Riptide
achieving elysium

chapter one: the fire

My story begins with a cold December morning, the air crisp and clear. There is a chill in the air that settles deep, deep into my bones. No, that is not right. My story begins with a hopeful wish, a foolish prayer to the gods that dwell in the heavens. I know they won't answer.

That isn't quite right either.

My story begins with the end of another, I suppose, as all stories do.

Close your eyes for a moment and picture this. It is a chilly December night. There is a small group of teens, who are all around seventeen or eighteen - except for one, who is fourteen. They are crowded around a stack of long pieces of wood. But this is not a bonfire. On top of the stack is a body wrapped in a dull-looking shroud. They stand in a circle on the beach, barefoot against the sand. Behind them, waves lap gently against the shore in quiet mourning.

A funeral. I am one of the few people who bothered to show up. It is I who am holding a torch, the fire casting flickering shadows around us and making my face hot.

My name is Annabeth Julia Chase; I am eighteen years old. My boyfriend, Percy Jackson, went missing for a year before being caught and sentenced to death for his betrayal of Olympus. A traitor, they call him now.

Do you see?

But I am not a petty fool, nor am I a snivelling, pining girlfriend. Yes, some of the rumors about me are true - even though he's been dead for three months, sometimes I curl up at night and cry, or I won't want to get up in the morning, or the pain will feel like drowning, so close to the surface but never there, clawing desperately for air. It's true - I want to scream and cry and rage at the skies.

My boyfriend, a traitor. My boyfriend, dead. Some days, I don't know which is harder to believe. Today is no different.

"Annabeth," Chiron says in a low voice. I turn numbly to look at him. He looks back at me and gestures at the body resting on the pyre. I step forward, and when I do, I get a glimpse of his face. His hair is messy as always. His eyes are closed; his face is pale. The only descriptive word that I can think of is dead. Very, very… dead. I stare at him, thinking of a time when he wasn't so dead or so traitorous, a time that has now died alongside Percy Jackson.

When he was still alive, Percy was.. well, he was mine. That's the only I can think to describe it, because he was mine, and I knew him like I knew the countries of the world or as sure as the worn leather grip of my dagger against my calloused hand.

But back then, anyone could tell you this: Percy Jackson is the Savior of Olympus. He's a hero. He's sweet and kind and good; he's made of loyalty and a touch of rebellion.

Now, the ugly, terrible word - traitor - hangs above his head. I can see it in the faces of the others, this word. Traitor.

But I don't believe he betrayed Olympus. Not really.

Even here, standing surrounded by a handful of people, the shroud bleak and undecorated in front of us, I do not believe it.

"Burn it," someone says. Silence.

I do.

The flames are filled with color, blues and dizzying purples, bright oranges and reds, flecks and sparks of gold against the dark sky. They eat the shroud and body ravenously. The smoke is thick and smells like incense. Like death. It clouds me and fills my lungs with darkness and spills into me, a black bitterness and grief that corrupts me.

The crowd disperses. I watch the fire sputter at the sky until there is nothing left but ash and the glow of dying embers and my own cracked, stuttering heart.

I leave it behind, too.

And that is the beginning.

Later, later, I go to Cabin Three. My Yankees hat is nestled on my head, keeping the harpies at bay. If they sense me moving around, they don't do anything about it. I whisper a small prayer to the gods as I push the door open, the moonlight from outside spilling in.

The cabin looks exactly the same as it did years ago. It's dark inside. Clothes are strewn around on the ground. There are two beds inside - singular ones and not bunk beds like most of the other cabins. On the wall next to the bed on the right is a bulletin board. I move closer, though I already know what is pinned on it.

A thousand pictures decorate the board. There's… there's Percy and his friends. There's pictures of Sally, lots and lots of her, smiling at the camera or holding up a batch of cookies or a more recent one of her holding up her newly published book. There's the Stolls, covered in whipped cream, and Clarisse, scowling at the camera and holding a spear in one hand. Katie balances a strawberry on her nose. Lou Ellen is dressed up as Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter. And then there's pictures of me. Of us.

