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It's his coat. He's taken it off and is waving it around his head. But would you look at him swing it. That's just a winter resort hotel omnibus that has brought over some of the boarders to see us drown. There must be a life-saving station up there. But look at him.

He just stands there and keeps his coat revolving like a wheel. The ass! I think he is trying to make us go north. It must be that there's a life-saving station there somewhere. He's been revolving his coat ever since he caught sight of us. He's an idiot. Why aren't they getting men to bring a boat out? A fishing boat�one of those big yawls�could come out here all right.

Why don't he do something? A faint yellow tone came into the sky over the low land. The shadows on the sea slowly deepened. The wind bore coldness with it, and the men began to shiver. If we've got to flounder out here all night! Don't you worry. They've seen us now, and it won't be long before they'll come chasing out after us. The shore grew dusky. The man waving a coat blended gradually into this gloom, and it swallowed in the same manner the omnibus and the group of people.

The spray, when it dashed uproariously over the side, made the voyagers shrink and swear like men who were being branded.

In the meantime the oiler rowed, and then the correspondent rowed, and then the oiler rowed. Grey-faced and bowed forward, they mechanically, turn by turn, plied the leaden oars. The form of the lighthouse had vanished from the southern horizon, but finally a pale star appeared, just lifting from the sea. The streaked saffron in the west passed before the all-merging darkness, and the sea to the east was black.

The land had vanished, and was expressed only by the low and drear thunder of the surf. This was surely a quiet evening. All save the oarsman lay heavily and listlessly in the boat's bottom.

As for him, his eyes were just capable of noting the tall black waves that swept forward in a most sinister silence, save for an occasional subdued growl of a crest. The cook's head was on a thwart, and he looked without interest at the water under his nose. He was deep in other scenes. Finally he spoke. A night on the sea in an open boat is a long night.

As darkness settled finally, the shine of the light, lifting from the sea in the south, changed to full gold. These two lights were the furniture of the world. Otherwise there was nothing but waves. Two men huddled in the stern, and distances were so magnificent in the dingey that the rower was enabled to keep his feet partly warmed by thrusting them under his companions.

Their legs indeed extended far under the rowing-seat until they touched the feet of the captain forward. Sometimes, despite the efforts of the tired oarsman, a wave came piling into the boat, an icy wave of the night, and the chilling water soaked them anew.

They would twist their bodies for a moment and groan, and sleep the dead sleep once more, while the water in the boat gurgled about them as the craft rocked. The plan of the oiler and the correspondent was for one to row until he lost the ability, and then arouse the other from his sea-water couch in the bottom of the boat.

The oiler plied the oars until his head drooped forward, and the overpowering sleep blinded him. And he rowed yet afterward.

Then he touched a man in the bottom of the boat, and called his name. They exchanged places carefully, and the oiler, cuddling down in the sea-water at the cook's side, seemed to go to sleep instantly. The particular violence of the sea had ceased. The obligation of the man at the oars was to keep the boat headed so that the tilt of the rollers would not capsize her, and to preserve her from filling when the crests rushed past.

The black waves were silent and hard to be seen in the darkness. Often one was almost upon the boat before the oarsman was aware. In a low voice the correspondent addressed the captain.

He was not sure that the captain was awake, although this iron man seemed to be always awake. The cook had tied a life-belt around himself in order to get even the warmth which this clumsy cork contrivance could donate, and he seemed almost stove-like when a rower, whose teeth invariably chattered wildly as soon as he ceased his labour, dropped down to sleep. The correspondent, as he rowed, looked down at the two men sleeping under-foot.

The cook's arm was around the oiler's shoulders, and, with their fragmentary clothing and haggard faces, they were the babes of the sea, a grotesque rendering of the old babes in the wood. Later he must have grown stupid at his work, for suddenly there was a growling of water, and a crest came with a roar and a swash into the boat, and it was a wonder that it did not set the cook afloat in his life-belt. The cook continued to sleep, but the [Pg 34] oiler sat up, blinking his eyes and shaking with the new cold.

Presently it seemed that even the captain dozed, and the correspondent thought that he was the one man afloat on all the oceans. The wind had a voice as it came over the waves, and it was sadder than the end. There was a long, loud swishing astern of the boat, and a gleaming trail of phosphorescence, like blue flame, was furrowed on the black waters.

It might have been made by a monstrous knife. Then there came a stillness, while the correspondent breathed with the open mouth and looked at the sea. Suddenly there was another swish and another long flash of bluish light, and this time it was alongside the boat, and might almost have been reached with an oar.

The correspondent saw an enormous fin speed like a shadow through the water, hurling the crystalline spray and leaving the long glowing trail. The correspondent looked over his shoulder at the captain.

His face was hidden, and he seemed to be asleep. He looked at the babes of the sea. They certainly were asleep. So, being bereft of sympathy, he leaned a little way to one side and swore softly into the sea. But the thing did not then leave the vicinity of [Pg 35] the boat. Ahead or astern, on one side or the other, at intervals long or short, fled the long sparkling streak, and there was to be heard the whiroo of the dark fin.

The speed and power of the thing was greatly to be admired. It cut the water like a gigantic and keen projectile. The presence of this biding thing did not affect the man with the same horror that it would if he had been a picnicker. He simply looked at the sea dully and swore in an undertone.

Nevertheless, it is true that he did not wish to be alone. He wished one of his companions to awaken by chance and keep him company with it. But the captain hung motionless over the water-jar, and the oiler and the cook in the bottom of the boat were plunged in slumber. During this dismal night, it may be remarked that a man would conclude that it was really the intention of the seven mad gods to drown him, despite the abominable injustice of it.

For it was certainly an abominable injustice to drown a man who had worked so hard, so hard. The man felt it would be a crime most unnatural.

Other people had drowned [Pg 36] at sea since galleys swarmed with painted sails, but still��. When it occurs to a man that nature does not regard him as important, and that she feels she would not maim the universe by disposing of him, he at first wishes to throw bricks at the temple, and he hates deeply the fact that there are no bricks and no temples.

Any visible expression of nature would surely be pelleted with his jeers. Then, if there be no tangible thing to hoot he feels, perhaps, the desire to confront a personification and indulge in pleas, bowed to one knee, and with hands supplicant, saying: "Yes, but I love myself. A high cold star on a winter's night is the word he feels that she says to him.

Thereafter he knows the pathos of his situation. The men in the dingey had not discussed these matters, but each had, no doubt, reflected upon them in silence and according to his mind. There was seldom any expression upon their faces save the general one of complete weariness. Speech was devoted to the business of the boat. To chime the notes of his emotion, a verse mysteriously entered the correspondent's head. He had even forgotten that he had forgotten this verse, but it suddenly was in his mind.

In his childhood, the correspondent had been made acquainted with the fact that a soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, but he had never regarded the fact as important.

Myriads of his school-fellows had informed him of the soldier's plight, but the dinning had naturally ended by making him perfectly indifferent.

He had never considered it his affair that a soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, nor had it appeared to him as a matter for sorrow. It was less to him than the breaking of a pencil's point. Now, however, it quaintly came to him as a human, living thing. It was no longer merely a picture of a few throes in the breast of a poet, meanwhile drinking tea and warming his feet at the grate; it was an actuality�stern, mournful, and fine.

The correspondent plainly saw the soldier. He lay on the sand with his feet out straight and still. While his pale left hand was upon his chest in an attempt to thwart the going of his life, the blood came between his fingers. In the far Algerian distance, a city of low square forms was set against a sky that was faint with the last sunset hues. The correspondent, plying the oars and dreaming of the slow and slower movements of the lips of the soldier, was moved by a profound and perfectly impersonal comprehension.

He was sorry for the soldier of the Legion who lay dying in Algiers. The thing which had followed the boat and waited, had evidently grown bored at the delay. There was no longer to be heard the slash of the cut-water, and there was no longer the flame of the long trail. The light in the north still glimmered, but it was apparently [Pg 38] no nearer to the boat. Sometimes the boom of the surf rang in the correspondent's ears, and he turned the craft seaward then and rowed harder.

