War dreams

I found the nearest bed and passed out. But of course sleep only brought more nightmares.
 I saw the undersea palace of my father. The enemy army was closer now, entrenched only a few hundred yards outside the palace. The fortress walls were completely destroyed. The temple my dad had used as his headquarters was burning with Greek fire.
I zoomed in on the armory, where my brother and some other Cyclopes were on lunch break, eating from huge jars of Skippy extra-chunky peanut butter (and don't ask me how it tasted underwater, because I don't want to know). As I watched, the outer wall of the armory exploded. A Cyclops warrior stumbled inside, collapsing on the lunch table. Tyson knelt down to help, but it was too late. The Cyclops dissolved into sea silt.
Enemy giants moved toward the breach, and Tyson picked up the fallen warrior's club. He yelled something to his fellow blacksmiths—probably "For Poseidon!"—but with his mouth full of peanut butter it sounded like "PUH PTEH BUN!" His brethren all grabbed hammers and chisels, yelled, "PEANUT BUTTER!" and charged behind Tyson into battle.
Then the scene shifted. I was with Ethan Nakamura at the enemy camp. What I saw made me shiver, partly because the army was so huge, partly because I recognized the place.
 We were in the backwoods of New Jersey, on a crumbling road lined with run-down businesses and

 tattered billboard signs. A trampled fence ringed a big yard full of cement statuary. The sign above the warehouse was hard to read because it was in red cursive, but I knew what it said: AUNTY EM'S GARDEN GNOME EMPORIUM.
I hadn't thought about the place in years. It was clearly abandoned. The statues were broken and spray-painted with graffiti. A cement satyr—Grover's Uncle Ferdinand—had lost his arm. Part of the warehouse roof had caved in. A big yellow sign pasted on the door read: CONDEMNED.
Hundreds of tents and fires surrounded the property. Mostly I saw monsters, but there were some human mercenaries in combat fatigues and demigods in armor, too. A purple-and-black banner hung outside the emporium, guarded by two huge blue Hyperboreans.
Ethan was crouched at the nearest campfire. A couple of other demigods sat with him, sharpening their swords. The doors of the warehouse opened, and Prometheus stepped out.
"Nakamura," he called. "The master would like to speak to you." Ethan stood up warily. "Something wrong?"
Prometheus smiled. "You'll have to ask him."
One of the other demigods snickered. "Nice knowing you." Ethan readjusted his sword belt and headed into the warehouse.
Except for the hole in the roof, the place was just as 1 remembered. Statues of terrified people stood frozen in midscream. In the snack bar area, the picnic tables had been moved aside. Right between the soda dispenser and pretzel warmer stood a golden throne. Kronos lounged on it, his scythe across his lap. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, and with his brooding expression he looked almost human—like the younger version of Luke I'd seen in the vision, pleading with Hermes to tell him his fate. Then Luke saw Ethan, and his face contorted into a very inhuman smile. His golden eyes glowed.
"Well, Nakamura. What did you think of the diplomatic mission?" Ethan hesitated. "I'm sure Lord Prometheus is better suited to speak—" "But I asked you."
Ethan's good eye darted back and forth, noting the guards that stood around Kronos. "I . . . I don't think Jackson will surrender. Ever."
Kronos nodded. "Anything else you wanted to tell me?" "N-no, sir.
"You look nervous, Ethan."
"No, sir. It's just . . . I heard this was the lair of —"
"Medusa? Yes, quite true. Lovely place, eh? Unfortunately, Medusa hasn't re-formed since Jackson killed her, so you needn't worry about joining her collection. Besides, there are much more dangerous forces in this room."
Kronos looked over at a Laistrygonian giant who was munching noisily on some french fries. Kronos waved his hand and the giant froze. A french fry hung suspended in midair halfway between his hand and his mouth.

