Chapter 7 I Make a Promise I Can’t Keep
I Make a Promise I Can’t Keep
All the world’s weapons seemed to be stocked in the Camp Half-Blood armory, which was impressive, since it wasn’t much bigger than a garden shed.
After lunch, I’d decided to check out the selection like Beckendorf suggested.
I could’ve spent hours going through the swords, spears, and shields, but it didn’t take me long to spot the scythe.
It was hanging on a peg on the back wall behind a row of spears, almost as if someone had tried to put it behind bars.
I managed to pull it out from its spear prison.
The pole and blade were pristine, like no one had ever dared to use it.
The weight of the weapon didn’t bother me, but it felt unwieldy in my grip, comically top-heavy.
“Looking to slice off a few heads?” said a voice behind me.
I turned to find a smiling girl in an orange tank top and combat pants. Her face was sooty, her dark hair tied back with a red bandanna.
“Oh, uh…” I had the ridiculous urge to hide the scythe behind my back. “Beckendorf said I could look around.”
“Of course,” said the girl. “You sure you want the scythe, though? That dagger on your belt looks plenty lethal.” She cocked her head. “In fact, I think my dad made it. Hephaestus, I mean.”
My hand involuntarily drifted to the handle at my hip. The dagger had been at my beck and call twice now. I was glad to have it, but it wasn’t enough.
“I figured it would be good to know more than one weapon,” I said. “Can I take this and try it out?”
The girl shrugged. “Sure. But I’d be a terrible armorer if I let you take a weapon without teaching you how to use it first. Especially something as complicated as a scythe.”
She beckoned for me to follow her and then headed to a grassy patch of land just beyond the shed. The area looked like it had once been a vineyard, judging by all the stakes puncturing the ground. Now, each stake had a straw dummy tied to it, like a hay fever army.
“I’m Nyssa Barrera, by the way,” the girl said. “You’re one of the new campers, right?”
I nodded. “Katie.”
“Good to meet ya.” She reached for the scythe, and I handed it over.
“So, the scythe is a weapon of opportunity. In the old days, farmers had easy access to them for harvesting. When they needed to start an uprising or whatever, they’d modify their scythes for battle. Peasants and rebels loved them.”
“Perfect,” I said. “I am both a peasant and a rebel.”
Nyssa laughed. “When using one, the most important thing to know about is the grip.” She demonstrated. “One hand in the middle for balance and one at the base for maximum torque.”
I quirked my eyebrow. “Torque?”
“The amount of force you get from rotating your body.”
Nyssa stepped up to a straw dummy and swung the scythe in a downward diagonal arc. The blade sliced cleanly through from shoulder to leg.
“Now look what happens when I choke up on the grip.” This time, her left hand stayed in the middle but the other gripped the scythe near the blade.
Nyssa swung again, but the blade got wedged in the dummy’s shoulder.
She held the scythe out to me. “Your turn.”
You wouldn’t think there’d be so many wrong ways to wield a scythe, but apparently, I knew them all.
Once Nyssa was satisfied with my slicing technique, she showed how the blade could be locked parallel with the shaft, turning it into a really long polearm—like a spear, except with a sword on the end.
“That’s the war-scythe configuration,” she said. “A lot easier to use, which is why I started you with the hard stuff.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said.
But she was right. Stabbing and slicing weren’t nearly as difficult with the blade pointed straight. I was still pretty clumsy at it, though.
Then Nyssa had me try blocking attacks. That was where I excelled.
It wasn’t much different from parrying thrusts in fencing—if you can imagine using a telephone pole instead of a foil.
Nyssa came at me with a spear, and I easily knocked aside her weapon and thrust in my blade for a counterattack, stopping an inch from her throat.
“You’re a natural on defense!” Nyssa declared. “But don’t hold back so much on attack.”
I thought she was joking, since I’d just about given her a tracheotomy, but she looked serious.
“Trust me,” I said, “it’s better if I hold back a little.”
By the time Nyssa released me, my arms and shoulders were so sore I could barely lift the scythe.