Southward, some one had evidently built a watch-fire on the beach. It was too low and too far to be seen, but it made a shimmering, roseate reflection upon the bluff back of it, and this could be discerned from the boat. The wind came stronger, and sometimes a wave suddenly raged out like a mountain-cat, and there was to be seen the sheen and sparkle of a broken crest. The captain, in the bow, moved on his water-jar and sat erect. He looked at the shore. As soon as the correspondent touched the cold comfortable sea-water in the bottom of the boat, and had huddled close to the cook's life-belt he was deep in sleep, despite the fact that his teeth played all the popular airs.

This sleep was so good to him that it was but a moment before he heard a voice call his name in a tone that demonstrated the last stages of exhaustion. The light in the north had mysteriously vanished, [Pg 39] but the correspondent took his course from the wide-awake captain.

Later in the night they took the boat farther out to sea, and the captain directed the cook to take one oar at the stern and keep the boat facing the seas. He was to call out if he should hear the thunder of the surf.

This plan enabled the oiler and the correspondent to get respite together. They curled down and, after a few preliminary chatterings and trembles, slept once more the dead sleep.

Neither knew they had bequeathed to the cook the company of another shark, or perhaps the same shark. As the boat caroused on the waves, spray occasionally bumped over the side and gave them a fresh soaking, but this had no power to break their repose. The ominous slash of the wind and the water affected them as it would have affected mummies.

I guess one of you had better take her to sea again. As he was rowing, the captain gave him some whisky-and-water, and this steadied the chills out of him. When the correspondent again opened his eyes, the sea and the sky were each of the grey hue of the dawning.

Later, carmine and gold was painted upon the waters. The morning appeared finally, in its splendour, with a sky of pure blue, and the sunlight flamed on the tips of the waves. On the distant dunes were set many little black cottages, and a tall white windmill reared above them. No man, nor dog, nor bicycle appeared on the beach. The cottages might have formed a deserted village.

The voyagers scanned the shore. A conference was held in the boat. If we stay out here much longer we will be too weak to do anything for ourselves at all. The boat was headed for the beach.

The correspondent wondered if none ever ascended the tall wind-tower, and if then they never looked seaward. This tower was a giant, standing with its back to the plight of the ants.

It represented in a degree, to the correspondent, the serenity of nature amid the struggles of the individual�nature in the wind, and nature in the vision of men. She did not seem cruel to him then, nor beneficent, nor treacherous, nor wise.

But she was indifferent, flatly indifferent. It is, perhaps, plausible that a man in this situation, impressed with the unconcern of the universe, should see the innumerable flaws of his life, and have them taste wickedly in his mind and [Pg 41] wish for another chance. A distinction between right and wrong seems absurdly clear to him, then, in this new ignorance of the grave-edge, and he understands that if he were given another opportunity he would mend his conduct and his words, and be better and brighter during an introduction or at a tea.

All we can do is to work her in as far as possible, and then when she swamps, pile out and scramble for the beach. Keep cool now, and don't jump until she swamps sure. The oiler took the oars.

Over his shoulders he scanned the surf. The monstrous in-shore rollers heaved the boat high until the men were again enabled to see the white sheets of water scudding up the slanted beach.

Each time a man could wrest his attention from the rollers, he turned his glance toward the shore, and in the expression of the eyes during this contemplation there was a singular quality. The correspondent, observing the others, knew that they were not afraid, but the full meaning of their glances was shrouded. As for himself, he was too tired to grapple fundamentally with the fact. He tried to coerce his mind [Pg 42] into thinking of it, but the mind was dominated at this time by the muscles, and the muscles said they did not care.

It merely occurred to him that if he should drown it would be a shame. There were no hurried words, no pallor, no plain agitation. The men simply looked at the shore. Seaward the crest of a roller suddenly fell with a thunderous crash, and the long white comber came roaring down upon the boat. The men were silent. They turned their eyes from the shore to the comber and waited.

The boat slid up the incline, leaped at the furious top, bounced over it, and swung down the long back of the wave. Some water had been shipped and the cook bailed it out.

But the next crest crashed also. The tumbling boiling flood of white water caught the boat and whirled it almost perpendicular. Water swarmed in from all sides. The correspondent had his hands on the gunwale at this time, and when the water entered at that place he swiftly withdrew his fingers, as if he objected to wetting them. The third wave moved forward, huge, furious, [Pg 43] implacable. It fairly swallowed the dingey, and almost simultaneously the men tumbled into the sea.

A piece of life-belt had lain in the bottom of the boat, and as the correspondent went overboard he held this to his chest with his left hand. The January water was icy, and he reflected immediately that it was colder than he had expected to find it off the coast of Florida.

This appeared to his dazed mind as a fact important enough to be noted at the time. The coldness of the water was sad; it was tragic. This fact was somehow so mixed and confused with his opinion of his own situation that it seemed almost a proper reason for tears.

The water was cold. When he came to the surface he was conscious of little but the noisy water. Afterward he saw his companions in the sea. The oiler was ahead in the race. He was swimming strongly and rapidly. Off to the correspondent's left, the cook's great white and corked back bulged out of the water, and in the rear the captain was hanging with his one good hand to the keel of the overturned dingey.

There is a certain immovable quality to a shore, and the correspondent wondered at it amid the confusion of the sea. It seemed also very attractive, but the correspondent knew that it was a long journey, and he paddled leisurely. The piece of life-preserver lay under him, and sometimes he whirled down the incline of a wave as if he were on a hand-sled.

But finally he arrived at a place in the sea where travel was beset with difficulty. He did not pause [Pg 44] swimming to inquire what manner of current had caught him, but there his progress ceased.

The shore was set before him like a bit of scenery on a stage, and he looked at it and understood with his eyes each detail of it. As the cook passed, much farther to the left, the captain was calling to him, "Turn over on your back, cook! Turn over on your back and use the oar. Presently the boat also passed to the left of the correspondent with the captain clinging with one hand to the keel. He would have appeared like a man raising himself to look over a board fence, if it were not for the extraordinary gymnastics of the boat.

The correspondent marvelled that the captain could still hold to it. They passed on, nearer to shore�the oiler, the cook, the captain�and following them went the water-jar, bouncing gaily over the seas. The correspondent remained in the grip of this strange new enemy�a current. The shore, with its white slope of sand and its green bluff, topped with little silent cottages, was spread like a picture before him. It was very near to him then, but he was impressed as one who in a gallery looks at a scene from Brittany or Holland.

He thought: "I am going to drown? Can it be possible? But later a wave perhaps whirled him out of this small deadly current, for he found suddenly that he could again make progress toward the shore. Later still, he was aware that the captain, clinging with one hand to the keel of the dingey, had his face turned away from the shore and toward him, and was calling his name.

Come to the boat! In his struggle to reach the captain and the boat, he reflected that when one gets properly wearied, drowning must really be a comfortable arrangement, a cessation of hostilities accompanied by a large degree of relief, and he was glad of it, for the main thing in his mind for some moments had been horror of the temporary agony.

He did not wish to be hurt. Presently he saw a man running along the shore. He was undressing with most remarkable speed. Coat, trousers, shirt, everything flew magically off him. Then the correspondent performed his one little marvel of the voyage. A large wave caught him and flung him with ease and supreme speed completely over the boat and far beyond it.

It struck him even then as an event in gymnastics, and a true miracle of the sea. An overturned boat in the surf is not a plaything to a swimming man.

The correspondent arrived in water that reached only to his waist, but his condition did not enable him to stand for more than a moment. Each wave knocked him into a heap, and the under-tow pulled at him.

Then he saw the man who had been running and undressing, and undressing and running, come bounding into the water. He dragged ashore the cook, and then waded towards the captain, but the captain waved him away, and sent him to the correspondent. He was naked, naked as a tree in winter, but a halo was about his head, and he shone like a saint. He gave a strong pull, and a long drag, and a bully heave at the correspondent's hand.

