For the Camp Jupiter Archives: Chapter 1

For those of you who might be interested in reading this, my name is Emil Kaiser.

The reason as to why I've chosen to document my adventures in the Camp Jupiter archives may not be immediately plain, but in order to pass on my legacy and the honor that has been granted to me over this past year, I have chosen to do so.

Before I launch into a rigorous tale of my adventures as a half-blood, it'd probably be best if I explain my background a little bit.

I was born in Berkeley, California in the year 2000. My childhood lacked a father, or even a father figure, but looking back, I wouldn't say that it had too much of an effect on me. I simply had to grit my teeth and face life, much like my mother herself did -  her  mother, my grandmother, died in 1979, and my grandfather committed suicide three months later. My mother, who was born in Germany, was then lumped into an orphanage on the outskirts of Essen, where she lived until her departure in 1991. She applied to Yale University in the United States and was accepted, so she left Germany as soon as she got the acceptance letter. After completing her bachelor's degree in physics, and then her master's and Ph.D in Astrophysics through a combined program at Yale, she moved to California in order to teach physics at the University of California, Berkeley, and a month later, she had me.

Growing up without a father was strange, to say the least. There was always an empty feeling in our family. But my mother, through her professor's salary at Berkeley, managed to keep the two of us afloat. She would refuse to tell stories about my father, for some reason - she would always shake her head, speechless, and steal glances towards the sky, as if the ceiling was going to fall on her head if she said anything. I learned early in my childhood that my father was an off-limits subject, but I never ceased to wonder about him.

Looking back, I now see that my childhood was full of subtle signs that I wasn't the same as every other kid - or, at least that something was out-of-order. There were often strange visitors that no one else seemed to notice. In first grade, while I was playing on the playground, I saw a beautiful silver deer in the forest next to the school. I pointed it out to the teacher on duty, but she just shook her head and chided, "There's nothing there. Are you sure you're not pulling my leg?" Three years later, a ferret followed me on a walk I took around the neighborhood, and whenever I peeked around to sneak a glance, it would dash behind a bush or a tree, as if it'd thought I hadn't seen it. Things like these would occur at seemingly random intervals over the next five years or so.

The first biggest change in my life came when I arrived home from school. The year was 2015, and I had just come back from the last day of 10th grade. I set my bike down on the driveway and managed to catch a glimpse of a majestic dark brown hawk, which let out a sharp cry before flying away.

I let myself inside the house, but instantly, I could tell that my mom wasn't alone. There was someone else in the house - a man, by the sound of it. I crept behind the door to the living room to hear more.

<p style="margin:0in0in0.0001pt;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">The first sentence that I could hear clearly came from my mother. "But you said that my son wasn't ready just a year ago! Have you changed your minds that quickly? This was agreed upon from his  birth! "

<p style="margin:0in0in0.0001pt;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">

<p style="margin:0in0in0.0001pt;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">I felt confused. Were they talking about '' me? ''

<p style="margin:0in0in0.0001pt;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">

<p style="margin:0in0in0.0001pt;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Yes, as a matter of fact, we have," retorted the man. He sounded frustrated, like he had told my mother this already. "We finally managed to convince Jupiter that he wouldn't be able to sit there and pretend like he didn't exist any longer. He is too much of a threat. We've kept a close eye on him throughout his childhood, as you very well know, and we see that he's growing up. He's  fifteen , for Jupiter's sake. He's far from a little boy. He should have been brought to camp long ago, and I think Jupiter sees his error now."

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">My mother thought about this for a second, and then said, "Very well. He should be home soon."

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Actually, he's home now."

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">I gulped. A second later, my mother opened the door. Whatever the conversation had been about, she looked as strict as ever. She was very short; only about 5'3", compared to my 5'11". Her graying dark brown hair fell to her shoulders, and her gray eyes flashed defensively. But she pulled me into a hug and said, "Good thing you're home, Emil. We have to go."

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Why?" I asked. I wasn't going to pretend that I hadn't overheard the conversation, but I played it safe. It was then that a man (I assumed it was the man she had been talking to) walked from the living room right up to the door. He was about my height, with jet-black hair. He was wearing a casual red hoodie, black sweatpants, and gray tennis shoes. The man didn't seem to be older than 50.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">"I'm sorry to intrude," he told me curtly. "I wouldn't come if the situation wasn't so dire."

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">"It's - it's fine," I stammered, still confused.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Emil," my mom demanded. I looked over to her, and found she had put on her shoes. "Let's go. We have to leave."

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">"You still haven't told me where," I reminded her, but she apparently wasn't in the mood for playing around. I sighed and turned to go over to her, but not before the man put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Good luck," he said gravely. He then left the house through the front door with a slam of the door.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">When we had gotten in the car and left the house, I asked, "Who was he, and where are we going?"

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">"A...friend," my mother answered. Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel. “He just came to tell us that Camp Jupiter is…ready for you.”

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">I sat there, dumfounded. What a strange way to phrase a sentence. “Jupiter, as in the planet, or Jupiter, as in the Roman god?”

