Percy Jackson and the Olympians: the lightning thief

Grover looked at me cautiously, as if he were afraid I was just making fun.

 

"The God of Wild Places disappeared two thousand years ago," he told me. "A sailor off the coast of Ephesos heard a mysterious voice crying out from the shore, 'Tell them that the great god Pan has died!' When humans heard the news, they believed it. They've been pillaging Pan's kingdom ever since. But for the satyrs, Pan was our lord and master. He protected us and the wild places of the earth. We refuse to believe that he died. In every generation, the bravest satyrs pledge their lives to finding Pan. They search the earth, exploring all the wildest places, hoping to find where he is hidden, and wake him from his sleep."

 

"And you want to be a searcher."

 

"It's my life's dream," he said. "My father was a searcher. And my Uncle Ferdinand ... the statue you saw back there—"

 

"Oh, right, sorry."

 

Grover shook his head. "Uncle Ferdinand knew the risks. So did my dad. But I'll succeed. I'll be the first searcher to return alive."

 

"Hang on— the first?"

 

Grover took his reed pipes out of his pocket. "No searcher has ever come back. Once they set out, they disappear. They're never seen alive again."

 

"Not once in two thousand years?"

 

"No."

 

"And your dad? You have no idea what happened to him?"

 

"None."

 

"But you still want to go," I said, amazed. "I mean, you really think you'll be the one to find Pan?"

 

"I have to believe that, Percy. Every searcher does. It's the only thing that keeps us from despair when we look at what humans have done to the world. I have to believe Pan can still be awakened."

 

I stared at the orange haze of the sky and tried to understand how Grover could pursue a dream that seemed so hopeless. Then again, was I any better?

 

"How are we going to get into the Underworld?" I asked him. "I mean, what chance do we have against a god?"

 

"I don't know," he admitted. "But back at Medusa's, when you were searching her office?

 

Annabeth was telling me—"

 

"Oh, I forgot. Annabeth will have a plan all figured out."

 

"Don't be so hard on her, Percy. She's had a tough life, but she's a good person. After all, she forgave me...." His voice faltered.

 

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Forgave you for what?" Suddenly, Grover seemed very interested in playing notes on his pipes.

 

"Wait a minute," I said. "Your first keeper job was five years ago. Annabeth has been at camp five years. She wasn't ... I mean, your first assignment that went wrong—"

 

"I can't talk about it," Grover said, and his quivering lower lip suggested he'd start crying if I pressed him. "But as I was saying, back at Medusa's, Annabeth and I agreed there's something strange going on with this quest. Something isn't what it seems."

 

"Well, duh. I'm getting blamed for stealing a thunderbolt that Hades took."

 

"That's not what I mean," Grover said. "The Fur—The Kindly Ones were sort of holding back. Like Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy ... why did she wait so long to try to kill you? Then on the bus, they just weren't as aggressive as they could've been."

 

"They seemed plenty aggressive to me."

 

Grover shook his head. "They were screeching at us: 'Where is it? Where?'"

 

"Asking about me," I said.

 

"Maybe ... but Annabeth and I, we both got the feeling they weren't asking about a person. They said 'Where is it?' They seemed to be asking about an object."

 

"That doesn't make sense."

 

"I know. But if we've misunderstood something about this quest, and we only have nine days to find the master bolt...." He looked at me like he was hoping for answers, but I didn't have any. I thought about what Medusa had said: I was being used by the gods. What lay ahead of me was worse than petrification. "I haven't been straight with you," 1 told Grover. "I don't care about the master bolt. I agreed to go to the Underworld so I could bring back my mother." Grover blew a soft note on his pipes. "I know that, Percy. But are you sure that's the only reason?"

 

"I'm not doing it to help my father. He doesn't care about me. I don't care about him." Grover gazed down from his tree branch. "Look, Percy, I'm not as smart as Annabeth. I'm not as brave as you. But I'm pretty good at reading emotions. You're glad your dad is alive. You feel good that he's claimed you, and part of you wants to make him proud. That's why you mailed Medusa's head to Olympus. You wanted him to notice what you'd done."

 

"Yeah? Well maybe satyr emotions work differently than human emotions. Because you're wrong. I don't care what he thinks."

 

Grover pulled his feet up onto the branch. "Okay, Percy. Whatever."

 

"Besides, I haven't done anything worth bragging about. We barely got out of New York and we're stuck here with no money and no way west."

 

Grover looked at the night sky, like he was thinking about that problem. "How about I take first watch, huh? You get some sleep."

 

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