The Tyrant's Tomb

The song quickly morphed, however. Like all good performers, I adapted the
material to my audience.
I sang of the wildfires and droughts that had scorched Southern
California. I sang of the brave cacti and satyrs from the Cistern in Palm
Springs, who had struggled valiantly to find the source of the destruction. I
sang of the dryads Agave and Money Maker, both gravely injured in the
Burning Maze, and how Money Maker had died in the arms of Aloe Vera. I
added some hopeful stanzas about Meg and the rebirth of the warrior dryad
Meliai—how we’d destroyed the Burning Maze and given SoCal’s
environment at least a fighting chance to heal. But I couldn’t hide the
dangers that faced us. I described what I had seen in my dreams: the yachts
approaching with their fiery mortars, the hellish devastation they would rain
upon the entire Bay Area.
After strumming my final chord, I looked up. Green tears glistened in the
dryads’ eyes. Fauns wept openly.
Peaches turned to the crowd and growled, “Peaches!”
This time, I was fairly sure I understood his meaning: See? I told you so!
Don sniffled, wiping his eyes with what looked like a used burrito
wrapper. “It’s true, then. It’s happening. Faunus protect us…”
Lavinia dabbed away her own tears. “Thanks, Apollo.”
As if I’d done her a favor. Why, then, did I feel like I’d just kicked each
and every one of these nature spirits right in the taproots? I’d spent a lot of
time worrying about the fate of New Rome and Camp Jupiter, the Oracles,
my friends, and myself. But these hackberries and crabgrasses deserved to
live just as much. They, too, were facing death. They were terrified. If the
emperors launched their weapons, they stood no chance. The homeless
mortals with their shopping carts in People’s Park would also burn, right
along with the legionnaires. Their lives were worth no less.
The mortals might not understand the disaster. They’d attribute it to
runaway wildfires or whatever other causes their brains could comprehend.
But I would know the truth. If this vast, weird, beautiful expanse of the
California coast burned, it would be because I had failed to stop my enemies.
“Okay, guys,” Lavinia continued, after taking a moment to compose
herself. “You heard him. The emperors will be here by tomorrow evening.”
“But that gives us no time,” said a redwood dryad. “If they do to the Bay
Area what they did to LA…”
I could feel the fear ripple through the crowd like a cold wind.