Truth in lies, Sun in winter

Will looked at the night sky as he held his lyre. He drummed a string, and another, until he was making music unconsciously. A soft breeze touched his brown hair and pressed warmly against his skin. Winter was coming. This might be the last warm breeze he’ll ever experience for months. He brought his eyes down and studied the amphitheater.

The circle was empty other than him. A small fire crackled in the center, giving a nice, rhythmic background—a cozy feeling. The stage was empty too, and occasional bottles and food wrappers littered the scene. Will sat at the lowest seat row, his legs crossed. He knew that sooner or later Chiron or Mr. D would notice him and scold him. But Will wanted space, time, and peace. He needed time to think about the letter his mom sent him. Will stared at the dying fire, his thoughts invading his concentration.

His mother, the archaeologist Murielle Solace, had sent him a letter last week. Will was shocked, angry, and confused when he saw the envelope with his name intact. He did not open the letter until today. His eyes were emotionless as he read on hardly, the common Dyslexia ruining the mood. Once he understood, he folded the letter back and got stuck with it. His mom wanted him to be home for the winter break, with his half-sibling Van and his step father Andrew Slingtorn.

Really, Will did not want to go. He’d rather cuddle at Cabin 7 thank face lies on their old mansion at Brooklyn. But it had been tempting. It’s been years since Will had been home. It’s been years since he’d seen Van, Andrew, and Murielle.

‘What could go wrong?’ he thought. ‘It’s worth a try. What’s life without a few risks?’ Those encouraging words kept hitting Will together with these: ‘You will be facing lies again. You’ll never fit. If you can’t stand it yesterday, you can’t stand it tomorrow.’ Will felt like banging his head against the wall to clear his mind.

Now, glancing at the amphitheater, Will found the place. He smiled and started playing and old Greek lullaby. He closed his eyes as he played, appreciating the melody. His soft music filled the silence, and with this, he dreamed.

-*-*-*-*-

“You rock, Will!”

“That’s awesome, dude.”

“Oh my gods, Will, can you play it again?”

Applause echoed through the stadium. Will bowed to the audience and climbed down the stairs. When he’s down, commends and praises filled his ears. It was parents’ day, and Will had just performed on stage, playing the guitar accompanying a rock song and singing with his soft voice. It was unbelievable how he’d been able to blend it so well. The twelve-year-old Will Solace smiled and held out his hands. Parents and students and teacher shook it. Every so often Will mouthed ‘Thanks you’ and ‘It’s nothing’ on praises until he reached his chair. The chair beside him was empty—the chair for his mother Murielle. Will stuffed his bag onto the empty seat to save it, hoping that Murielle would arrive.

The hope slowly melted away as the program ended. Glumly, Will picked up his bag, his guitar suit and walked alone into the bus. Parents and students were mingling with each other. Will sat next to an empty seat again. This time, he did not save it. He knew this mom won’t come.

Instead of being sad, Will felt strangely bitter. Murielle had promised him she would come. She will come, or so she said. And Will hoped. He hoped that Murielle would see the presentation he had. Heck, he practiced for her alone. He only cared about being the pride of Murielle. He did not care about the school. When he did not see any sign of a brunette and beautiful mother with a silver charm necklace embedded with a glittering sun, he’d lost his mood. But he had to keep going. Half-heartedly, Will climbed the stairs and started the presentation. He had always been a great actor, and he kept his emotions in check. When he’d been surrounded by applause, Will wanted more. He wanted a hug... a hug from Murielle herself.

Together with the hope, Will also somehow knew that she wouldn’t come, although she promised. He was used on his mother breaking promises, but that last time had been different. Will saw that his mom was sure. He saw it through her brown eyes and sincerity ran on her words. He’d smiled widely and tackled her with a hug. She’d hugged him back. For once, Will felt warmth, like a fire blazing greedily in the midst of a freezing winter.

Now, as he sat alone in the school bus, he imagined his mom’s arms melting.

The bus rumbled to a stop. The chaperon called on, “Solace! Home!” He slung his guitar bag on one shoulder, and his other bag on another shoulder. The bus was wide enough that he didn't bump anyone. He walked on.

“Hey, Will,” a voice called. Will turned his head slightly.

“Yeah?”

“That’s awesome,” the voice continued, rough and awed. Will really paid attention now. He saw Roldan, an over-aged kid with a leg disability. He looked fourteen but in the same year as the twelve-year-old Will. Roldan grew a beard and kept a splutter of acne. But still, Roldan was the only one who Will can count on as a friend. Will smiled. “Thanks, man.” He shot Roldan a grin before descending down the stairs.

It took him a while to process their mansion. During his happy days—his childhood—the front plate banners ‘Solace.’ Now, it was removed and replaced by a golden plate with ‘Slingtorn’ sparkling. He narrowed his eyes and rang the bell.