Thankfully, Nyssa showed me that my new weapon was designed to fold like a giant pocketknife, so I could carry it with a strap over my shoulder. It was still awkward to lug around, but no more so than a quiver.
Even better, the lesson after weaponry was far less taxing. Star Sight only required me to lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. It was held in a round pavilion with a black dome, the inside of which had been painted with glow-in-the-dark dots that resembled the stars.
The class was even more popular than Blacksmithing. A lot of kids had brought their sleeping bags and pillows. Our instructor, a nymph named Ambrosia, walked among us in her glowing silvery dress, telling us constellation myths and occasionally waking up snoring campers with a nudge of her foot.
About halfway through the activity, Zuri joined us. She spotted me and, to my surprise, navigated her way through the sprawl of kids to lie down on the carpet next to me.
She eyed my new scythe. “Wow, you really pivoted away from the bow and arrow, huh?”
“Yep.” I stared at the Cygnus constellation on the ceiling. “I haven’t learned to swing it while in a backbend, though.”
Zuri chuckled. “That was to cheer up my cabinmate Will. Cute kid, but he’s getting bullied by some walking Ares turd named Elam. No offense.”
I shook my head. “None taken. Elam’s a toilet-clogger.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Also, I guess I wanted Elam to know that if he comes after Will again, he’s going to get an arrow in his butt.”
“I’d pay to see that.” I turned my head toward Zuri. “But you don’t have to prove anything to him or anyone else.”
She blinked at me. “Neither do you, Katie. You’re not your mom, you know.”
“Oh, believe me, I know.”
Zuri clicked her tongue. “I mean you’re your own person. You shouldn’t be expected to be a mini version of your mom.”
My cheeks flushed. I hadn’t imagined Zuri could be so supportive. It made me feel guilty that I’d thought of her as a perfect substitute daughter for the Kim family—someone who might actually meet my mom’s expectations.
I wondered what Zuri’s story was with her own family, but I didn’t think I knew her well enough to ask. I also didn’t want to get an arrow in the butt.
“Well,” I said, “I’m actually a foot taller than my mom.”
Zuri elbowed me in the ribs.
I laughed. “Thanks for the pep talk, but it’s been forced on me since birth that I should be like her. It’s kind of hard to lose that belief.”
“Here’s what you do,” Zuri whispered. “You take that belief to the forest, tell it you’ll be right back, and then let the harpies eat it!”
We both snickered until Ambrosia appeared next to us.
“Quiet, please,” said the nymph, her voice calm and soothing. “Now, let’s see if we can find Orion’s belt….”
For the rest of the lesson, Ambrosia told us stories about the hunter Orion, his dog, Sirius, and the Pleiades sisters Orion had chased (infatuated much?).
My last activity of the afternoon turned out to be my favorite: Hora Hour. It was run by a woman named Irene who wore a sundress despite the chilly autumn air and encouraged us to release our anxieties and fears into objects she’d positioned around the arts-and-crafts room.
Some campers chose to smash colorful plates; others chose to make mosaics from the pieces of those plates. Some chose to make splatter art; some chose to punch dough for the next day’s bread. Me? I sculpted a humanoid figurine from clay and pounded it flat. Repeatedly.
Irene was right. It did feel good to release my rage.
“Katie?” said a familiar voice.
I looked up. Standing over me was a satyr with bright red hair and horns that curled around his ears so he looked like he was wearing headphones.
“Silas!” I jumped to my feet and gave him a hug, forgetting about my sticky hands.
“Ack!” he yelped. “My ribs. I need them.”
“Sorry, sorry.” I hadn’t meant to crush him, but I was just so glad to see him. “Where have you been?”
He glanced at my flattened clay man and gave me a pained expression. Apparently, he understood what I’d been doing.
“We should talk.” He motioned for me to follow him outside.
That didn’t sound good.
Once we were away from arts and crafts, Silas crossed his arms and scratched his elbows, the way he did when he was worried.
“I’ve been out with the search party all day,” he told me. “We covered the entire valley. Katie, I couldn’t pick up Grant’s scent anywhere.”