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“The Roman god.” My mother lifted her right hand off of the wheel and rummaged around in her purse a bit before pulling out a parchment-colored brochure. I took it and looked at the front, which said, “Welcome to Camp Jupiter: Your home away from mortals and monsters!” Flipping through it, I saw pictures of things like wooden horses, gold-and-silver colored dogs, and flags with different animals on them.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">I looked up. “Is this some kind of summer camp?” If so, I wondered why my mom hadn’t said, “Surprise!” yet.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“It’s a summer camp…of sorts,” my mom agreed carefully.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">The car stopped suddenly. I looked around. “This is the Caldecott Tunnel.”

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">My mom ignored that. “Do you see that service tunnel over there?” She pointed to a seemingly abandoned maintenance tunnel away from common view, just in front of the woods. In front of it were two kids, about my age, dressed oddly in Roman armor, not moving an inch, like they were standing guard.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Yes,” I said, “but mom, could you take just one minute to explain to me what’s going on? You’ve told me next to nothing so far! That’s not fair to me.”

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">My mom glared at me. She’d never done that before. “You will do as I say, no questions asked,” she hissed. "Go through the tunnel. Those guards will help you. Tell them Mercury sent you, and ask them to take you to Praetor Clay.” She looked at her watch. “I can’t stay for long. You must go now.”

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“You’re leaving?” I asked incredulously. At this point, many emotions were bubbling up inside – anger, confusion, and tiredness among them.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“I have to go teach summer classes over at Stanford,” my mom said. “I start tomorrow. I need to prepare.” She glanced at the entrance to the service tunnel, where the guards seemed to be speaking to each other. One of them pointed over to us.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Why are they dressed like that?” I asked, but my mother waved aside my question. I looked at the brochure again for a brief moment, and saw a couple of kids fighting with swords, dressed in Roman-style armor.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Get out of the car, and go,” she ordered. I unbuckled myself, opened the car door, stepped out, and slammed the door angrily. I didn’t meet my mother’s eyes as she started the car back up and sped away.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">When I arrived at the entrance to the maintenance tunnel, the two guards looked me up and down. One was a very tall, lanky boy, maybe a couple years older than me, with skinny arms that held a spear. The other was another boy, this time roughly my height, with a muscular body and beefy arms. The weapon that the second boy held, an impressive golden sword, seemed to fit better somehow than the spear did in the skinny kid’s hands. “Are you the newcomer?” the skinny boy asked me.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“I suppose so, yes.” I straightened up and looked them in the eyes. No matter how scared or confused I felt, I wouldn’t reveal it. “Uh…Mercury sent me. You’re supposed to take me to Clay.” Whoever that is.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Okay, let’s go.” The beefy kid, maybe about 18, motioned to the tunnel entrance. “Guests first.”

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">I looked at both of them in turn, trying to see if they were planning something. It was easy to see that they didn't trust me. If this was a summer camp, I'd be making a complaint to the manager about customer service. Finally I stepped inside.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">While we made our way through the less-than-scenic maintenance tunnel, I brought up the courage to ask, “So, what have you been told about me?”

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Almost nothing,” the lanky kid responded. His foot got caught on a rock on the ground, but he managed to stay standing. “They just told us that someone new would be arriving at camp today, and that it was our turn to stand guard. I’m Brandon, by the way,” he added.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Michael,” the other kid said.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“I’m Emil,” I said awkwardly.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">We went on for a few more minutes until Michael asked me, “What do you know?”

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“What do you mean?”

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">Michael exchanged a glance with Brandon. “Like, what do you know about people like us?”

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">I hated not being in on something, so I just shrugged. “Not much. Well…all I know is that my mom told me to come here, gave me this weird brochure, and now…I’m here.”

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“How old are you, by the way?” interjected Brandon.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“15.” They looked shocked and exchanged a second glance.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Why haven’t you been here before?” Michael asked incredulously, and then sheepishly amended, “Well, I guess you wouldn’t know.”

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">It was just then that we stepped into a large valley. Around the perimeter were forests and mountains, and in the far distance was Mount Diablo. Straight ahead was a river, providing the border between where the three of us were and collections of Roman-style buildings and temples. I could see military grounds, a coliseum, and even a small city. Everything fit with what I had seen in the brochure. So was it a summer camp?

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Come on,” urged Michael. “We have to take you to Clay.”

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Who’s Clay?” I asked him.

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“He’s one of the praetors of the camp,” Brandon said, as if I should have known that. “He’s the one who’ll be deciding if you’ll join or not.”

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“And if I don’t?” I could feel chills running down my spine. What was I supposed to do? Would I have to pass some sort of test?

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">“You’ll probably die,” guessed Brandon. My heart leapt in my throat. Had I heard him correctly?

<p style="margin:12pt0in;line-height:16.5pt;"><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Helvetica,sans-serif;">Michael sheathed his sword. “Let’s go! Don’t want to keep Clay waiting. He gets…upset when people laze around.”