“Dad, Will’s here!” a kid yelled from the mansion. Great, it’s Van. Will controlled his expression as Van emerged from the door, but just stood there. “So what’s up, man? You look tired. How are you, outsider?” Van’s tone was heavy with sarcasm. He was annoying for an eight-year-old. Will looked at Van’s blue eyes. He was still a lot shorter than Will, which Will was glad. Van grinned at him, exposing a teeth lay with braces. Will knew he was bratty, spoiled brat.

“Just open the door, dwarf,” Will countered. He got the satisfaction as Van cried out ‘Dad!’ and ran inside for his Papa’s arms. A minute later, a man in tuxedo pushed open the door, with a smirking Van behind him. Will looked up, and saw that Andrew was angry. He didn’t care.

“So, Will, do you want to sleep outside?” Andrew asked.

Fed up with exhaustion, bitterness, and sadness, Will snarled, “Maybe if you’ve got enough brain cells, Andrew, you might be able to find the answer.”

Instead of being angry, Andrew laughed. “Nice try, kid.” He fished something from his pockets. He brought out some jingling, noisy stuff and threw it to Will. Will had to drop his guitar to catch the keys. The guitar fell with a groan of strings. It was not toned again. He heard the doors open, but he didn’t look up. He opened the locks, picked up his guitar suit, and walked in. He did not glance at Andrew or Van. He went straight to his room and laid his guitar suit gingerly against the wall.

He took a shower and changed clothes. Once he had finished, he sat on his bed and pulled out his guitar. He began twisting the buttons and picking the strings. He was toning the instrument. It was an easy thing. Will can tone a guitar with his eyes closed. In two minutes, the guitar played perfectly. He went to the balcony and played his guitar.

He must have fallen asleep, because it’s only seconds when he heard Murielle’s voice downstairs. Excitedly, Will gripped his guitar, stood and ran, only to stop in the stair’s last turn. He watched the scene below unwillingly.

Murielle hugged Van with a warmth Will knew he hadn’t felt. She kissed Van’s Slingtorn’s forehead, something Will had experienced when he was three. That long, he thought. Will watched his mother kiss Van with her nose and muttered words. Will caught most of it—How’s school? How’s parents’ day? Did you have fun?

That shook Will out. “You didn’t come,” he mouthed loudly and clearly.

Murielle stared at him. Will met her eyes. Then Murielle glared at Andrew.

“Andrew, you said you’re going to attend Will, too!” she yelled.

Andrew turned his eyes to Murielle. Politely, he said, “Did I? But Van had a party. I had to attend him, too.”

A lame excuse, but Murielle bought it. She turned back to Will with apology in her eyes. But Will cannot be fooled anymore. He’d seen that expression a hundred times every time Murielle broke her promises. Murielle was good actress, give her credit. Will knew she was a liar. Lies hid beneath her voice and eyes.

“It’s okay, Mom. Andrew does not need to come. You need to,” he pointed out hardly. He cannot accept more bended truths.

For a second, Murielle was surprised. She hid it well. She walked in the foot of the stairs and held her palms up briefly. Good acting. “I cannot come. We’ve got a meeting… er, rush meeting I have found a new specimen.”

“Specimen about what?” Will pressed.

That’s when Murielle started sweating. “Oh, uh, birds. Yep, definitely birds. If I succeed, I might be the one who found the origin of birds!”

But she spoke too quickly. Will decided to break the charade.

“I saw your schedule,” he said, voice cracking. “You were free today. You’ve got no meeting scheduled. You left your microscope and your books here. Mom, you can come, but you didn’t!” Tears fell through Will’s eyes.

Murielle had come up with a reason. “But I worked for you. To earn money, because I love you, Will.” She started climbing the stairs.

Before Will argued with her, Andrew spoke up. “Oh, blow it up, Elle. You knew you were lying. You went to the casino for your bet. You said I should attend Will because of drat reasons. I didn’t.” He looked at Will’s grief-stricken face, and winked. “Peace, kid. Your mother’s a liar. I’m sure you knew that. She’s an actress of lies.”

For once, Will recognized Andrew. He stared at the man. Andrew stared at the boy. They understood each other.

Just then, Will broke over. He looked at Murielle. “Mom, do you love me?” he asked. Not waiting for an answer, Will hugged his guitar and strummed the guitar he’d been unconsciously hugging. The music should have been broken, like him, but instead it morphed into a horrifying tune. Murielle scrambled down the stairs and stopped her from telling more lies—Will, it wasn’t true! I love you!

The sound scared Will, too. He climbed the stairs taking two flights at a time and locked his room. After freezing, he moved onto packing his clothes. Together with his guitar, Will ran out, leaving the Slingtorn mansion in his wake.

The dream shifted.

A week had passed since Will ran from home but he thought that he had died. Still, he was happy, even though food and water was scarce and he had been attacked by monsters of sorts. He ran from them. That sapped his strength. Once he’d killed a big monster with one eye. He vaguely remembered his Greek Mythology class back at Brooklyn. This monster, if he was right, was the same as the myth’s Cyclops. But he did not have time to dwell with it further, because the earth shook as the monster roared and charged him. That moment he seemed to wake up. His instincts kicked in, and he rolled to one side and managed to avoid the swing. He found a spear, and with his strength, threw it as the monster turned. It hit the monster in the eye, and with a roar that shook the earth, disintegrated. He ran away into the fields.