 "Why turn them to stone," Kronos asked, "when you can freeze time itself?"
His golden eyes bored into Ethan's face. "Now, tell me one more thing. What happened last night on the Williamsburg Bridge?"
Ethan trembled. Beads of perspiration were popping up on his forehead. "I . . . I don't know, sir."
"Yes, you do." Kronos rose from his seat. "When you attacked Jackson, something happened. Something was not quite right. The girl, Annabeth, jumped in your way."
"She wanted to save him."
"But he is invulnerable," Kronos said quietly. "You saw that yourself."
"I can't explain it. Maybe she forgot."
"She forgot," Kronos said. "Yes, that must've been it. Oh dear, I forgot my friend is invulnerable and took a knife for him. Oops. Tell me, Ethan, where were you aiming when you stabbed at Jackson?"
Ethan frowned. He clasped his hand as if he were holding a blade, and mimed a thrust. "I'm not sure, sir. It all happened so fast. I wasn't aiming for any spot in particular.'
Kronos's fingers tapped the blade of his scythe. "I see," he said in a chilly tone. "If your memory improves, I will expect—"
Suddenly the Titan lord winced. The giant in the corner unfroze and the french fry fell into his mouth. Kronos stumbled backward and sank into his throne.
"My lord?" Ethan started forward.
"I—" The voice was weak, but just for a moment it was Luke's. Then Kronos's expression hardened. He raised his hand and flexed his fingers slowly as if forcing them to obey.
"It is nothing," he said, his voice steely and cold again. "A minor discomfort."
Ethan moistened his lips. "He's still fighting you, isn't he? Luke—"
"Nonsense," Kronos spat. "Repeat that lie, and I will cut out your tongue. The boy's soul has been crushed. I am simply adjusting to the limits of this form. It requires rest. It is annoying, but no more than a temporary inconvenience."
"As . . . as you say, my lord."
"You!" Kronos pointed his scythe at a dracaena with green armor and a green crown. "Queen Sess, is it?"
"Yesssss, my lord."
"Is our little surprise ready to be unleashed?"
The dracaena queen bared her fangs. "Oh, yessss, my lord. Quite a lovely sssssurprissse."
"Excellent," Kronos said. "Tell my brother Hyperion to move our main force south into Central Park. The half-bloods will be in such disarray they will not be able to defend themselves. Go now, Ethan. Work on improving your memory. We will talk again when we have taken Manhattan."
Ethan bowed, and my dreams shifted one last time. I saw the Big House at camp, but it was a different era. The house was painted red instead of blue. The campers down at the volleyball pit had early '90s

 hairstyles, which were probably good for keeping monsters away.
Chiron stood by the porch, talking to Hermes and a woman holding a baby. Chiron's hair was shorter and darker. Hermes wore his usual jogging suit with his winged high-tops. The woman was tall and pretty. She had blond hair, shining eyes and a friendly smile. The baby in her arms squirmed in his blue blanket like Camp Half-Blood was the last place he wanted to be.
"It's an honor to have you here," Chiron told the woman, though he sounded nervous. "It's been a long time since a mortal was allowed at camp."
"Don't encourage her," Hermes grumbled. "May, you can't do this."
With a shock, I realized I was seeing May Castellan. She looked nothing like the old woman I'd met.
She seemed full of life—the kind of person who could smile and make everyone around her feel good.
"Oh, don't worry so much," May said, rocking the baby. "You need an Oracle, don't you? The old one's been dead for, what, twenty years?"
"Longer," Chiron said gravely.
Hermes raised his arms in exasperation. "I didn't tell you that story so you could apply. It's dangerous. Chiron, tell her."
"It is," Chiron warned. "For many years, I have forbidden anyone from trying. We don't know exactly what's happened. Humanity seems to have lost the ability to host the Oracle."
"We've been through that," May said. "And I know I can do it. Hermes, this is my chance to do something good. I've been given the gift of sight for a reason."
I wanted to yell at May Castellan to stop. I knew what was about to happen. I finally understood how her life had been destroyed. But I couldn't move or speak.
Hermes looked more hurt than worried. "You couldn't marry if you became the Oracle," he complained. "You couldn't see me anymore."
May put her hand on his arm. "I can't have you forever, can I? You'll move on soon. You're immortal."
He started to protest, but she put her hand on his chest. "You know it's true! Don't try to spare my feelings. Besides, we have a wonderful child. I can still raise Luke if I'm the Oracle, right?"
Chiron coughed. "Yes, but in all fairness, I don't know how that will affect the spirit of the Oracle. A woman who has already borne a child—as far as I know, this has never been done before. If the spirit does not take—"
"It will," May insisted.
No, I wanted to shout. It won't.
May Castellan kissed her baby and handed the bundle to Hermes. "I'll be right back." She gave them one last confident smile and climbed the steps.
Chiron and Hermes paced in silence. The baby squirmed.
A green glow lit the windows of the house. The campers stopped playing volleyball and stared up at the attic. A cold wind rushed through the strawberry fields.

 Hermes must've felt it too. He cried, "No! NO!"
He shoved the baby into Chiron's arms and ran for the porch. Before he reached the door, the sunny afternoon was shattered by May Castellan's terrified scream.
 I got up so fast I banged my head on somebody's shield.


TLO ch.14