The aftermath

                                    

                                          



Brave heroes, farewell,
In our hearts, your tales will dwell,
Your courage, we'll tell.
***
There were too many goodbyes. Ten demigods died that day. Many spent the next day treating the wounded, which was almost everybody. The satyrs and dryads worked to repair the damage to the woods.
At noon, the Council of Cloven Elders held an emergency meeting in their sacred grove. The three senior satyrs were there, along with Chiron, who was in wheelchair form. His broken horse leg was still mending, so he would be confined to the chair for a few months until the leg was strong enough to take his weight. The grove was filled with satyrs and dryads and naiads up from the water—hundreds of them, anxious to hear what would happen. Juniper and Annabeth stood by Grover's side.
Silenus wanted to exile Grover immediately, but Chiron persuaded him to at least hear evidence first, so Annabeth and Grover told everyone what had happened in the crystal cavern, and what Pan had said.
Then several eyewitnesses from the battle described the weird sound Grover had made, which drove the Titan's army back underground.
"It was panic," insisted Juniper. "Grover summoned the power of the wild god."
"Preposterous!" Silenus bellowed. "Sacrilege! Perhaps the wild god favoured us with a blessing. Or perhaps Grover's music was so awful it scared the enemy away!"
"That wasn't it, sir," Grover said. He sounded a lot calmer than I would have if I'd been insulted like that. "He let his spirit pass into all of us. We must act. Each of us must work to renew the wild, to protect what's left of it. We must spread the word. Pan is dead. There is no one but us."
"After two thousand years of searching, this is what you would have us believe?" Silenus cried. "Never! We must continue the search! Exile the traitor!"
Some of the older satyrs muttered assent.
"A vote!" Silenus demanded. "Who would believe this ridiculous young satyr, anyway?"
"I would," said a familiar voice.
Everyone turned. Striding into the grove was Dionysus. He wore a formal black suit, so almost no one recognized him, a deep purple tie and violet dress shirt, his curly dark hair carefully combed. His eyes were bloodshot as usual, and his pudgy face was flushed.
The satyrs all stood respectfully and bowed as he approached. Dionysus waved his hand, and a new chair grew out of the ground next to Silenus's—a throne made of grapevines.
Dionysus sat down and crossed his legs. He snapped his fingers and satyr hurried forward with a plate of cheese and crackers and a Diet Coke.
The god of wine looked around at the assembled crowd. "Miss me?"
The satyrs fell over themselves nodding and bowing. "Oh, yes, very much, sire!"
"Well, I did not miss this place!" Dionysus snapped. "I bear bad news, my friends. Evil news. The minor gods are changing sides. Morpheus has gone over to the enemy. Hecate, Janus, and Nemesis, as well. Zeus knows how many more."
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
"Strike that," Dionysus said. "Even Zeus doesn't know. Now, I want to hear Grover's story. Again, from the top."