The correspondent said: "Go. In the shallows, face downward, lay the oiler. His forehead touched sand that was periodically, between each wave, clear of the sea. The correspondent did not know all that transpired afterward.

When he achieved safe ground he fell, striking the sand with each particular part of his body. It was as if he had dropped from a roof, but the thud was grateful to him. It seems that instantly the beach was populated with men with blankets, clothes, and flasks, and women with coffee-pots and all the remedies sacred to their minds. The welcome of the land to the men from the sea was warm and generous, but a still and [Pg 47] dripping shape was carried slowly up the beach, and the land's welcome for it could only be the different and sinister hospitality of the grave.

When it came night, the white waves paced to and fro in the moonlight, and the wind brought the sound of the great sea's voice to the men on shore, and they felt that they could then be interpreters. Dark mesquit spread from horizon to horizon. There was no house or horseman from which a mind could evolve a city or a crowd. The world was declared to be a desert and unpeopled.

Sometimes, however, on days when no heat-mist arose, a blue shape, dim, of the substance of a spectre's veil, appeared in the south-west, and a pondering sheep-herder might remember that there were mountains. In the silence of these plains the sudden and childish banging of a tin pan could have made an iron-nerved man leap into the air.

The sky was ever flawless; the manoeuvring of clouds was an unknown pageant; but at times a sheep-herder could see, miles away, the long, white streamers of dust rising from the feet of another's flock, and the interest became intense. Bill was arduously cooking his dinner, bending over the fire, and toiling like a blacksmith.

A movement, a flash of strange colour, perhaps, off in the bushes, caused him suddenly to turn his head. Presently he [Pg 52] arose, and, shading his eyes with his hand, stood motionless and gazing. He perceived at last a Mexican sheep-herder winding through the brush toward his camp. The Mexican made no answer, but came steadily forward until he was within some twenty yards.

There he paused, and, folding his arms, drew himself up in the manner affected by the villain in the play. His serape muffled the lower part of his face, and his great sombrero shaded his brow. Being unexpected and also silent, he had something of the quality of an apparition; moreover, it was clearly his intention to be mysterious and devilish.

The American's pipe, sticking carelessly in the corner of his mouth, was twisted until the wrong side was uppermost, and he held his frying-pan poised in the air.

He surveyed with evident surprise this apparition in the mesquit. The Mexican spoke with the solemnity of funeral tollings: "Beel, you mus' geet off range. We want you geet off range. We no like. No; I don't know what the blazes you're gittin' at.

I must git off the range? What you givin' us? The Mexican unfolded his serape with his small yellow hand. Upon his face was then to be seen a smile that was gently, almost caressingly murderous. Bill's arm dropped until the frying-pan was at his knee. Finally he turned again toward the fire. I got as much right here as anybody. Bill reflected for a time, and then he said: "You ain't got no manner of license to warn me off'n this range, and I won't move a rod.

I've got rights, and I suppose if I don't see 'em through, no one is likely to give me a good hand and help me lick you fellers, since I'm the only white man in half a day's ride. Now, look; if you fellers try to rush this camp, I'm goin' to plug about fifty per cent. I'm goin' in for trouble, an' I'll git a lot of you. As for the Mexican, he waved his hands in a consummate expression of indifference.

Then, in a tone of deep menace and glee, he added: "We will keel you eef you no geet. They have decide'. Bill had been a mine-owner in Wyoming, a great man, an aristocrat, one who possessed unlimited credit in the saloons down the gulch.

He had the social weight that could interrupt a lynching or advise a bad man of the particular merits of a remote geographical point.

However, the fates exploded the toy balloon with which they had amused Bill, and on the evening of the same day he was a professional gambler with ill-fortune dealing him unspeakable irritation in the shape of three big cards whenever another fellow stood pat.

It is well here to inform the world that Bill considered his calamities of life all dwarfs in comparison with the excitement of one particular evening, when three kings came to him with criminal regularity against a man who always filled a straight. Later he became a cow-boy, more weirdly abandoned than if he had never been an aristocrat. By this time all that remained of his former splendour was his pride, or his vanity, which was one thing which need not have remained. He killed the foreman of the ranch over an inconsequent matter as to which of them was a liar, and the midnight train carried him eastward.

He became a [Pg 55] brakeman on the Union Pacific, and really gained high honours in the hobo war that for many years has devastated the beautiful railroads of our country. A creature of ill-fortune himself, he practised all the ordinary cruelties upon these other creatures of ill-fortune.

He was of so fierce a mien that tramps usually surrendered at once whatever coin or tobacco they had in their possession; and if afterward he kicked them from the train, it was only because this was a recognized treachery of the war upon the hoboes.

In a famous battle fought in Nebraska in , he would have achieved a lasting distinction if it had not been for a deserter from the United States army. He was at the head of a heroic and sweeping charge, which really broke the power of the hoboes in that country for three months; he had already worsted four tramps with his own coupling-stick, when a stone thrown by the ex-third baseman of F Troop's nine laid him flat on the prairie, and later enforced a stay in the hospital in Omaha.

After his recovery he engaged with other railroads, and shuffled cars in countless yards. An order to strike came upon him in Michigan, and afterward the vengeance of the railroad pursued him until he assumed a name. This mask is like the darkness in which the burglar chooses to move. It destroys many of the healthy fears. It is a small thing, but it eats that which we call our conscience. The conductor of No. Bill requested him to use a milder term. He had not bored the foreman of Tin Can Ranch with any such request, but had killed him [Pg 56] with expedition.

The conductor seemed to insist, and so Bill let the matter drop. He became the bouncer of a saloon on the Bowery in New York. Here most of his fights were as successful as had been his brushes with the hoboes in the West. He gained the complete admiration of the four clean bar-tenders who stood behind the great and glittering bar. He was an honoured man. He nearly killed Bad Hennessy, who, as a matter of fact, had more reputation than ability, and his fame moved up the Bowery and down the Bowery.

But let a man adopt fighting as his business, and the thought grows constantly within him that it is his business to fight. These phrases became mixed in Bill's mind precisely as they are here mixed; and let a man get this idea in his mind, and defeat begins to move toward him over the unknown ways of circumstances.

One summer night three sailors from the U. Seattle sat in the saloon drinking and attending to other people's affairs in an amiable fashion. Bill was a proud man since he had thrashed so many citizens, and it suddenly occurred to him that the loud talk of the sailors was very offensive. So he swaggered upon their attention, and warned them that the saloon was the flowery abode of peace and gentle silence.

They glanced at him in surprise, and without a moment's pause consigned him to a worse place than any stoker of them knew. Whereupon he flung one of them through the side door before the others could prevent it. On the sidewalk there was a short struggle, with many hoarse epithets in the air, and then Bill slid into the saloon again.

A [Pg 57] frown of false rage was upon his brow, and he strutted like a savage king. He took a long yellow night-stick from behind the lunch-counter, and started importantly toward the main doors to see that the incensed seamen did not again enter. The ways of sailormen are without speech, and, together in the street, the three sailors exchanged no word, but they moved at once.

Landsmen would have required two years of discussion to gain such unanimity. In silence, and immediately, they seized a long piece of scantling that lay handily. With one forward to guide the battering-ram, and with two behind him to furnish the power, they made a beautiful curve, and came down like the Assyrians on the front door of that saloon.

Mystic and still mystic are the laws of fate. Bill, with his kingly frown and his long night-stick, appeared at precisely that moment in the doorway. He stood like a statue of victory; his pride was at its zenith; and in the same second this atrocious piece of scantling punched him in the bulwarks of his stomach, and he vanished like a mist. Opinions differed as to where the end of the scantling landed him, but it was ultimately clear that it landed him in south-western Texas, where he became a sheep-herder.

The sailors charged three times upon the plate-glass front of the saloon, and when they had finished, it looked as if it had been the victim of a rural fire company's success in saving it from the flames. As the proprietor of the place surveyed the ruins, he remarked that Bill was a very zealous guardian of [Pg 58] property.

