The Shadow Archer Twins

Once again, I had failed those close to me. First, it was all those poor people on the plane. On the news, they were calling it the “Flight 314 Disaster.” They said that there had been no survivors. And I could have saved them. Now, Tox and Malcolm had barely gotten the best of the Chimera, and I had been asleep in my room, passed out harder than Malcolm had been after the plane broke apart.

It was only lucky that I had decided to bring the medical kit once I heard the crashing noises and roaring die down. Malcolm had quickly taken it from me and had started to clean the wound on Tox’s leg, still unconscious. Then I saw the wound itself, and my heart froze and my insides shook and my throat constricted. It had swollen into a grapefruit sized ball of black and green pus that looked too horrible to even describe, and Malcolm was working hard to contain the damage to Tox’s leg.

Watching him try to heal Tox, something stirred inside me. Like an old memory, something that I could never remember being taught, but knew how to do anyways. He furiously applied liquid nectar to the wound, and dabbed at it with gauze, but the magical drink seemed to have no effect. Tox had stopped breathing, and his back muscles were stiff. He was going into rigor mortis.

“Come on!” He shouted in frustration, “Work, damn it! Work!”

The old memory swirled faster in my mind, forming an idea. Then, the idea solidified. I knew how to help Tox.

“Malcolm, cut the wound!” I shouted, rushing over to help.

“What?” He asked in shock, “I’m not going to cut the guy, he just wrestled a monster!”

“You have to cut the wound to let the poison out! It has swollen too much, and you have to let the pressure out!”

Without waiting for his permission, I grabbed his dagger from the sheath on his belt, and slowly, pressed the long edge into the swollen wound, just barely hard enough to break the skin that contained the black and green poison. Instantly, disgusting colored dark sludge flowed from the wound, and Tox, whose unconscious body had been stiff from the pain, relaxed, and he breathed normally again.

“Hand me the gauze,” I said. This time, Malcolm didn’t question me. I took the gauze from him and pressed on the top of the wound, squeezing the putrid liquid out until there was none left, leaving only the originally bite marks. I had to muster up all of my willpower to not throw up at the sight of what had just left my brother’s body. The poison and pus had gathered in one disgusting puddle on the dining hall floor, and the smell was so bad I had to plug my nose with some extra gauze. I then took some of the nectar that Malcolm had been using, and began to clean out the wound. By the time I was done, the bite marks had lost all of the black and green color, and were fading in size. We bandaged his leg, and as we were applying the tape to the wrappings, he rolled over, eyes opening.

“Leg,” He groaned, “Hot. Hurts. Where’s—where’s Katie?”

“Right here,” I said, my voice cracking with emotion. So much fear, worry, and anger at the monster, relief and happiness had been pent up so long that I couldn’t hold it any longer. Malcolm moved Tox into an upright position against the wall, and when he was comfortable. Admiringly, Malcolm said,

“So you can heal, eh? That pretty much puts a lock on your heritage in my opinion, but we’ll see when we get to Camp.”

I didn’t really hear him. I took another look at Tox. He looked so pale, even after eating a full ambrosia square. He looked dead, and he wasn’t supposed to. My brother couldn’t look that way. I couldn’t take the sight of his pale body anymore. I started to cry. Horrible, ugly weeps that poured from the deepest pits of my fear and worry.

To my surprise, Malcolm moved forward and wrapped his arms around me, shushing me softly and telling me that Tox would be okay. I cried harder than I had ever cried before, weeping into his chest and finally breathing in, deeply. He held me there for exactly six breaths, and then slowly, he pushed his hands out, holding me at arms’ length.

“I’m sorry,” I said, looking away from his face. I couldn’t take those intense grey eyes, full of concern for me. I felt ashamed at my lack of composure, like I had broken down at the exact moment when I needed to be strongest.

“Hey,” He murmured comfortingly, “Everything’s going to be okay. Tox is a tough guy, and you’re a tough girl. I hope you know that. You two are some of the most resilient recruits I’ve ever seen. You can’t let it get to you yet. We have to make it to camp. After that, you can have all the time to think, cry, scream and laugh that you want. But right now, Tox needs you.” He hesitated for a small amount of time, so small that I barely noticed, then continued, “I need you.”

I looked up at that last remark. He realized what he had said, and blushed, becoming interested in the black and white diner tiles on the floor. I smirked, my spirits lifting a little. He needed me. He. Needed. Me. He. Needed. Me. My face broke out in an uncontrollable grin as I said,

“You’re totally right. We have to be strong. Let’s get some more nectar and ambrosia in him, and see how he feels about moving. Have you rented the car yet?”

The red in his cheeks subsided at my change in the subject, and he answered eagerly, “Yep. Called the company last night, even though I’m not supposed to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Long story short,” He explained, “Demigods like us don’t mix well with technology. Which we need to get out of this motel relatively soon.”

Eager to change that subject, I asked, “What kind of car?”

“Silver SUV,” He responded.

“Inconspicuous,” I remarked, smirking, “Not something you would notice as strange. Something that blends in.”

Breaking into a big smile, he said, “You know, you’re smarter than you look.”

Looking at him with fake offense, I said, “I hope that’s a compliment.”

“It is,” He said, “It definitely is.”

Grinning, I grabbed the canteen of nectar off of the ruined buffet table and helped Tox drink some more. Slowly, he opened his mouth again to ask for more, and I fed him some ambrosia as well. Finally, he was able to stand, and we hailed a taxi to take us to the rental company. The last thing we did before piling our bags into the cab was grab the horns of the goat head, and stuff them into my suitcase. The driver raised an eyebrow, and Malcolm quickly said,

“Hunting trip.”

The driver kept his eyebrows up, like that wasn’t a satisfactory answer. But, he decided to drop it closed the trunk.

Once we were on the highway in our rent-a-ride, things started to calm down. The road stretched ahead of us through forests and plain-lands, and I felt my eyelids starting to get heavy. I looked over to the driver’s side, and saw that Malcolm eyes were drooping as well, but I was too tired to care. Then, he started to drift. Not much at first, but enough to get us onto the wrong side of the road. Too late, I realized that a huge truck was coming our way at 75 miles an hour, ready to collide. Then, Tox woke up.

Sitting bolt upright he shouted,

“CHIMERA!”

Malcolm and I were ripped back to reality, and I helped him yank the wheel to avoid the truck, which sped by with a loud horn. Tox looked around wildly, like he was still fighting the monster. I turned around to try to calm him down and said,

“Breathe, Tox, breathe. The Chimera is dead, you and Malcolm killed it. You got bit on your leg, we healed you. We’re on the highway heading towards Harrisburg, and everything is okay, remember?”

Exhausted, he said, “Yeah, now I do. Leg still hurts.”

“It wouldn’t be there anymore if Katie hadn’t healed you.” Malcolm responded, “I was about to amputate.”

Tox gulped. Still facing him, I quickly scanned the back of the rental SUV, and in the back, lying in the open trunk, were three oblong, black plastic containers, each about four feet long. They looked like weapons cases, and they hadn’t been there before we had started out from Pittsburgh, except for the one that looked more worn than the others, and I guessed that that one was Malcolm’s which meant that the things in the cases were… Turning to Malcolm, I asked,

“What are the black things in the trunk?”

“Good question, kid,” Malcolm responded. I turned to him and glared at him, but he just smirked. He knew I hated it when he called me ‘kid’. He continued,

“Those are a gift from Camp, to test a theory of mine. They’re bows and arrows, made by the campers of the Hephaestus Cabin themselves. I’m going to see how good you are at archery.”

Notes