An Half-Blood Christmas (Un Natale Mezzosangue), a short story by Rick Riordan

 Rick Riordan posted a new short story on his official site today, set in the Percy Jackson Universe. The story was originally published on La Repubblica, a renowed Italian newspaper. This short story is the first that Rick has written entirely in Italian, a language in which he appears to be fluent in.

Since Italian is our mother-tongue, we were very excited and eager to read this story, and we have decided to translate it in English, and share it with Percy Jackson fans from all over the world!

An Half-blood Christmas

“Where are we?” asked Percy.

 

“Florence,” said Nico.

 

Percy furrowed his eyebrows. “And why?”

 

The son of Hades snorted. “It's not like you need a reason to go to Florence. But you told me that you'd like to find a perfect gift for Annabeth, right?”

 

“Right.” Percy pressed his hands on his stomach. He never liked shadow travelling. “But I thought that we were going to go to Times Square's Christmas market. There are so many stands –”

 

“Times Square!” Nico shivered. “You're romantic. If you want a gift that's worthy of your girlfriend, you need an Italian gift, everybody knows it. Come on.”

 

The streets in Florence were empty. The winter clouds were heavy and grey. In front of Nico and Percy, the massive dome of the cathedral looked like a huge medieval spaceship, ready to take off.

 

“The shop is near,” Nico said, walking across the square. His face was hard to read due to the mask that covered his mouth.

 

“Which shop?” Percy asked.

 

Nico didn't reply.

 

Percy looked at the shop shutters, the only people in the square were running around. Even the very tall Christmas tree seemed to shimmer sadly in front of the cathedral. In Italy, as in the States and everywhere else, this was a very hard year. Demigods, like Percy and Nico, couldn't get sick during the pandemic, but they could spread the virus, so they had to wear masks to protect the mortals in their lives, because that's what heroes do.

 

However, the son of Poseidon was tired and ready for a new year. Recently, monsters were "social distancing" too, and it was difficult to fight monsters with a sword when you were six feet apart.

 

‘Here we are,” Nico said.

 

The front of the shop wasn't much different from the others. It was at the entrance of an alley, with an iron grate on the closed door and advertisements on the dark windows: Jewels! The best offers!

 

“Seriously?” Percy asked.

 

“When we get in,” said Nico, “act kind and respectful.”

 

“As usual,” Percy said.

 

Nico coughed. “Anyway, this shopkeeper will help you find the perfect gift for Annabeth, I promise you. But. . . ”

 

“But?”

 

“He's a little strange.”

 

“As usual,” Percy repeated. He checked his pockets. “And how should I pay him? I have only dollars and an expired copoun for sandwiches.”

 

“Don't worry,” Nico said. “The shopkeeper doesn't charge for money. He'll let you pay in other ways.”

 

“Now I'm worried.”

 

Nico opened the grate, pushed the door and went in. Percy followed him.

 

Inside the shop, the walls were covered with lockers full of jewels and trinkets of any kind.

 

Behind the counter, with his back turned, there was a man with a huge red cloak, hair like a wild and white avalanche. He was working on a desk, repairing a diamond necklace.

 

“Impossible,” Percy murmured. “Santa Claus?”

 

“Where?” the man exclaimed, turning around alarmed.

 

He wasn't Santa Claus.

 

His cloak unfolded, becoming red wings. From his white hair appeared pointed ears like those of a lynx. From his beard, which was also white, boar tusks were lifted. His nose was a beak like the one of a vulture.

 

Percy swallowed. “I'm sorry. I thought you were somebody else.”

 

“Percy,” Nico said, “let me introduce you to Charu, the Etruscan god, guardian and guide of the dead.”

 

“Pleased to meet you,” said Charu, eyes burning like flames. “How can I help you?”

 

“Excuse me,” said Percy, “are you an Etruscan god?”

 

“Yes, yes,” Charu said. “Before the Roman intruders, these lands were the home of the Etruscan people. For this reason, this region is called Tuscany, are you following?”

 

“But why –?”

 

“Percy,” Nico interrupted him, “Charu is the last Etruscan god. He stayed after the others were gone, to help the dead cross over.”

 

“Alas,” said Charu. “That's true. I'm still waiting, hoping for other gods to return, but it has never happened.” He pointed a finger at the shop windows. “During the centuries, many have come to my shop, marching towards death. Nobody ever comes back. Well, there was that one guy, Dante, but except for him, nobody. People, and gods, leave me their most prized possessions for safekeeping, as you can see. What are you looking for?”

 

Percy wasn't sure he wanted to get Annabeth a present that had belonged to a dead god, but he didn't want to offend Charu. He explained the different things that Annabeth liked.

“Does your girlfriend like strategy?” Charu smiled, baring his tusks. “I've got just the thing.”

 

The ancient god took something from a locker. It was a gold bracelet, made of tiny keys. “This”, he said, “has been crafted by Sethlans, the Etruscan god of the artisans. The keys . . . well, I'm just saying, they can open many things and solve many problems.”

 

Percy was stunned. “It's perfect,” he admitted. “But it must be expensive.”

 

“I'll just ask you a question,” said Charu. “Tell me the right answer: why should ancient gods, like myself, celebrate Christmas?”

 

Nico looked nervous. Maybe he didn't think Percy would ace an oral quiz. But Percy thought carefully at the past year and at his friends, like Nico, who had helped him through it.

 

“Because”, said the son of Poseidon, “Christmas is for everybody. It represents hope. Especially in those trying times, all of us — gods, demigods, mortals — have to help each other out. We have to remain alert and optimistic, like you, watching over those who cross. ”

 

The god smiled. “Well said. Here's your gift. Maybe we'll meet again, eh? Merry Christmas!”

 

Once they were outside again, Nico said: “That was impressive, Percy.”

 

“Thanks,” said Percy, holding the bracelet. “But I guess the perfect gift is not a jewel. It's a good friendship. Merry Christmas, my friend.”

 

“Same to you, Seaweed Brain.”

 

Percy laughed and, together, they walked back into the shadows.

 Enjoy a picture of the Arno River in Florence. Rick Riordan has taken this picture himself -- and posted it on his blog -- in 2018 when he has taken a week-long course in Italian at La Scuola Toscana.

Translation and article by Ari Wilde and Cam Baragiola

All rights go to Rick Riordan

Do not repost the translation or parts of it on the web without crediting the source or its creators.