed in place as the upper body of my latin teacher started rising. At first I thought he was wearing some weird long underwear, but that wasn’t right. He kept rising taller than any human could possibly be, and I realised that what I was looking at wasn’t even human. It was the front of an animal. One leg popped out, tipped with a hoof, then another. They touched down on the floor. The wheelchair must’ve been magic of some sort, because otherwise, how would this entire horse body slowly emerging from it have fit? The rest of the horse body followed, leaving the wheelchair as an empty box with wheels and a pair of fake legs attached.

Of course, there wasn’t a horse in front of me. It was the body of one, but where the head would normally be was the upper body of my latin teacher. He was a centaur.

He sighed in relief. “Come along, Atty. Let us meet the other campers.”