I swallowed a lump (of clay?) in my throat. “Grant wouldn’t have just left.”
“I don’t think so either,” Silas agreed. “Remember how brave he was on the road?”
Images flashed in my mind: Grant jumping in front of me, protecting me from monsters, and then holding me while I sobbed that first night, trying to comfort me: Your family would want you to survive. The best way to do that is to get to camp.
“I remember,” I said. “But you’ll keep looking, right?”
Silas winced. He definitely didn’t seem like the same hopeful satyr who had escorted Grant and me to camp, promising me that everything would be okay. That the people at Camp Half-Blood would help me and keep me safe.
“I…just got news from the Council of Cloven Elders,” he said. “They’ve approved my searcher’s license. I’m supposed to leave on my quest for Pan at the end of the week.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. “Oh. Congratulations.”
During our trip to Long Island, Silas had talked about his aspiration to become a searcher.
He’d shown me and Grant a map studded with satyr stickers, marking various spots in the country where he thought the missing god of the Wild might be.
Apparently, every satyr dreamed of going on the quest for Pan, to find their patron deity and finally restore balance to nature.
I had no idea if there was some personal reward for finding him. Maybe a lifetime supply of tin cans.
“You don’t look excited,” I said.
“I’m excited.” Silas’s voice sounded like he’d just won a lifetime supply of rat traps.
“But I don’t feel like I should be leaving, much less celebrating…
not with Grant missing. The rest of the search party, even Argus and the counselors…
they all seem to believe that if we haven’t found Grant by now, we’re not going to. They think he must have gone home.”
I clenched my clay-crusted fists at my sides.
Argus had told me to leave the worrying to him. Now he was just giving up? And Clarisse had everybody convinced Grant had gone home so she could avoid getting in trouble for her little hazing excursion.
Silas was trying to read my expression.
“I’m not done looking,” he promised me. “I’ve got a few days yet. I’ll keep searching until the moment I have to leave. But, Katie, it would help if I had more information. Be honest. What happened last night? What were you all doing out by the woods after curfew?”
I breathed in deep…and held it.
I wasn’t sure I could trust anyone to do the right thing, but at least Silas was still trying. And I didn’t feel like I owed Clarisse enough loyalty to keep her secrets.
I told Silas about our run through the Wild Zone.
“Clarisse made a game out of it,” I said.
“Now she’s trying to cover her own butt, and if the newbies say anything, we’ll get expelled for trespassing in the Zone.
” I shook my head in disgust. “When that thing in the trees was stalking us, Grant stayed behind to fight it. I should have stayed with him.”
Silas didn’t disagree. My chest ached.
Silas pulled a wrinkled, well-worn atlas from the pocket of his cargo pants and flipped to a map of Camp Half-Blood. “Could you show me the exact path you and Grant took?”
I noticed there was no label where the Wild Zone should’ve been—it was just an innocuous expanse of little tree icons in the north woods. Nevertheless, I followed the line of the creek we’d stumbled across. I put my finger on the approximate point where Grant and I had gotten separated.
“Okay.” Silas tucked the map back into his pocket. “I’ll speak to Argus about this.”
I cringed. “But if you tell him we were in the Wild Zone—”
“I’ll keep your names out of it,” he promised.
“I’ll just suggest that we need to search there, since that’s the only place we haven’t looked.
” His expression darkened. “Even satyrs need permission to go into the Wild Zone. Most campers don’t know it exists.
Even the dryads avoid it, and they’re tree spirits! ”
“Do you know why?”
Silas shook his head. “But I’ll find out. In the meantime, please promise me you’ll stay away from the Zone, okay?”
Another person asking me to trust him.
I liked Silas. I didn’t like leaving other people in charge of things that concerned me. And Grant’s absence definitely concerned me. Still, I agreed to stay away from the Wild Zone. I just didn’t promise for how long.
“Good,” Silas said, clearly relieved. “I’ll check in with you soon.”
As he trotted away, I called after him, “Good luck with the hunt.” In a softer voice I added, “Both of them.”
I had just enough time to wash the clay off my hands and change my shirt before I had to fall in line for dinner.