A million captured moments. I see myself, kissing Percy on the cheek - or, more often, the mouth. We do homework together and spar and race to the mess hall. We go swimming and climb the rock wall and drive around. We do so many things in these pictures.

There is one that catches my eye, though. I reach to pull it off, taking the tack out. I am piggy-back riding Percy, my hands over his eyes and elbows resting on his shoulders. His arms are supporting my legs. He can only half-see, and I am behind him, laughing.

It's such a small, precious moment. It's the one that strikes me hardest, though, because in it, we look happy. There is nothing but happiness on my face. I remember that moment, laughing and holding onto him so I wouldn't fall. I remember feeling so good. I remember that day, when my head felt clear, and I'd slept well, and there were no nightmares or flashbacks. And I was happy.

I hold it in my hand, looking at this. This small wonder in a world of harsh reality.

Somehow, a tear leaks out of my eye. Then another. Then another. Gods, when did everything go wrong? I thought we were happy. I thought everything was okay.

That maybe one day we could do what I'd once thought was never possible. For a second, I imagine for myself a perfect future. Something permanent. Maybe once we could have gone to college in New Rome. I would study their architecture for hours on end. Maybe Percy really would study surfing.

I put the picture in my pocket and turn to leave. That future will never happen. Not for me.

Something stops me from leaving, though. I am drawn to the small nightstand next to his bed. On it sits a familiar ballpoint pen. I take it and turn it in my hands. Over and over. On it is a familiar inscription. Anaklusmos.

When I pull off the cap, it turns into a three-foot long Celestial Bronze sword. Deadly and beautifully wicked. It glows faintly in the dark, and memories spring to my head, unbidden. I recap it and put that in my pocket, too.

The night is too suffocating. The shadows of the cabins close in on me when I step outside. The cool air is suddenly not enough for me. The camp is not enough for me. I know at once that something has changed.

I can't stay here. I can't. After all, Camp Half-Blood no longer feels like a home. It's the people, not the place. A lesson I've learned.

That's that. I make my decision then, a decision in a split second. There is no loudly proclaiming. There is no fanfare. It's just me, a sword, and the ghosts of my past haunting me.

No one but Peleus notices I leave. Ten minutes later, I have made my way down the hill, past the safety of my once-called home. Past the borders. Past my old life and into a new one. Peleus snorts and raises his large head in a sort of salute as he watches me push through the tall grass. I turn around and salute him, too.

"See you around, Peleus," I mutter, smiling. The moonlight catches in his scales and turns them a deep midnight blue. I capture this moment in my mind, saying goodbye to the only home that I'd ever really known.

Percy, my heart whispers.

While San Francisco is where I belong, New York has always held a place in my heart. There's always something so comforting about the city. No one stares at you. There are always people moving. Lights turn on just as quickly as they are shut off. Cars honk. I always feel so small there, one in a million. It's refreshing, actually, this city. I become part of a living, breathing city.

The other good thing about no one ever going to sleep here is that there is always a cabdriver waiting for someone to drive. I step out onto the street and wave at the first yellow car I see. It pulls in immediately, and I step back quickly to avoid being run over. (That might delay my plans quite a bit.)

"Where to, miss?" he asks me when I slide into the front seat. He glances at me, eyeing my appearance and the duffel bag I have in my lap.

I rattle off the address to the Jackson-Blofis residence before I can stop myself. He just drives, weaving through the traffic like a pro.

Another thing I like about New York: the people here don't ask very many questions. I must look like a teenage runaway - some poor kid who decided that being yelled at or something was too much. Hell, I don't look like a New Yorker or act like one, either. But none of that matters.

The ride there is silent. I mostly stare out the window and try to formulate a plan. I have two hundred dollars in cash, two weapons, some clothes, and.. no lead. A great start to an adventure. Cars flash by, streaks of red and blue and green. The city is alive with energy. Each building glows with a different color. Far above, the night sky shimmers.

The thought hits me when I see an office building. DARE ENTERPRISES, it says, and my mind goes into overdrive. Dare - Rachel Elizabeth Dare, that sneaky girl.