That’s how he arrived between these two houses, sitting in the cold, icy floor. He was freezing. He hadn’t eaten in three days, hadn’t drank in a day.

Will forced himself up. He brought out the guitar. With bare fingers, Will pried the ice out and strummed the strings. Amazingly, the instrument was properly toned. It encased Will’s ears with imaginary warmth He kept the melody in his head as his hand slowed. He drifted with the music.

“Oh gods, Will,” a familiar voice crooned. Will opened his eyes as he got cradled. With difficulty, he saw hooves and a furry hide.

It’s Roldan, but what’s up with the hooves?

Roldan shouldered Will’s bag and stuffed his guitar inside. He laid Will gingerly back on the floor. Will shivered. He heard Roldan whistle a taxi cab whistle. In a minute, a horse came. Although it was not just a horse. Will dimly saw wings and heard wings flapping. He remembered his class again. Such horses are called Pegasus. Ugh. He cannot concentrate.

As they flew, Will leaned against Roldan. Roldan muttered some words that were lost in the freezing wind. Roldan fed Will some stuff that quickly regained him. Suddenly Will was better. He wasn’t back to normal, but it was a better than being paralyzed. He had enough consciousness to register that they were flying on the winged horse, and Roldan had hooves.

He turned his head slightly. Roldan wiped tears.

“Roldan,” Will said, “is that you, man?”

“Yes. It’s me,” Roldan replied, dabbing a tear away, but more tears fell. “Man, I’m sorry. I-I was meant to protect you, but…” he stopped. He coughed and blew his nose. Poor guy.

Will tried to keep a clear head in the freezing night. “But…?” he prompted.

Roldan sniffled. “I failed.” Will waited for more, but his old friend did not add more.

“Roldan, you did not fail on anything. Really, it’s all right.” Will tried to assure him, but he was blank.

“No!” Roldan yelled.

Will was confused. It was too late when he understood. The horse got knocked aside, and they almost fell. Mercifully, the horse was alert. It regained balance, but it flew more clumsily and neighed. It was hurt.

A bird’s steely wail echoed through the night. Even before Will knew it, he was lifted from the horse’s back. He gripped his guitar tightly. “Roldan, let go of the guitar! ROLDAN!” he shouted.

Just before Will lost his grip, Roldan unfroze. He slung the guitar suit off, and Will flew in the air carried by two huge claws with his guitar. Gods, what is this? Will thought frantically. He was losing consciousness as he was towed from side to side by this clumsy monster. If he didn’t act now, he was sure he was going to die. He forced his eyes open, and saw Roldan and the horse flying to his rescue. But they would be too late. The horse was hurt and bleeding. It was barely pouring speed.

I don’t want to die, Will thought. The young boy still hadn’t found the answers. He can’t die now. Not yet.

Just like his time with the Cyclops, Will acted upon instinct. He tightened his grip on the guitar. With his last bit of strength, he brought the guitar up and smacked the bird on its head. That was it for Will. He heard wails, but it blurred. He landed back first on a frozen bush, and then after a pained gasp, rolled downhill.

Everything went black for Will.

The dream shifted once more.

Will sat on the shade of a big fir, staring into the unusual sunlight. It was winter, and it was surprising that there was a bright sun for today. This day marked his first month at Camp Half Blood. He still cannot completely believe this god stuff. But he knew they were all true. Roldan being a satyr, him being the young of Apollo, god of the sun, music, poetry, and medicine—that, all true.

Now he was deep in thought in his home.

Will cannot believe how Murielle had gotten Apollo’s heart. Had she told him lies like how she told her son lies on his face? Does she knew Apollo was a god? Did Apollo left her because she was a liar? Did she lie the way she told Will I love you? Scary thought that is.

But what if Will was wrong? What if his mother lied for him? What if not all she was up to were lies? What if she was lying for him? All these questions ran through his head without answers. He stood and brushed the dirt off his jeans and stepped into the sunlight. Dad, did mom love me?

Later that night, when the curfew was on, Will found a small paper folded in his bed. He opened it gingerly. Inside was script written elegantly in Greek. Will could read Greek. He understood.

Of course, the paper said. That is the truth that cannot be bended—the sun in winter.

Will felt hope. He believed Apollo, the sender of the letter. He plopped on his bunk, weary but glad. The truth was known, at last. He slept after murmuring, “Thanks, Dad.”

-*-*-*-*-

Will woke up. He rubbed his eyes groggily. He looked around, and tried to concentrate. He remembered his dream... the letter... Will snapped awake. He looked at the eastern horizon. The sun was shining. Apollo was closing.

Will Solace stood, stretched, and yawned loudly. He ran to his cabin with his lyre.

“Gods, I needed to pack.”