As the ambulance surgeon surveyed Bill, he remarked that the wound was really an excavation. As his Mexican friend tripped blithely away, Bill turned with a thoughtful face to his frying-pan and his fire. After dinner he drew his revolver from its scarred old holster, and examined every part of it.

It was the revolver that had dealt death to the foreman, and it had also been in free fights in which it had dealt death to several or none. Bill loved it because its allegiance was more than that of man, horse, or dog. It questioned neither social nor moral position; it obeyed alike the saint and the assassin.

It was the claw of the eagle, the tooth of the lion, the poison of the snake; and when he swept it from its holster, this minion smote where he listed, even to the battering of a far penny.

Wherefore it was his dearest possession, and was not to be exchanged in south-western Texas for a handful of rubies, nor even the shame and homage of the conductor of No. During the afternoon he moved through his monotony of work and leisure with the same air of deep meditation. The smoke of his supper-time fire was curling across the shadowy sea of mesquit when the instinct of the plainsman warned him that the stillness, the desolation, was again invaded.

He saw a motionless horseman in black outline against the pallid sky. The silhouette displayed serape and sombrero, and even the Mexican spurs as large as [Pg 59] pies. When this black figure began to move toward the camp, Bill's hand dropped to his revolver. The horseman approached until Bill was enabled to see pronounced American features, and a skin too red to grow on a Mexican face.

Bill released his grip on his revolver. For a moment the two men scanned each other in a way that is not ill-mannered on the plains, where one is in danger of meeting horse-thieves or tourists.

Bill saw a type which did not belong in the mesquit. The young fellow had invested in some Mexican trappings of an expensive kind. Bill's eyes searched the outfit for some sign of craft, but there was none. Even with his local regalia, it was clear that the young man was of a far, black Northern city. He had discarded the enormous stirrups of his Mexican saddle; he used the small English stirrup, and his feet were thrust forward until the steel tightly gripped his ankles.

As Bill's eyes travelled over the stranger, they lighted suddenly upon the stirrups and the thrust feet, and immediately he smiled in a friendly way.

No dark purpose could dwell in the innocent heart of a man who rode thus on the plains. As for the stranger, he saw a tattered individual with a tangle of hair and beard, and with a complexion [Pg 60] turned brick-colour from the sun and whisky. He saw a pair of eyes that at first looked at him as the wolf looks at the wolf, and then became childlike, almost timid, in their glance. Here was evidently a man who had often stormed the iron walls of the city of success, and who now sometimes valued himself as the rabbit values his prowess.

The stranger smiled genially, and sprang from his horse. Bill for a time seemed too astonished for words. Bill's feet scuffled awkwardly, and he looked steadily at a cactus plant. Can't tell till afterwards. You see, they take some feller that's alone like me, and then they rush his camp when he ain't quite ready for 'em, and ginerally plug 'im with a sawed-off shot-gun load before he has a chance to git at 'em.

They lay around and wait for their chance, and it comes soon enough. Of course a feller alone like me has got to let up watching some time. Maybe they ketch 'im asleep. Maybe the feller gits tired waiting, and goes out in broad day, and kills two or three just to make the whole crowd pile on him and settle the thing. I heard of a case like that once. It's awful hard on a man's mind�to git a gang after him.

Who told you? There was a silence. Finally the stranger burst out in an amazed cry. How many of them are there? I don't ask no help in this here row. I know your happening along here just now don't give me no call on you, and you better hit the trail.

Long, smoldering clouds spread in the western sky, and to the east silver mists lay on the purple gloom of the wilderness.

Finally, when the great moon climbed the heavens and cast its ghastly radiance upon the bushes, it made a new and more brilliant crimson of the campfire, where the flames capered merrily through its mesquit branches, filling the silence with the fire chorus, an ancient melody which surely bears a message of the inconsequence of individual tragedy�a message that is in the boom of the sea, the sliver of the wind through the grass-blades, the silken clash of hemlock boughs.

No figures moved in the rosy space of the camp, and the search of the moonbeams failed to disclose a living thing in the bushes. There was no owl-faced clock to chant the weariness of the long silence that brooded upon the plain. The dew gave the darkness under the mesquit a velvet quality that made air seem nearer to water, and no eye could have seen through it the black things that moved like monster lizards toward the camp.

The branches, the leaves, that are fain to cry out when death approaches in the wilds, were frustrated by these uncanny bodies gliding with the [Pg 63] finesse of the escaping serpent.

They crept forward to the last point where assuredly no frantic attempt of the fire could discover them, and there they paused to locate the prey. A romance relates the tale of the black cell hidden deep in the earth, where, upon entering, one sees only the little eyes of snakes fixing him in menaces.

If a man could have approached a certain spot in the bushes, he would not have found it romantically necessary to have his hair rise. There would have been a sufficient expression of horror in the feeling of the death-hand at the nape of his neck and in his rubber knee-joints. Two of these bodies finally moved toward each other until for each there grew out of the darkness a face placidly smiling with tender dreams of assassination.

There was some signaling in the gloom, and then began a series of subtle rustlings, interjected often with pauses, during which no sound arose but the sound of faint breathing.

A bush stood like a rock in the stream of firelight, sending its long shadow backward. With painful caution the little company travelled along this shadow, and finally arrived at the rear of the bush.

Through its branches they surveyed for a moment of comfortable satisfaction a form in a grey blanket extended on the ground near the fire. The smile of joyful anticipation fled quickly, to give place to a quiet air of business. Two men lifted shot-guns with much of the barrels gone, and sighting these weapons through the branches, pulled trigger together.

The noise of the explosions roared over the lonely mesquit as if these guns wished to inform the entire world; and as the grey smoke fled, the dodging company back of the bush saw the blanketed form twitching; whereupon they burst out in chorus in a laugh, and arose as merry as a lot of banqueters. They gleefully gestured congratulations, and strode bravely into the light of the fire. Then suddenly a new laugh rang from some unknown spot in the darkness.

It was a fearsome laugh of ridicule, hatred, ferocity. It might have been demoniac. It smote them motionless in their gleeful prowl, as the stern voice from the sky smites the legendary malefactor. They might have been a weird group in wax, the light of the dying fire on their yellow faces, and shining athwart their eyes turned toward the darkness whence might come the unknown and the terrible.

The thing in the grey blanket no longer twitched; but if the knives in their hands had been thrust toward it, each knife was now drawn back, and its owner's elbow was thrown upward, as if he expected death from the clouds.

This laugh had so chained their reason that for a moment they had no wit to flee. They were prisoners to their terror. Then suddenly the belated decision arrived, and with bubbling cries they turned to run; but at that instant there was a long flash of red in the darkness, and with the report one of the men shouted a bitter shout, spun once, and tumbled headlong.

The thick bushes failed to impede the route of the others. The silence returned to the wilderness. The tired [Pg 65] flames faintly illumined the blanketed thing and the flung corpse of the marauder, and sang the fire chorus, the ancient melody which bears the message of the inconsequence of human tragedy.

They were cautiously and slowly approaching the camp. The sun was flaring its first warming rays over the grey wilderness. Upreared twigs, prominent branches, shone with golden light, while the shadows under the mesquit were heavily blue. Suddenly the stranger uttered a frightened cry.

He had arrived at a point whence he had, through openings in the thicket, a clear view of a dead face. That would have been queer, after what I told 'im yesterday. They continued their way, the stranger wincing in his walk, and Bill exhibiting considerable curiosity. The yellow beams of the new sun were touching the grim hues of the dead Mexican's face, and creating there an inhuman effect, which made his countenance more like a mask of dulled brass.

One hand, grown [Pg 66] curiously thinner, had been flung out regardlessly to a cactus bush. Bill walked forward and stood looking respectfully at the body. The stranger's nerves might have been in that condition when there is no backbone to the body, only a long groove. I don't know.

This part of the business rattles me, don't you see? But in a moment he burst out violently and loud in the most extraordinary profanity, the oaths winging from him as the sparks go from the funnel.

He had been examining the contents of the bundled grey blanket, and he had brought forth, among other things, his frying-pan. It was now only a rim with a handle; the Mexican volley had centered upon it.

