1. I pack for the underworld
âDear, donât forget your toothbrush and toothpaste!â mom reminded me as I was putting my charger inside my favourite chikorita backpack.Â
âYou did brush your teeth, right?â
âYes, mom. I always do,â I answered routinely. She asks the same question every morning and I always answer that I did, I have no need to lie. Hygiene is important, after all.
âDid you pack enough underwear? Clothes for every weather?â
âI tried. Didnât the pan say that the weather is always on the colder side of mild in the place weâre going to?â
âCooler side, yes, but you can never be sure, dear.âÂ
Well, Iâll see if itâs cooler when I get there, wonât I? But I didnât say that out loud. Mom doesnât like sarcastic comments, sheâs of the opinion that itâs better to be direct when speaking.
Mom walked toward me and gave me a soft kiss on my forehead. âI will miss you, Gemma.â
The doorbell rang, stopping me from telling her, that Iâll miss her too.
âSeems he is here!â she walked around me to open the door.
Behind it stood a young man, or rather a young pan that was trying to pass as a young man. He was wearing a cheerful smile, a long-sleeved polo shirt with a sweater vest and pinstriped trousers. The outfit would look quite formal if it weren't for his loose knit beanie with a floral design.Â
âGood morning ms Corentine!â
âGood morning, Oliver. Come inside, Iâve made tea.â
âI⌠That sounds nice but we should be on our way,â Oliver smiled sheepishly. Or should it be goatishly? As he is a pan and all that? Goat legs, great climber, cute horns and stuff, you know? Oh, donât worry, it also seemed weird to me the first time we met.Â
We went to the Natural History Museum in London a few months back. (I love dinosaurs.) We only go on special occasions, this time it was for my birthday. Why only for special occasions, you ask? Well, we, itâs only me and my mom, live in a small village called Abinger and my mom cannot see, so getting places⌠itâs a bit difficult. But this time we went. We stopped by St. Jamesâs Park (because there are awesome living dinosaurs there) and thatâs where we met Oliver. He was hanging out with his nymph friends, or thatâs what he told us, but as soon as he smelled me, he ran towards us so fast he lost his feet! (Not his real feet, of course, but the fake polystyrene ones the pans wear to pass as humans.)Â
He told us that I have a strong connection to the earth and was quite surprised that I started walking faster. But mom stopped me and decided that the London park in the later afternoon is the best place to dump on me that I'm actually a demigod! Thatâs why I never met my dad and why he doesnât live with us. Though Oliver, as I already said, was quite surprised. Supposedly, the deities of Europe and the Meditteranean decided to at least try to be good parents, to make it up for their past misdeeds or something like that. (Have you read the myths? They are actually horrible people.) They should explain what they are, before deciding to create a child with someone (as all people should) and then at least pay for childcare. As my dad didnât do any of that Oliver came to the conclusion that he must be just some minor rural deity. (Though wouldnât minor gods have more time for their kids as their domain is smaller?) For Greco-Roman demigods, especially those with an absentee divine parent (such as myself), there is a mandatory voluntary training camp each summer. âTo hone your abilities, make new friends and prepare yourself for the life of a hero!â at least thatâs what the brochure said. And this summer happens to be special because the Greco-Roman pantheon is hosting the Gathering of the European Pantheons and the Pantheons of the Mediterranean Region. Gepm for short (yes, I know, it doesnât include all the initials, but even you must admit that Gepm is a bit more pronounceable than GEPPMR).Â
âMiss Gemma, are you ready to depart?â Oliver asked with that storyteller's voice that people do when they want to hype someone up for an adventure.Â
âYes, mister Oliver. Iâm ready!â I called. The âreadyâ part of my answer ended up heaving the weird melody as if picking something heavy (because I was picking something heavy - my hiking backpack).
âOh, miss, you donât have to carry that!â said Oliver and took it down from my back, âJust carry your lovely little green friend and Iâll deal with the heavy stuff.â
âThank you. Will you be alright?â I had to ask, âit really is heavy.â Well, sorry for being concerned, but he was the same height as me (which isnât much) and looked quite shaky on those fake feet of his. But he was stronger than he looked, he carried my heavy hiking backpack with the utmost ease.Â
We said our goodbyes and left the premises. I expected some kind of magical transport, but Oliver confidently walked towards a small green car parked next to our hedges.
âHop on in, miss,â Oliver called as he was putting my backpack in the boot.Â
âCan I sit in the front?â
There were hedges in my way.Â
Oliver noticed, âOh, apologies. Iâll move so you can get in.â
He took it straight to London.
âWhere exactly are we going?â
âThe Underworld. But if you are asking where weâre going to get to the Underworld⌠We are going to the Camberwell Submarine.â
âThatâs an entrance to the Underworld?â
âOne of. The main one in London is in Notting Hill Gate Station. But the Submarine is a direct doorway, a backdoor entrance you could say. Itâs faster.â
âMy apologies for not taking you on the scenic route.â
âNo, thatâs fine,â I assured him, âitâs a three-week camp. Weâll go on a quick tour at some point, right?â
âLord Hades doesnât like the living snooping around his Underworld, but lord Dionysus always finds a way to make him create an exception.â
âAre the gods going to be at camp?â
âI donât really want to spoil it for youâŚâ
âBut it would be nice to be prepared.â
I smiled at him, âPlease?â
âAlright, just a little spoiler,â Oliver took a deep breath, âThe main counsellor and activity director is Cheiron-â
âThe immortal centaur, I know,â I interjected, âThat was in the brochure.â
âOh, of course,â he got a bit flustered.
âSorry.â I realised I was rudeâŚ
âNo, no! Itâs alright. Youâd rather know stuff about the gods, right?â
âWell, I donât want to get smitedâŚâ
Oliver laughed, âYou donât have to worry about that. Thatâs why itâs in the Underworld. So the gods that usually do the smiting can be kept out. But donât tell them that. The chthonic-â I made a face. â-The underworld deities, I mean, are usually pretty calm.â
âSo lord Hades runs the camp?â
âOh no,â he smiled, âlord Hades has too much work on his hands. The director is lady Persephone, lord Hades is more of a sponsor. But there will be the Graces, lady Psyche, her daughter, lady Hedone, lady Harmonia, actually, Iâm not sure about that one, and lord Dionysus of course. He is the god of youths after all. And there'll be many nymphs, satyrs and pans. Maybe also some volunteers from Elysium!â
âThere are some great dinner ladies in Elysium!â I couldnât argue with that.
The rest of the way Oliver answered my endless questions about the upcoming weeks, so Iâd be better prepared. But, as I stepped inside the ginormous cavern designated as the campgrounds, I realised, that nothing could have prepared me for it.