Percy Jackson and the Greek Heroes

  And so, while King Hipster was off waging war against the neighbours, Cyrene stayed home and waged war against wild animals.

  She had plenty to choose from. Back then, the hills and forests of Greece were full of vicious predators. Cougars, bears, mutant badgers … you name it. Cyrene didn’t wait for the predators to attack her sheep, either. While her flock was grazing the craggy, windswept valleys, she patrolled the surrounding hills, seeking out and destroying any potential threat. She killed bears that were three times her size. She considered it a boring day if she didn’t fight at least one dragon before lunchtime. She nearly drove the mutant-badger population to extinction.

  Cyrene got addicted to danger. Her friends would invite her to parties and she’d say, ‘Nah, I think I’ll go kill some pumas.’

  ‘You did that last night!’ her friends would complain.

  Cyrene didn’t care. She barely slept or ate. She spent most of her time in the wilderness with her flocks, returning to the village only when she had to.

  She was so good at her job the villagers eventually asked her to watch the cattle as well as the sheep. Cyrene was glad to. That meant more enticing targets for predators. She drove her herds to dangerous places, hoping to attract bigger and badder monsters to fight. The sheep and cows weren’t even worried about it. They trusted Cyrene completely.

  One cow would get a whiff of danger and ask another cow, ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Oh,’ the second cow would say, ‘that’s just a pack of wolves.’

  ‘Won’t they eat us? Should we panic and stampede?’

  ‘No,’ said the second cow. ‘Watch.’

  Cyrene came hurtling out of the darkness, wailing like a banshee, and slaughtered the entire wolf pack.

  ‘Oh, cool,’ said the first cow.

  ‘Yeah, she’s awesome. Want to chew some more cud?’

  Cyrene was such a great hunter that Artemis herself took notice. The goddess gave her two fine hunting dogs as gifts. She tried to recruit Cyrene to join her followers, but Cyrene wasn’t wild about being a maiden her entire life.

  ‘I’m honoured and all,’ Cyrene said, ‘but I like hunting alone. I’m not sure how I’d do in a big group. Also, um, I’d kind of like to get married some day.’

  Artemis wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘Sorry to hear that. You’ve got talent. Here, take a brochure, just in case you change your mind.’

  With her two new hunting dogs, Cyrene became even more deadly. Soon she had terrified the local predators so badly that, if one of her sheep wandered away, a couple of bears were likely to lead it back to the flock just so they wouldn’t get into trouble.

  One day on Mount Olympus, Artemis was chatting with her brother Apollo about the best mortal archers.

  ‘Cyrene is definitely in the top five,’ Artemis said. ‘She prefers the spear and sword, but she’s amazing with the bow, too. I wish she would join my Hunt, but she said she isn’t ready to give up on men.’

  Apollo arched his godly eyebrows. ‘You don’t say. Is she hot?’

  ‘Brother, don’t even think about it.’

  ‘Oh, I’m thinking about it,’ Apollo admitted.

  The next morning, Cyrene was patrolling the hills around her flock as usual when she felt the need to pee. (That’s another question I get asked a lot: Do demigods ever use the restroom? First: Yes. Duh. And second: Why would you ask a question like that?)

  Cyrene’s dogs were guarding the other side of the herd, so she was by herself. She set down her weapons, since smart heroes do not go potty with sharp blades in their hands. She headed for the nearest clump of bushes.

  Unfortunately, a large male lion happened to be crouching in that clump of bushes, stalking Cyrene’s flock.

  Cyrene spotted the predator and froze. She and the big cat stared at each other with mutual annoyance – the lion because he wanted to eat sheep, Cyrene because she needed to tinkle. She was empty-handed and doubted the lion would give her time to fetch her spear and sword, but she wasn’t particularly scared.

  The lion growled, like, Back off, lady.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Cyrene cracked her knuckles. ‘You want those sheep, you have to go through me.’ Which is not a heroic line you hear very often.

  The lion sprang. Cyrene charged to meet him.

  Kids, do not try this at home. Lions have sharp claws and fangs. Humans do not. Cyrene didn’t care. She punched the lion in the face, then ducked as he swiped at her.