A Mexican shot-gun of the abbreviated description is ordinarily loaded with flat-irons, stove-lids, lead pipe, old horseshoes, sections of chain, window weights, railroad sleepers and spikes, dumb-bells, and any other junk which may be at hand. When one of these loads encounters a man vitally, it is likely to make an impression upon him, and a [Pg 67] cooking-utensil may be supposed to subside before such an assault of curiosities. Bill held high his desecrated frying-pan, turning it this way and that way.

He swore until he happened to note the absence of the stranger. A moment later he saw him leading his horse from the bushes. In silence and sullenly the young man went about saddling the animal. Bill said, "Well, goin' to pull out? The stranger's hands fumbled uncertainly at the throat-latch. Once he exclaimed irritably, blaming the buckle for the trembling of his fingers.

Once he turned to look at the dead face with the light of the morning sun upon it. At last he cried, "Oh, I know the whole thing was all square enough�couldn't be squarer�but�somehow or other, that man there takes the heart out of me.

Bill considered for a time; then he said diffidently, "Mister, you're a eddycated man, ain't you? The young man, perplexed, evidently had a question upon his lips, when there was a roar of guns, bright flashes, and in the air such hooting and whistling as would come from a swift flock of steam-boilers.

The stranger's horse gave a mighty, convulsive spring, [Pg 68] snorting wildly in its sudden anguish, fell upon its knees, scrambled afoot again, and was away in the uncanny death run known to men who have seen the finish of brave horses. He had thrown himself flat on the ground facing the thicket whence had come the firing. He could see the smoke winding over the bush-tops.

He lifted his revolver, and the weapon came slowly up from the ground and poised like the glittering crest of a snake. Somewhere on his face there was a kind of smile, cynical, wicked, deadly, of a ferocity which at the same time had brought a deep flush to his face, and had caused two upright lines to glow in his eyes.

The stillness had returned to the plain. The sun's brilliant rays swept over the sea of mesquit, painting the far mists of the west with faint rosy light, and high in the air some great bird fled toward the south.

That ain't the way to shoot. He was something of a master of insult, and, moreover, he dived into his memory to bring forth imprecations tarnished with age, unused since fluent Bowery days.

The occupation amused him, and sometimes he laughed so that it was uncomfortable for his chest to be against the ground. Bill's eyes, meanwhile, had not wavered from their scrutiny of the thicket in front.

Now you listen. Speak up, hombre! I want have talk. Speak up, you yaller cuss, you! The whole batch. You better go home, you fellers, and git some rest. The answer was a sudden furious chatter of Spanish, eloquent with hatred, calling down upon Bill all the calamities which life holds. It was as if some one had suddenly enraged a cageful of wild cats.

The spirits of all the revenges which they had imagined were loosened at this time, and filled the air. Presently he began to grow angry. His hidden enemies called him nine kinds of coward, a man who could fight only in the dark, a baby who would run from the shadows of such noble Mexican gentlemen, a dog that sneaked.

They described the affair of the previous night, and informed him of the base advan [Pg 70] tage he had taken of their friend. In fact, they in all sincerity endowed him with every quality which he no less earnestly believed them to possess.

One could have seen the phrases bite him as he lay there on the ground fingering his revolver. It is sometimes taught that men do the furious and desperate thing from an emotion that is as even and placid as the thoughts of a village clergyman on Sunday afternoon. Usually, however, it is to be believed that a panther is at the time born in the heart, and that the subject does not resemble a man picking mulberries.

As the guns roared, Bill uttered a loud grunt, and for a moment leaned panting on his elbow, while his arm shook like a twig. Then he upreared like a great and bloody spirit of vengeance, his face lighted with the blaze of his last passion.

The Mexicans came swiftly and in silence. The lightning action of the next few moments was of the fabric of dreams to the stranger. The muscular struggle may not be real to the drowning [Pg 71] man. His mind may be fixed on the far, straight shadows back of the stars, and the terror of them. And so the fight, and his part in it, had to the stranger only the quality of a picture half drawn. The rush of feet, the spatter of shots, the cries, the swollen faces seen like masks on the smoke, resembled a happening of the night.

And yet afterward certain lines, forms, lived out so strongly from the incoherence that they were always in his memory. He killed a man, and the thought went swiftly by him, like the feather on the gale, that it was easy to kill a man. Moreover, he suddenly felt for Bill, this grimy sheep-herder, some deep form of idolatry. Bill was dying, and the dignity of last defeat, the superiority of him who stands in his grave, was in the pose of the lost sheep-herder.

The stranger sat on the ground idly mopping the sweat and powder-stain from his brow. He wore the gentle idiot smile of an aged beggar as he watched three Mexicans limping and staggering in the distance. He noted at this time that one who still possessed a serape had from it none of the grandeur of the cloaked Spaniard, but that against the sky the silhouette resembled a cornucopia of childhood's Christmas. They turned to look at him, and he lifted his weary arm to menace them with his revolver.

They stood for a moment banded together, and hooted curses at him. Finally he arose, and, walking some paces, stooped to loosen Bill's grey hands from a throat. Swaying as if slightly drunk, he stood looking down into the still face. Struck suddenly with a thought, he went about with dulled eyes on the ground, until he plucked his gaudy blanket from where it lay dirty from trampling feet.

He dusted it carefully, and then returned and laid it over Bill's form. There he again stood motionless, his mouth just agape and the same stupid glance in his eyes, when all at once he made a gesture of fright and looked wildly about him. He had almost reached the thicket when he stopped, smitten with alarm. A body contorted, with one arm stiff in the air, lay in his path. Slowly and warily he moved around it, and in a moment the bushes, nodding and whispering, their leaf-faces turned toward the scene behind him, swung and swung again into stillness and the peace of the wilderness.

The great Pullman was whirling onward with such dignity of motion that a glance from the window seemed simply to prove that the plains of Texas were pouring eastward.

Vast flats of green grass, dull-hued spaces of mesquit and cactus, little groups of frame houses, woods of light and tender trees, all were sweeping into the east, sweeping over the horizon, a precipice. A newly-married pair had boarded this train at San Antonio. The man's face was reddened from many days in the wind and sun, and a direct result of his new black clothes was that his brick-coloured hands were constantly performing in a most conscious fashion.

From time to time he looked down respectfully at his attire. He sat with a hand on each knee, like a man waiting in a barber's shop. The glances he devoted to other passengers were furtive and shy.

The bride was not pretty, nor was she very young. She continually twisted her head to regard her puff-sleeves, very stiff, straight, and high. They embarrassed her. It was quite apparent that she had cooked, and that she expected to cook, dutifully. The blushes caused by the careless scrutiny of some passengers as she had entered the car were strange to see upon this plain, under-class countenance, which was drawn in placid, almost emotionless lines.

They were evidently very happy. And then, after a while, we'll go forward to the diner, and get a big lay-out. Finest meal in the world. Charge, a dollar. Why, that's too much�for us�ain't it, Jack? Later, he explained to her about the train. He had the pride of an owner. He pointed out to her the dazzling fittings of the coach, and, in truth, her eyes opened wider as she contemplated the sea-green figured velvet, the shining brass, silver, and glass, the wood that gleamed as darkly brilliant as [Pg 77] the surface of a pool of oil.

At one end a bronze figure sturdily held a support for a separated chamber, and at convenient places on the ceiling were frescoes in olive and silver. To the minds of the pair, their surroundings reflected the glory of their marriage that morning in San Antonio. This was the environment of their new estate, and the man's face, in particular, beamed with an elation that made him appear ridiculous to the negro porter.

This individual at times surveyed them from afar with an amused and superior grin. On other occasions he bullied them with skill in ways that did not make it exactly plain to them that they were being bullied.

He subtly used all the manners of the most unconquerable kind of snobbery. He oppressed them, but of this oppression they had small knowledge, and they speedily forgot that unfrequently a number of travellers covered them with stares of derisive enjoyment. Historically there was supposed to be something infinitely humorous in their situation. To evince surprise at her husband's statement was part of her wifely amiability.