Stop for a moment, and instead imagine this:

Two girls. One has a mane of bright red curls. Her eyes are green, her skin freckled. There is a smudge of blue paint on her cheek, and her fingers are rough and calloused from the grip of a paintbrush. The other has wild blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes are grey, her skin tan. Her appearance is clean, polished - but if you look closely, dark bags hang under her eyes, and heaviness rests on her shoulder.

June 14, 2010. The first girl is Rachel Elizabeth Dare, part-time Oracle of Delphi and part-time artist. The second is Annabeth Chase, part-time hero and part-time student.

"What do you know about Percy?" I demand. Rachel is calm, not at all fazed by my shouting.

She smiles thinly. "Don't give up on him, Annabeth. Don't ever give up on him." This frustrates me. I am tired, out of my mind, and.. scared. Scared that Percy has left me for good. And this time by his own choice.

"Rachel," I beg, looking at my friend. "You know I'd never give up on him."

Her eyes glint with secret knowledge. "Don't say that," she warns me sadly.

"Rachel?"

"When the time is right, head north to a place where the gods can't touch you. You won't be alone, but it'll be hard."

"When the time is right?" I mutter angrily. "This isn't some cheap movie. How am I supposed to know what time is wrong and what time is right, Rach?"

"Trust me," she pleads. And I do. I do trust her. "That's all I can tell you." The sky rumbles warningly above us, the flash of lightning in a faraway place. Rachel eyes the sky and bites her lip.

I sigh. "Thanks, Rachel." We hug.

"Don't thank me yet," she whispers in my ear before we separate. Then the two girls part.

This conversation comes back to me as I sit in the car. When the time is right. It looks like the right time now, I decide. There is not a time more right than one o'clock in the morning with a death wish.

North, Rachel had told me. To a place where the gods can't touch you. There is only one place I can think of - Alaska, the land beyond the gods. They can't go there; they hold no power in that land. Good thing is, demigods do. After all, we can go anywhere, do anything, challenge anyone - as long as we are bold enough and brave enough to do it.

I'm not sure I'm bold enough or brave enough at the moment - but I do know I'm foolish enough. That counts, right?

"We're here, miss," the cabdriver says, interrupting my thoughts. I pull out a few bills and toss them on the dash as the door swings open. I keep it open awkwardly with a leg and throw my things to the sidewalk.

"Thank you," I tell him, and the door closes. He drives off the moment I do so, and I am left a bit miffed in the cold.

I shake my head and snap out of it. Now is not the time.

The apartment building looms over me. It is tall and menacing, but I am far from afraid. The buildings cut out beautiful, angular shapes in the dark. This particular building is different from its neighbors. Some lights are on, some are off. Some are dim, some are bright, some are completely dark. I eye them and wonder which one is Sally's. Is it dim, a quiet place filled with hope and warmth? Bright, with energy and half-hidden adventures? Dark, with a deathly silence and too-still pictures hanging on the walls?

I hope it isn't the last one. While the night itself is inviting, the darkness is not.

There is no one in the lobby to greet me, just an empty front desk. I don't need anyone's help, anyway; I head straight for the elevator to my right and press the button with a faded five on it. The elevator begins its ascent, and there is no music playing in it. Already two hundred times better than Olympus' elevator. I smile at the mirrored walls and look at my reflection.

I reach out and press a palm against the glass. My reflection copies me; we look at each other with red, tired eyes and a grim expression. I look nothing like myself.

Or maybe I'm just a pathetic person in denial, and here is my true self, a reflection in a rickety old elevator. The thought is not a comforting one.

There is a ding as I reach the fifth floor. The doors slide open, and I drag myself out. I glance back at the silver doors and my own distorted reflection before a strange feeling overcomes me. I hurry down the hall. Seeing myself like this… I don't like it. It makes me feel uneasy, like the feeling of coldness when being stalked by something hidden in the shadows.

But there are worse things that that. I square my shoulders and swallow hard, looking at the door to 221A.

"Well, it can't get any worse, can it?" I mumble to myself, already dreading what is to come next as I raise my hand to knock.

I just wanna try this out. I wanna know what you guys think, 'cause this writing style is new, and this story is new, and I'm kind of unsure about myself. So do tell me what you think.

(This will be told in two POVs - Annabeth in the present day and Percy in the past!)

achieving elysium