  Just as the fight was getting serious, the clouds opened over a nearby hilltop. Cyrene didn’t notice, but a golden chariot pulled by four white horses descended from the heavens and landed on the summit.

  The god Apollo gazed down at the two tiny figures fighting in the valley. With his divine vision, he could see Cyrene just fine. Her long, dark hair whipped around as she dodged the lion. Her graceful limbs were the colour of polished bronze in the sunlight. Even in the midst of combat, her face was beautiful and serene. She reminded Apollo of a war goddess, and he should know – he was related to several of them.

  He watched as Cyrene judo-flipped the lion across the meadow.

  ‘Wow …’ he muttered to himself. ‘There is nothing hotter than a chick wrestling a lion.’

  Maybe that was a sleazy thing to say. On the other hand, a lot of gods would have tried to intervene in the fight. They would’ve been like, Hey, little lady, you need some help with that big bad lion? Apollo could tell that Cyrene didn’t need any assistance. He’d grown up with his sister Artemis, so he was used to self-sufficient women. He was happy to be a spectator.

  Man, I just wish I could share this with somebody, the god thought. Hey, I know!

  Apollo’s hilltop happened to be near the cave of Chiron the wise centaur, who trained all the best heroes.

  ‘Chiron will totally appreciate this!’ Apollo snapped his fingers, and the centaur materialized at his side, a bowl of soup in his hands.

  ‘Um, hello …’ said Chiron.

  ‘Dude, sorry to interrupt your lunch,’ said Apollo, ‘but you have to check this out.’

  Chiron looked where Apollo was pointing.

  The lion swiped at Cyrene, opening a line of bloody gashes along her upper arm. Cyrene roared in anger. She roundhouse-kicked the lion in the snout, then ran up the side of a tree, flipped over the lion’s back and landed behind him, flicking her hand like, Bring it.

  ‘Ah,’ said Chiron. ‘That’s something you don’t see every day.’

  ‘That lady has game, right?’ Apollo said.

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard all about Cyrene,’ said Chiron. ‘I wish I could train her.’

  ‘Then why don’t you?’ the god asked.

  Chiron shook his head sadly. ‘Her father, Hypseus, would never allow it. He has old-fashioned ideas about the role of women. As long as Cyrene stays among the Lapiths, I’m afraid she’ll never reach her full potential.’

  Down in the valley, Cyrene picked up the lion by his back legs, spun him around and tossed him into a boulder.

  ‘So,’ Apollo said, ‘what would happen if, say, a god were to fall in love with the girl and whisk her away to somewhere else?’

  Chiron tugged thoughtfully at his beard. ‘If Cyrene were taken to a new land, where the rules of her people did not restrict her, she could become anything she wanted – a hero, a queen, the founder of a great nation.’

  ‘A god’s girlfriend?’ Apollo asked.

  ‘Quite possibly,’ Chiron agreed. ‘And the mother to many heroes.’

  Apollo watched as Cyrene got the lion in a chokehold. She strangled the beast to death, then paraded around his carcass, her fists raised high in victory.

  ‘See ya,’ Apollo told the centaur. ‘I have a girlfriend to abduct.’

  Cyrene had just finished peeing, and bandaging the cuts on her arm, when a golden chariot appeared next to her in a huge ball of fire. Her sheep and cows didn’t flinch. They figured this was just another predator that Cyrene would kill.

  Apollo stepped out of
his chariot. He was dressed in his best purple robes, a laurel wreath across his brow. His eyes shone like molten gold. His smile was blinding. An aura of honey-coloured light flickered around him.

  Cyrene frowned. ‘I’m guessing you’re not from around here?’

  ‘I am Apollo. I have been watching you, Cyrene. You are a vision of loveliness, a paragon of strength, a true hero who deserves more than guarding sheep!’

  ‘Guarding sheep isn’t so bad. I get to kill wild animals.’

  ‘And you do it well!’ Apollo said. ‘But what if I took you to a new land where you could found an entire kingdom? You could rule there as the queen, fight hordes of enemies and also date a god!’

  Cyrene thought about it. Apollo was kind of cute. He was better groomed than the Lapith men. He talked pretty. And that golden chariot was a sweet ride.

  ‘I’m willing to go on a first date,’ she decided. ‘We’ll see how it goes. