Percy Jackson and the Greek Heroes

  When she was halfway there, she was struck by a sudden thought.

  ‘What am I doing?’ Psyche said to herself. ‘If this works, I’ll get Eros back, but will he want me? I look awful. I’m exhausted, I’ve been living off breadcrumbs, my clothes are in rags and I haven’t had a bath in, like, seven months. I’ve got a box full of godly beauty, and I’m about to give it all to Aphrodite, who doesn’t even need it. I should take a little bit for myself.’

  Foolish? Maybe. But cut her some slack. Psyche had been questing non-stop for months. She was sleep-deprived and food-deprived and probably wasn’t thinking straight. Besides, the closer you get to the end of something, the more you tend to get reckless and make mistakes, because you want to be done with them. (Whoops. I mean it.)

  Also – and I’m going out on a limb here – I think Psyche’s fatal flaw was insecurity. She had a lot of courage and many other great qualities, but she didn’t trust herself. She didn’t believe that someone like Eros could love her for who she was. That’s how her sisters had managed to manipulate her. That’s why she opened the box of beauty.

  Unfortunately, Persephone hadn’t put any beauty in the box. She’d filled it with pure Stygian sleep – the essence of the Underworld. Persephone had meant it for Aphrodite as a little thank-you for involving Persephone in her problems.

  I’m not sure what the stuff would’ve done to a goddess like Aphrodite – maybe put her in a coma, or made her face go numb so she’d talk funny for a few weeks. But when Psyche opened the box the Stygian sleep filled her lungs and made her pass out instantly.

  Her life began to ebb.

  Back at Aphrodite’s palace, Eros’s shoulder began to throb like someone was digging into it with a hot knife. He knew something was wrong with his wife. Despite the pain, he rose from his sickbed and found that some of his old strength had returned. His soul had begun to heal after he had talked to Psyche in the great falsetto tower exchange. He spread his wings, launched himself out of the window and flew to Psyche’s side.

  He cradled her unconscious form in his arms. ‘No, no, no. Oh, my beloved, what have you done?’

  He gathered her up and flew straight to Mount Olympus. He barged into Zeus’s throne room, where all the gods were assembling to see a new play Apollo had written entitled Twenty Awesome Things About Me. (Don’t look for it on Broadway. It closed after opening night.)

  ‘Lord Zeus!’ Eros yelled. ‘I demand justice!’

  Most gods knew better than to storm in and demand things from Zeus. Especially not justice. Zeus didn’t exactly have a surplus of that.

  Nevertheless, even the King of Olympus was a little scared of Eros, so Zeus beckoned him forward.

  ‘Why have you brought this mortal into our midst?’ Zeus asked. ‘She’s kind of hot, I grant you, but she’s also very pregnant and it looks like she’s dying.’

  At that moment, Aphrodite arrived for the play. She sashayed into the throne room expecting everyone to compliment her on her new dress, only to find all the gods focused on Eros and Psyche.

  Oh, my gods, thought Aphrodite. I don’t believe this. Even smelly and unconscious, that girl still gets all the attention!

  ‘What is going on?’ the goddess demanded. ‘That girl is mine to torture.’

  ‘Chill, Aphrodite.’ Zeus nodded to Eros. ‘Speak, god of love. What’s the scoop?’

  Eros told the gods the whole story. Even the Olympians were moved by Psyche’s bravery. Yes, she’d made a few mistakes. She’d looked on Eros’s true form. She’d opened a box meant for Aphrodite. But she’d also shown faithfulness and determination. Most important, she’d shown proper reverence for the gods.

  ‘Ridiculous!’ Aphrodite shrieked. ‘She didn’t even complete her last quest! That box was not full of hypoallergenic beauty cream!’

  Eros scowled. ‘She is my wife. You need to accept that, Mother. I love her and I will not allow her to die.’

  Zeus scratched his beard. ‘I want to help, Eros. But she’s pretty far gone with the Stygian sleep. I’m not sure I can bring her back to her old self.’

  Hera stepped forward. ‘Then make her a goddess. Psyche has earned that. If she will be Eros’s wife, it’s only fitting.’

  ‘Yes,’ Demeter agreed. ‘Make her a goddess. And I don’t expect any favours from Eros, even if it was totally my idea.’