She took from a pocket a little silver watch, and as she held it before her, and stared at it with a frown of attention, the new husband's face shone. A passenger, noting this play, grew excessively sardonic, and winked at himself in one of the numerous mirrors.

At last they went to the dining-car. Two rows of negro waiters in dazzling white suits surveyed their entrance with the interest, and also the equanimity, of men who had been forewarned. The pair fell to the lot of a waiter who happened to feel pleasure in steering them through their meal.

He viewed them with the manner of a fatherly pilot, his countenance radiant with benevolence. The patronage entwined with the ordinary deference was not palpable to them. And yet as they returned to their coach they showed in their faces a sense of escape. To the left, miles down a long purple slope, was a little ribbon of mist, where moved the keening Rio Grande.

The train was approaching it at an angle, and the apex was Yellow Sky. Presently it was apparent that as the distance from Yellow Sky grew shorter, the husband became commensurately restless.

His brick-red hands were more insistent in their prominence. Occasionally he was even rather absent-minded and far away when the bride leaned forward and addressed him. Hazel Levesque is a fourteen-year-old demigod, a daughter of Pluto and Marie Levesque. It is later revealed that she has returned from the dead, assisted by her half-brother Nico.

She grew up in the s in New Orleans , where her mother had a gris-gris shop. When she was born, Pluto offered to grant her mother a wish, but her request for wealth backfired into an ability to control precious metals and gems , which both first view as a curse. Hazel died after Gaea tries to use Hazel's power over earth to resurrect Alcyoneus. When Hazel's mother changes her mind about helping Gaea, Hazel buries herself and her mother under the earth, delaying Alcyoneus's rebirth and killing them both.

While Hazel's spirit is being judged, she gives up the chance to go to Elysium to save her mother from punishment, and they are both sent to the Fields of Asphodel instead. At some point before The Lost Hero , Nico finds Hazel in the Underworld while trying to visit Bianca di Angelo, only to find she has tried for rebirth.

He helps her escape to the world of the living and arranges for her to join Camp Jupiter. Hazel and Nico are protective of each other, much as true half-siblings. Hazel is described as African American , having cocoa-colored skin, curly cinnamon-brown hair, and golden eyes. Her legion tattoo is described as looking like a cross with curved arms and a head. She eventually learns to manipulate her curse, manipulating precious stones and metals and sensing structures underground.

She is an accomplished horse-rider and skilled with a spatha. She tames the horse Arion, who eats precious metals. She is unusually knowledgeable about the Underworld because of her time there. Hazel becomes very gifted at this. Though she is much cooler than her boyfriend, she finds his inability to be cool endearing. Frank Zhang is a year-old demigod, son of Mars Ares and Emily Zhang, a Chinese-Canadian "legacy" descendant of a demigod who dies during military service in Afghanistan.

He is taken care of by his grandmother after his mother's death, and makes his way to Camp Jupiter upon her insistence. Frank's family descends from Periclymenus , a grandson of Poseidon, who had the power to shapeshift. Periclymenus's descendants were sold into slavery in China, and migrated to Canada many years later. While battling Alcyoneus who is invincible within Alaska , Frank taps into his ancestral power and transforms into a bear. However, his combined power of being a son of Mars and having the ability to shapeshift makes his life very fragile.

The Fates tied his life force to a piece of firewood when he was a baby, so if the wood burns up, he will die as in the ancient Greek legend of Meleager. The goddess Juno appears to his mother and grandmother while he is a baby to warn them of this fact, as he would be crucial to defeating the Giants. In all his life, Frank has ignited the wood thrice, which he can do simply by thinking about it; the first time is while he is finding his way to Camp Jupiter, in bitter cold.

The second time is when he, Percy, and Hazel travel to Alaska to free Thanatos. Eventually, Frank entrusts the firewood to Hazel, and in The House of Hades , Calypso creates a fireproof pouch to contain it.

Frank has a meek disposition and is uncomfortable upon learning his father's identity publicly in front of the whole of Camp Jupiter. He suspected himself a son of Apollo , given his skill with a bow and arrow. On his quest in The Son of Neptune , and later during the series as well, he uses an enchanted spear given to him by Mars. The spear summons a skeleton warrior, which Frank calls "Gray". As he has been residing in Camp Jupiter for no more than a year, Frank is initially considered a probatio , or rookie, of the Fifth Cohort.

During the Roman War Games, after Percy impresses everyone with his battle skills and instincts, Mars appears, informing Frank that he is his son and is to lead a quest. Since only centurions are allowed to lead a quest, Reyna has to promote him to centurion rank.

Later, in The House of Hades , Jason surrenders his praetorship to Frank, who uses its authority and Diocletian's Sceptre to lead an army of Roman skeleton soldiers against the monsters in the Necromanteion. Frank was described as 'cuddly' and 'fuzzy' and with a chubby, babyish face in The Mark of Athena , but in The House of Hades , after summoning the blessing of Mars to defeat a hoard of enemies, he transforms.

He is then described as being taller, more muscular, and without all his childhood fat. Though now built like a professional football player, he is still as sensitive as before, and is embarrassed at his new appearance at first.

After Leo's encounter with Calypso, however, Leo becomes more relaxed around Hazel and their relationship becomes clearly platonic, much to Frank's relief. Frank then pursues a relationship with Hazel. Frank burns his stick for the final time in The Tyrant's Tomb in order to kill Caligula. Despite the stick completely burning, Frank survives, freeing him from his curse.

She and her sister worked for Circe during the events of The Sea of Monsters. She is described as intimidating and a natural leader; she has glossy black hair and very dark brown eyes. Reyna is generally more used to responsibility than other demigods, as she is a praetor at Camp Jupiter.

Reyna is often accompanied by two magical dogs, Aurum and Argentum, or by her pegasus Scipio "Skippy" dies after their trip from New York to Greece in The House of Hades after being slashed by a griffin's poisonous claw. While shadow-travelling to New York, the trio stops in San Juan and visits Reyna's former house, haunted by the ghosts of her relatives. Reyna's father an Iraq war veteran deeply loved the goddess, but his PTSD turned this love into an unhealthy paranoia.

When Reyna was ten years old, he became a mania , or an evil insane ghost. When the mania attacked Hylla, young Reyna picked up the closest weapon and killed what remained of her father. Reyna is reluctant to discuss the incident because patricide is "unforgivable" in New Rome. Gleeson Hedge is a satyr first mentioned in The Last Olympian , as the author of a distress call sent to Grover Underwood.

He also serves as the adult chaperone for the Argo II and later accompanies the Athena Parthenos to camp. Despite his often warlike and often overly aggressive attitude, Hedge is kind and understanding to campers in need. He enjoys extreme sports and martial arts movies. Chuck, the baby, is born at the end of The Blood of Olympus , with Clarisse as his godmother. Apollo , in the mortal form of Lester Papadopoulos , serves as the main protagonist of The Trials of Apollo series. In The Heroes of Olympus , Apollo's Roman descendant Octavian promises the god many things for blessing his prophetic skills, which leads to the Olympians' distraction from the true threat of Gaia, and to the resurgence of Python.

As a result, the Delphic Oracle ceases to function, effectively halting demigod quests, and Zeus punishes Apollo. Zeus's punishment consists of making Apollo mortal, though he retains most of his personality and some more minor powers. This punishment is revealed in The Trials of Apollo. In his mortal form, Apollo's name is Lester Papadopoulos.

Apollo has to adjust to a life of mortality and questing to regain his former powers and lifestyle. Following a meeting with two thugs in Manhattan, Apollo encounters a demigod called Meg McCaffrey , who claims him as her servant until he regains his godhood.

Apollo is released by Meg after the revelation of her alliance with his enemy. As Lester, Apollo is a year-old teenager with curly brown hair, blue eyes, acne, and a flabby torso. He is narcissistic, prideful, and arrogant, but does his best to not be a burden on others. His mortal transformation makes him realize how miserable humans are in facing the gods.

