The Shadow Archer Twins

As the Romans filed into their ranks, a group of nature spirits melted out of the woods behind us, feeling obligated to fight for the Camp, even if they were only providing a last line of fighters. It was 200 Romans against about 100 campers and 50 nature spirits and satyrs. The odds were grim. But I had expected that.

The Apollo archers, along with some nature spirits with bows, were lined up behind the Ares, Hephaestus, and Hermes cabins, which made up the front lines. Next came the rest of the cabins, all formed together in two massive lines, ready to charge through the archers to help with the front. Behind them were the nature spirits, shifting nervously as they watched the battle about to unfold from the back.

The Romans locked shields and advanced, with the second line raising their shields above the first line and the third line with their shields above the second, covering their heads and bodies from any arrows. They advanced painfully slowly, crawling down Half-Blood Hill. When they had just reached the bottom of the hill, I heard a voice, Will Solace maybe, shout,

“Apollo, draw arrows!”

At the same time, Clarisse from Ares shouted, “Lock shields!”

And, five seconds later, World War Greek started.

Will Solace shouted a new command, “Fire arrows!”

Instantly, about twenty arrows flew into the sky, causing a small bronze cloud that drifted up, and then back down, pelting the Romans with a first volley. All but three of the arrows thudded into the huge wooden shields, but the ones that found a gap, including one black arrow, made their mark. The owners of those shields faltered, and the shields fell, along with that camper.

Great, I thought, Three down, 197 to go. And then I felt horrible. These weren’t monsters, they were humans. Peaceful, respectful humans. Then I thought about Katie, standing bravely with the Apollo cabin, and how she must feel, shooting at a group of people, not knowing if she herself had just killed her boyfriend or not.

Then, the Romans picked up pace, and Will Solace called for firing at will. Arrows flew at random, most hitting shields, some hitting bodies, all shot without real malice or anger. The Romans were sprinting now, barely covered by their shields. At the back of the swarm, I saw a blond tuft of hair poking out of a helmet. Octavian was safe, for now.

Then, the fighting broke into complete chaos. The Roman line broke against the Ares and Hephaestus cabins, slashing and hacking and stabbing. Everyone pushed to the front, trying to push against the force against them. Then, the Hermes cabin, with me near the back, broke. The Romans found a gap when a half-brother of mine was knocked down, and it broke into single combat.

Instantly, a Roman charged straight at me, javelin in hand and shield covering his left side. He was running fast, and with the pounds of armor and his heavy shield, that meant a lack of agility. As he thrust his spear at me, I stepped to the side, and slashed the weapon with my sword, cutting through the wood shaft easily. Momentarily confused, I stepped inside of his shield and knocked it off of his arm with my elbow. We were face to face now, and he had no defense. My instincts told me to kill him, but something inside me couldn’t. So, I drew his sword from his sheath, and slashed down on his ankle. It wouldn’t kill him, but as he wailed in pain and fell to the ground, I knew he wouldn’t be doing much more sprinting, much less fighting.

Momentarily without an attacker, I took stock of my surroundings. And, what I noticed was that the Romans were falling back into a formation. And then I saw her. Amidst every other soldier on the battlefield, who was moving or slashing or doing something, two still bodies caught my attention. A Roman officer had knocked Emily di Rosa down to her knees, and was about to slash open her neck. Her eyes were closed, ready to embrace death. I flashed back to Malcolm’s injury and attacker, and my instincts took over. I called for the only person I knew that could save her.

“Tox!” I screamed. He looked at my face, looked at where I was looking, saw what I saw, and drew an arrow and fired. All this happened within a tenth of a second. Gods, he was fast. I followed the black arrow as it flew over the retreating Romans and hit its mark. The Roman, who hadn’t sliced Emily yet, fell to his knees, clutching at his throat. By the time that he fell over dead, all of the other Romans had gotten back into their shield formation. About 50 yards separated us, with the empty space filled only by Emily and the body of the Roman.

She opened her eyes, saw the dead Roman, and, instead of running back to her line, she started to cry. Everyone went silent, watching the definition of the horror of war being acted out by Emily. She had embraced death, been given life, and didn’t know what to do with it. So she cried. Tox sprinted over to her, and, clutching a broken Roman shield he had stolen, provided Emily cover, dragging her back to the safety of our numbers. The Romans didn’t even budge. They just slowly retreated, crossing back over the turnpike and returning to their camp.

There was no cheer, no ‘hurrah!’ for surviving the day. Among the campers and nature spirits, you could almost feel the irresistible urge to go puke in a corner after witnessing the true horror of total war. It wasn’t something that could be controlled, tamed, predicted, or strategized. It was pure, unadulterated, bloody, disgusting and painful chaos.

As Tox laid Emily down on a medical stretcher, she still hadn’t stopped crying. He sat her up on the cot, while he sank to his knees, pulling her into a hug, running his fingers through her dark blonde hair.

“It’s okay, Emily,” He shushed her gently, trying to calm her down, “Everything’s going to be fine. You’re okay, you’re fine. Everything’s going to be alri—”

“He had a broken hand, Tox!” She shouted.

Obviously confused, he extended his arms, holding her at arms’ length, looking into her eyes.

“What are you talking about?” He asked gently.

“The Roman,” Emily whimpered, “The Roman who was going to kill me. He had a broken hand, Tox. He couldn’t hold his knife right! You didn’t have to kill him, because he wasn’t going to kill me! He could have lived, Tox! He could have seen his friends one more time, could have gone through his training, could have gone to college, could have…”

Her voice trailed off as she started to cry again, sobbing gently into Tox’s shoulders. Without meaning to, a small group of camper had gathered around the two of them. I realized with a start that most of them were crying, too. I guess it felt differently fighting monsters, because they weren’t human, they were mythological beasts, purely evil monsters.

I realized that we had never taken a ‘human-fighting’ class at Camp.

Notes

Thanks SO MUCH for 1500 views! It's amazing to think my writings have been read that many times! Enjoy the chapter too!