  ‘And my idea,’ added Hera.

  Aphrodite protested, but she could tell that the Olympian Council was against her. She grudgingly gave her approval. The Olympian vote was unanimous.

  When Psyche opened her eyes, her body coursed with new-found power. Godly ichor ran through her veins. She found herself dressed in shimmering gossamer robes, and she had wings like a butterfly (which was a little weird, but whatever). She embraced her husband, Eros, who was now fully healed and happier than he’d ever been.

  ‘My love,’ he said. ‘My wife for eternity!’

  ‘I am still the boss?’ she asked.

  Eros laughed. ‘You are definitely the boss.’

  They kissed and made up, and Psyche became the goddess of the human soul – the one who looks out for us when we need a little strength and understanding, because she understands human suffering better than any other god.

  She gave birth to her daughter, Hedone, who became the goddess of pleasure. You’ve got to admit, after all Psyche went through, she deserved a little pleasure.

  So there you go. The end.

  Wow … here I promised you all this death and suffering, and I give you two happy endings in a row. What’s up with that?

  How about we turn to a total car wreck of a demigod: a kid who crashed and burned and destroyed half the world. Let’s visit Phaethon. He’ll restore your lack of faith!

  Phaethon Fails Driver’s Ed

  This dude was cursed as soon as his parents named him.

  I mean, Phaethon? In Ancient Greek, that means The Shining. His dad was the sun god, so I guess it makes sense. Still, any kid named after an old movie with Jack Nicholson as a psycho axe-murderer – that kid is not going to have a happy life.

  His mom, Clymene, was a water nymph who lived among humans. She had a house on the banks of the River Nile, way down in Egypt. She must’ve been super beautiful, because Helios, the Titan of the sun, fell in love with her, and he pretty much had his pick of the ladies.

  Helios spent every day cruising the sky in his sun-chariot chick magnet, checking out all the hot chiquitas. After sunset, he’d put on his disco outfit and hit the nightclubs. The girls couldn’t resist his Titanish good looks, his power, his fame.

  ‘You look so familiar,’ the ladies would say. ‘Are you on television?’

  ‘I drive the sun,’ Helios would tell them. ‘You know, that big ball of fire in the sky?’

  ‘Oh, my gods! That’s where I’ve seen you!’

  Once he met Clymene, Helios settled down and became a one-nymph man. (At least for a while. Gods don’t do ‘Till death do us part.’) They had seven daughters together, and I don’t know if they were septuplets or different ages or what, but dang, that’s a lot of daughters. Nobody could remember their individual names, so they were just called the Heliades, meaning the daughters of Helios. They had matching sequinned jackets, like a gymnastics team, and everything.

  Finally, Helios and Clymene had a son, Phaethon. No surprise: because he was the baby and the only boy, he got all the attention.

  By the time Phaethon was old enough to remember anything, Helios was out of the picture. Sort of like: Well, Clymene, it was nice having eight kids with you. Have fun with them! I’m going back to cruising in my chick magnet.

  That’s a god for you.

  Still, Phaethon loved hearing his mom’s stories about Helios. Clymene always told Phaethon that he was more special than any other boy, because his father was an immortal.

  ‘Look, Phaethon!’ she said one morning when he was about three. ‘There is your father, the sun god!’

  ‘Fun god?’

  ‘Sun g
od, dear. He is riding his chariot across the sky! No, don’t look directly at him. You’ll burn your retinas.’

  His sisters might have been jealous of their baby brother, but they couldn’t help liking him. He was just too cute, the way he would skip around the house yelling, ‘Ima fun god! Ima fun god!’ He loved doing dangerous things, like running with knives, sticking pennies in electrical outlets and driving his tricycle over the speed limit.

  The seven Heliades quickly learned to look out for him. In fact, the people in town started calling them the seven ‘Helio-copters’, because they were always hovering around Phaethon. The kid grew up with eight ladies doting on him, which can give a guy a big head.

  As he got older, Phaethon became obsessed with chariot racing. Why? Duh. His dad had the best chariot in existence. Unfortunately, his mom wouldn’t allow him to race. She was a total freak about the dangers of sports. Whenever he went to just watch a chariot race, she made him wear a safety helmet, because you never knew when one of those drivers might lose control and crash into the crowd.