In particular, he grows to deeply care for Meg and resolves to be with her despite the difficulties involved. Her father was murdered by "the Beast" Emperor Nero and she was subsequently adopted by Emperor Nero, considering them two separate people.

Nero taught her the arts of a demigod and gave her a pair of crescent rings which can transform into sickles made of imperial gold, before giving her a task to lure Apollo into the Grove of Dodona. Meg appears to Apollo in an alley of Hell's Kitchen, Manhattan where she defeats two thugs, also sent by Nero to stage a robbery. There, Meg displays unusual abilities even before Demeter claims her, and later goes with Apollo to search for missing demigods and the Grove in the nearby woods, having to endure a brief abduction in the process.

Her relationship with Nero is revealed at the climax, but her growing doubtfulness regarding Nero's ways, not to mention her already familiar friendship with Apollo, leads her to rob Nero of his chance of burning the Grove. While she helps Apollo bring the Grove alive, she severs their bonding spell and leaves. Meg is described as small and pudgy, with dark hair chopped in a messy pageboy style and black cat-eye glasses with rhinestones in the corners. She is free-spirited and adventurous, inquisitive, and is also confrontational.

She poses questions with no subtlety, something that Apollo is annoyed with but later comes to regard as a unique trait. Her abilities as Demeter's daughter allows her to connect better with nature as well as summoning a karpos crop spirit called Peaches a spirit of peach trees , a power that none of Demeter's other demigod children are known to possess.

Even though she is Demeter's daughter, not Ceres the Roman manifestation of Demeter she fights like a Roman, with two swords; one for offense and one for defense. She is also known for her liking of unicorns in the fourth book The Tyrant's Tomb. Hemithea , known as "Emmie", is a retired Hunter of Artemis and caretaker of the Waystation. She lives with her partner, Josephine, also an ex-Hunter, and their daughter Georgia at the Waystation in Indianapolis.

She and her sister were granted immortality by Apollo after escaping from the wrath of their father, King Staphylus. She then joined the Hunters of Artemis and fell in love with fellow hunter Josephine, so sometime in the s, Josephine and Emmie gave up their immortality in order to grow old together. Triumvirate Holdings is a company that is led by three beings who are said to be the worst Roman Emperors in history. They force other people to worship them.

During the Second Titanomachy, Triumvirate Holdings was responsible for giving Luke at the time under the influence of Kronos and his allies the Princess Andromeda, weapons, helicopters, and top human mercenaries.

Rachel described Triumvirate Holdings to be so rich that they make her father's company "look like a kid's lemonade stand. Though not all the gods who appear in Rick Riordan 's novels are truly Olympians that is, gods who live on Mount Olympus , all Greek and Roman gods are generally considered to be a subset of the Twelve Olympians. As such, most characters in the series refer to these immortals generally as the "Olympian gods", to distinguish them from the Greco-Roman primordial gods and Titans.

The primordial deities are the deities that came before the Titans and the Olympians came into existence. Among the known primordial deities are:. The Titans are the children of Gaea and Ouranos. Most of them fought against the Gods during the Titanomachy which ended with the Gods winning.

Among the featured Titans are:. The Gigantes also called the Great Giants are giant-like beings that were made by Gaea and Tartarus to overthrow Olympus. They were previously defeated by the gods and Heracles during the Giantomachy. Each was meant to oppose a specific god.

They can only be defeated by a god and a demigod working together. The Giants are described as very tall with dragon -like legs and shaggy hair.

The following demigod characters all have one parent who is a Greek or Roman god or, more rarely, a Titan , while the other parent is a mortal human. It is common for these "half-bloods," as they are known, to grow up unaware that they are not entirely human. They are frequently referred to by gods and other mythological beings as "mortals," though they are certainly more than human.

In this franchise, different historic people are mentioned to have Greek Gods as their parents or are otherwise involved with the series. Among the known historical demigods are:. The following are mentioned not as direct children of the Olympians, but as grandchildren, great-grandchildren, or the like:. The following characters from Greek mythology appear in this series.

Most of them are the direct children of gods or Titans, but a few are mortals with such great power that they are able to influence the realm of the gods. Many of the beings and creatures of Greco-Roman myths are humanoid �in other words, they possess both the intelligence and some of the physical features of humans.

The vast majority of these creatures are friendly, such as nymphs and centaurs. Unlike the majority of Greek creatures, these beings are also unquestionably sentient and tend to have larger roles in the novel series. Carter Kane is one of two main protagonists and narrators ; a descendant of Narmer and of Ramses the Great. He is the son of Julius and Ruby Kane. After the death of his mother when he was eight years old , he spent six years travelling the world with his Egyptologist father.

His sister Sadie stays with their grandparents and they get to see each other once in a while. He becomes the host of Horus in the first novel, and often collaborates with and receives advice from the god. He also develops a romantic relationship with the shabti of magician Zia Rashid, and subsequently spends much of his time trying to find the real Zia and demonstrate his feelings toward her.

Like his father, Carter has dark skin and hair, quite different from both his mother and sister. When living with his father, Carter dressed "impeccably" like Julius even when relaxing, but adopts a much more casual style when he goes to live at Brooklyn House.

Though he is not one to flout rules, Carter is brave and courageous enough to pursue the way of the gods despite the House of Life's disapproval. His specialty is combat magic; his preferred weapon a khopesh , but loses it in The Throne of Fire. However, he decides to focus on leading Brooklyn House while leaving his uncle Amos as the Chief Lector to deal with the day-to-day running of the House of Life.

Sadie Kane is one of two main protagonists and narrators; at 13 years old, she is the younger sister of Carter Kane. She is left in the care of her non-magical grandparents in London after the death of their mother Ruby Kane.

Though she is able to live a "normal" life, something her brother is occasionally jealous of, her unusual circumstances make her sometimes jealous of Carter especially when she is reminded of his exotic lifestyle.

Sadie has to abruptly leave her life in London when she goes to revive the twenty-first Nome and fight Set after the god captures her father, Julius Kane. Sadie becomes the host of Isis in The Red Pyramid and continues to study the goddess's path throughout the series.

She also becomes romantically involved with one of the Brooklyn House initiates Walt Stone and also with the god Anubis, though her relationship with either is not formalized until after Walt becomes the "eye" of Anubis in The Serpent's Shadow.

She has caramel-colored hair, fair skin and deep blue eyes, some traits inherited from her mother Ruby. Unlike Carter, Sadie is rebellious and bold also like her mother and acts the part; often making snap decisions, ignoring rules, and choosing to wear clothing to display her personality rather than to conform or aid her magic. Her magical specialty is with spells, potions, and hieroglyphics. One of her favorite spells is Ha-Di, which means to destroy. Walt Stone is one of the twenty-first Nome's initiates, who arrives at Brooklyn House sometime in the second novel.

He has dark skin and is from Seattle , where he lived with his mother. Walt is a sau , or charmmaker. The curse progresses more quickly when he uses magic, which is why he specializes in charms and also why he begins to call on the god Anubis for guidance. In The Serpent's Shadow , Walt finally succumbs to the curse, but as he dies he allows himself to become the host of Anubis, whose spirit can essentially keep him alive. Zia Rashid is a magician from the first Nome who was born and raised in Egypt.

She is found and raised by Iskandar, the Chief Lector , after the destruction of her hometown by Apophis. When Julius Kane released five gods through the Rosetta Stone , she became the unexpected host of Nephthys , and was subsequently placed by Iskandar in an underwater prison so the House of Life could not eliminate her.

A shabti of her was created to take her place; it is destroyed during the fight with Set in The Red Pyramid. Carter Kane falls in love with this shabti and seeks out the real Zia to free her and release Nephthys's spirit.

Zia, who specializes in fire magic, later becomes the host of Ra and the two manage to destroy Apophis in The Serpent's Shadow. Her initial indifference to Carter slowly evolves into romance, and the two begin dating at the end of the series when Ra ascends back to the heavens.

During the first novel, Amos is possessed by Set and forced to lure his niece and nephew to the god's pyramid in Phoenix, Arizona. Once freed, Amos goes for healing at the first Nome, and does not return to Brooklyn House until the second novel. His experience hosting Set has changed him, however, and eventually leads to his highly controversial decision to voluntarily host the god during the final battle with Apophis.

Amos succeeds Michel Desjardins when the former leader of the House of Life sacrifices himself fighting Apophis. Iskandar is the Chief Lector of the House of Life. He came to believe this was the fault of the gods and ended the House's policy of calling upon them; Ruby Kane's vision of Apophis rising changes his mind, but it is too late for him to make any real change. He was the one who saved Zia after her village's destruction and, sensing that she holds the power to host Ra, arranged for her confinement in an underwater prison under the watch of Nephthys while creating a shabti of her to protect Carter and Sadie, both of whom also hold the potential to become hosts of gods.

Shortly after meeting them, he dies in his sleep, knowing that these three can make a change where he could not. He is succeeded by Michel Desjardins as the House's leader. Michel Desjardins is the lesser antagonist and leader of the House of Life after the death of Iskandar. As such, he has known only the House policy forbidding the Path of the Gods.

He is therefore at first opposed to cooperation with the gods and disagrees with the Kanes when they claim it is necessary to stop Apophis. He works with Vladimir Menshikov in the latter's attempt to hunt Sadie and Carter Kane, believing his lies about how the Kanes' efforts will empower Apophis. Upon discovering the truth, that the Kanes were right and Menshikov is trying to free Apophis, he journeys to the Duat to help Carter and Sadie and sacrifices himself to execrate Apophis, killing Menshikov and buying the Kanes more time.

He is succeeded as leader of the House of Life by Amos Kane. A year-old Bostonian teenager, Magnus lost his mother Natalie to a mysterious wolf attack two years prior to the events of The Sword of Summer and is forced to live in the streets with his homeless friends, Blitz and Hearth. On his 16th birthday, his uncle, Randolph informs him of his divine parentage as a son of a Norse god and his inheritance of Sumarbrander , the sword that once belonged to his father Frey.

He then finds out that his father is Frey, the god of peace, wealth and prosperity, who belongs to the Vanir tribe of Norse deities. Magnus is described as having blond hair that reaches his chin and haunting gray eyes that resemble his cousin, Annabeth's.

He is said to look like Kurt Cobain and has asthma. His scrawny look is replaced by a more muscular persona after his death and acceptance to Valhalla. He is quite street smart due to the two years he spent as a homeless child and as a result, is not quick to trust people.

Nevertheless, he considers Blitz and Hearth as the only friends he is completely loyal to, and after a while, also begins to ease up and trust Sam.

He is also known to have a budding relationship with another child of Loki named Alex Fierro. He is not fiery nor quick to anger. As a son of the god of fertility, Magnus does not excel in offensive power. Instead, he usually thinks strategically to safely escape from danger. When he does have to attack, he mainly uses the Sword of Summer, Jack, who attacks autonomously. Blitzen Blitz is a year-old dwarf or, more specifically, a svartalf from Nidavellir. He has dark skin and hair, and has a beard.

He is sent alongside Hearth by Mimir to watch and protect Magnus. Though he keeps it up for two years, the task fails when Magnus is killed, but Blitz continues to look for him until they are reunited in Valhalla. As a dwarf, Blitz is sensitive to sunlight and will slowly turn to stone if exposed too much, which is why he always wears a copious article of clothing whenever there is sunlight, except in Folkvanger , in which sunlight is replaced by an aura radiated by Freya instead.

Instead of forging, Blitz excels in clothing design, making him a laughing stock among his fellow dwarfs, but after he wins a match against Eitri Junior, he becomes respected and eventually opens up a clothing shop.

In battle, Blitz uses his creations to assist himself, including chain-mail gloves and vest. Blitz has had a strong relationship with Hearth ever since the former saved the latter's life, and the two are very protective of each other.

Hearthstone Hearth is a light elf from Alfheim. He is skinny with pale skin and with short spiky blond hair, which, when combined with his black leather jacket, jeans, and a candy cane scarf, "makes him look like a character from a Japanese anime ". Since his "home" world is always bright, he is sensitive to darkness. Like Blitz, Hearth makes a deal with Mimir to drink water from Mimir's Well by one of the roots of Yggdrasil to gain knowledge about runes and in return has to work with him for several years.

He becomes a companion and protector of Magnus from then on. Hearth is the first elf in a long time to focus on magic from runes, which he has studied extensively. He can cast various runes, though doing such consumes his energy. Eventually, he progresses to the rank of a full sorcerer. Hearth has a traumatic past, as he is effectively unwanted by his parents, who shun him for being deaf and not as great as his brother, Andiron, who died young; he is forced to face his past in the second book, when he has to collect the Skofnung Stone from his father, Alderman, who wants him to finish the blood tax imposed on him as repentance for Andiron's death.

He is also reminded that sooner or later, he will have to take the othala rune from Andiron's place of death, which he planted as a reminder of his past, to complete his magic arts.

In the third book, Hearth decides to take othala , using it to summon Andiron's spirit to distract his father long enough for Magnus to pierce his heart. His relationship with his friends helps him, though, and he even once calls Magnus "brother". At the end of the first book, Hearth is freed from servitude and begins learning runes at Asgard from Odin. She is an Arab American who normally wears her Valkyrie armor and a green hijab , which doubles as a swan cloak camouflage cloak.

She leads a double life as both a Valkyrie and a normal high schooler. She does not worship the Norse gods as she is Muslim and believes in God. Her family is from Baghdad , Iraq , but has been raised by her grandparents in Dorchester since the death of her mother. Sam's family already had a long history with the Vikings, even before her mother met Loki; Ahmad ibn Fadlan , an envoy of the Abbasid Caliph to the Kievan Rus' , is one of Sam's ancestors, and the Varangians have since intermarried with Sam's family.

Her specific parentage is a shame to her mother's family as an out-of- wedlock child; the Norse also distrust her for being Loki's daughter. She is eventually reinstated as Valkyrie and gets another job as Odin's personal aide.

In The Ship of the Dead , Sam participates in the quest to stop the Naglfar from sailing in Niflheim and has sufficiently trained with Alex enough that she is immune to Loki's influence. The quest is challenging for her not only because of its danger, but also because she is fasting for Ramadan. As a fighter, Sam wields a Valkyrie axe or dagger. She has also inherited her father's ability to shapeshift into animals such as a horsefly or lion; however, shapeshifting makes her uncomfortable, as it causes her to become more like her father.

Sam wants to become an aircraft pilot and enjoys being a Valkyrie because it affords her a chance to fly albeit through levitation, not piloting. After Magnus finds out that the sword is sentient, Sumarbrander decides to name itself Jack, and be referred to as a male. In battle Magnus can let the sword attack his enemies on its own or use his own strength and control the sword himself.

Either way, it is Magnus who loses energy ultimately, though this loss is delayed until he next grips or sheathes Jack. He bears a grudge against Frey, who 'abandoned' him, by giving him to Skirnir as a price for the latter bringing the former a Giantess with whom he fell in love; he summarises this by once admonishing Frey, saying 'blades before babes'.

He reached Boston with one of Skirnir's descendants during the Viking expansion, where he was lost for centuries till he was recovered by Magnus. Fierro father. The kiss is recounted by Magnus during his fighting with Loki as the greatest thing to have ever happened to him. Alex uses a gold garrote wire as a weapon, which formally used to be a pottery wire.

The Norse gods fall into two general groups: the Aesir and the Vanir. All are referred to generally as "Asgardians", but the Vanir inhabit Vanaheim as often as Asgard. The Aesir are more warlike, while the Vanir are peaceful.

Specifically, however, the gods tend to be distinguished by what side they fought on during the Aesir-vanir war , and not by their personal temperaments. The following Norse gods are considered the more warlike of the two strains of immortals.

The Valkyries are Odin's handmaidens who choose which slain heroes should be brought to Hotel Valhalla. They also work as waitresses during feasts and provide room service to its inhabitants. Mortals are human characters who live outside of the world of magic and gods, though some may be aware of their supernatural surroundings.

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