  By the time he was sixteen, Phaethon was really frustrated with his overprotective mom and his seven helicopter sisters. He was determined to get his own chariot.

  One day after school he went down to the track. A local prince, this dude named Epaphos, was showing off his new ride – a Mark V Zephyr with bronze radials, low-rider hydraulics and sequencer lights on the horses’ yokes – the whole package. A crowd had gathered around him. All the dudes were like, Whoa! and all the girls were like, You’re so awesome!

  ‘It’s no big thing,’ Epaphos told his admirers. ‘His Majesty – that would be my dad – he pretty much gives me whatever I want.’

  Maybe you’ve known a few princes, or dudes who think they’re princes. They can be jerks.

  Inside, Phaethon boiled with jealousy and anger, because he knew that Epaphos’s chariot cost more than most people would make in a lifetime. And in a few weeks the prince would get bored with his new toy, and it would end up gathering dust in the royal garage.

  Epaphos let his groupies take turns holding the reins, feeding carrots to his horses, or triggering the retractable blades on the wheels.

  ‘It’s the best chariot in the world,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘Nobody has one better. But whatever.’

  Phaethon couldn’t stand it any more. He shouted over the crowd, ‘It’s garbage!’

  The crowd went silent.

  ‘Who said that?’ the prince demanded.

  Everybody turned and pointed at Phaethon, like, Nice knowing you, buddy.

  Phaethon stepped forward. He held his head high, despite the fact that he was wearing a safety helmet with reflective decals. ‘You call that the best chariot in the world? It’s a hunk of junk compared to my father’s chariot.’

  Epaphos raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re Phaethon, aren’t you? The one with the seven cute babysitters … I mean, sisters. You live in that, ah, humble house by the river.’

  The spectators snickered. Phaethon was handsome and reasonably smart, but he wasn’t popular. He had a reputation for being arrogant. Also, he didn’t make many friends at school because his mom wouldn’t let him participate in sports – at least not without a helmet, full padding, a life vest, a first-aid kit and a water bottle.

  Phaethon kept his eyes on the prince. ‘Epaphos, your dad may be the king, but my father is Helios, the god of the sun. His chariot would melt yours into a slag heap.’

  He spoke with such confidence that the crowd backed away. Phaethon did look like a demigod. He was tall and muscular, with the upright bearing of a charioteer. His bronze skin, curly dark hair and regal face made it seem possible that he was telling the truth … His anger even made his eyes glow with internal fire – or was that a trick of the light?

  Epaphos just laughed. ‘You … a son of Helios. Tell me, where is your father?’

  Phaethon pointed to the sky. ‘Up there, of course. Driving his chariot.’

  ‘And he comes home to your hut on the river every night, eh?’

  ‘Well, no …’

  ‘How often do you see him?’

  ‘I’ve never actually seen him, but –’

  ‘So how do you know he’s your father?’

  ‘My mother told me!’

  The crowd began to laugh again.

  ‘Oh, my gods,’ said one of the girls.

  ‘So lame,’ said another.

  Epaphos ran his hands along the custom bronze detailing on his chariot. ‘Your mother … the same lady who makes you wear that stupid helmet everywhere?’

  Phaethon’s face stung. ‘Concussions are serious,’ he muttered, though his confidence was faltering.

  ‘Did it ever occur to you,’ said the prince, ‘that your mother is lying? She’s trying to make you feel better because you’re a lowlife nobody.’

  ‘That’s not true!’

  ‘If your father is Helios, prove it. Ask him to come down here.’

  Phaethon looked up at the sun (which you should never do without proper eye protection, as Phaethon’s mother had told him a million times). Silently he prayed to his father for a sign.

  ‘Come on,’ Epaphos goaded him. ‘Make the sun zigzag for us. Make it do loops! My chariot can do wheelies at sixty miles an hour, and the horn plays “La Cucaracha”. Surely the sun can do better than that!’

  The crowd howled with delight.

  Please, Dad, Phaethon pleaded, help me out here.

  For a second, he thought the sun might be getting a little brighter … but no. Nothing.

  Phaethon ran away in shame.

  ‘That’s right, shiny boy!’ the prince yelled after him. ‘Run home to your mommy and sisters. They probably have your bib and baby food ready!’

  When Phaethon got home, he slammed the door of his room. He turned up his music too loud and threw his textbooks against the wall over and over. (Okay, I’m just guessing about that, but when I’m in a bad mood, nothing feels quite as good as turning Fun with Algebraic Equations into a Destructo-Frisbee.)

  Phaethon’s seven sisters gathered outside his door, asking him what was wrong. When he wouldn’t answer, they ran to get their mother.

  Finally Clymene got Phaethon to come out. He told her what had happened with Prince Epaphos.

  ‘Oh, honey,’ Clymene said, ‘I wish you would wear sunscreen when you go to the racetrack.’

  ‘Mom, you’re missing the point!’

  ‘Sorry, dear. Would you like a grilled cheese sandwich? That always makes you feel better.’

  ‘I don’t want a grilled cheese sandwich! I want some proof that my father is Helios!’

  Clymene wrung her hands. She had always suspected this day would come. She’d done her best to keep her son safe, but stern warnings and protective padding could only go so far. Sooner or later, trouble always finds a demigod. (Trust me on that.)

  She decided to try one last thing to placate him.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said.

  She led Phaethon outside. In the middle of the street, Clymene raised her arms to the afternoon sun sinking behind the palm trees.

  ‘Hear me, O gods!’ she shouted. ‘My child Phaethon is the son of Helios, lord of the sun!’

  ‘Mom,’ Phaethon muttered, ‘you’re embarrassing me.’

  ‘If what I say is a lie,’ Clymene kept shouting, ‘let Helios strike me down with a bolt of fire!’

  Nothing happened. It would’ve been kind of cool if Helios had reacted one way or the other, but gods don’t like being told what to do, even if it’s something fun like striking people with bolts of fire.

  Clymene smiled. ‘You see, my son? I’m still alive.’

  ‘That’s not much proof,’ Phaethon muttered. ‘I want to meet my dad. I want to hear the truth from him!’

  Clymene’s heart felt close to breaking. She realized it was time to let her son choose his own path, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to wrap him in blankets and store him safely forever in a box of Styrofoam peanuts. ‘Oh,
Phaethon … Please, don’t. It’s a dangerous journey to the palace of Helios.’

  ‘So you know the way! Tell me!’

  Clymene sighed. ‘If you must go, walk due east towards the horizon. At the end of the third night, you will reach the palace of the sun. Only travel at night, not during the day.’

  ‘Because during the day my dad is driving his chariot across the sky. He’s only home at night.’

  ‘Right,’ said Clymene. ‘Also, it’s really hot during the day. You’ll get dehydrated.’

  ‘Mom!’

  ‘Just be careful, dear. Don’t do anything rash!’

  Phaethon had heard warnings like this a million times, so it just rolled right off his safety helmet.

  ‘Thank you, Mother!’ He kissed her goodbye. Then he hugged each of his seven sisters, who wept to see him go off alone without travel immunizations, water tablets or even training wheels.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Phaethon threw away his safety helmet. Then he ventured off to find the palace of the sun, where he was sure he would win fame and glory.

  Fame, yeah. Glory? Not so much.

  For three nights he walked east from the River Nile. Now, if most people did that, they’d run into the Red Sea and a whole bunch of fancy beach resorts. Phaethon, being the son of Helios, managed to find his father’s magical palace at the edge of the horizon, where every day Helios started his cruise for hot chicks – I mean, his glorious ascent into the sky.

  Phaethon arrived at about three in the morning. Even in the pre-dawn darkness, he had to put on his sunglasses to deal with the blazing light of the palace. The parapets glowed like molten gold. Flames encircled the Celestial bronze columns that lined the facade. Etched on the silver gates – designed by Hephaestus himself – were scenes of mortal life that moved like video images.

  As Phaethon approached, the doors swung open. Inside was an audience chamber the size of a sports arena. Various minor gods, the court attendants of Helios, mixed and mingled while they waited to start their daily duties. The three Horae, the goddesses of the seasons, sipped coffee and ate breakfast tacos. A lady in shimmering blue-and-gold robes – Hemera, the goddess of day – chatted with a beautiful winged girl in a rose-coloured gown. Phaethon guessed she must be Eos, the rosy-fingered goddess of the dawn, because she had the reddest hands he’d ever seen. Either that or she’d been finger-painting with blood, in which case Phaethon didn’t want to know.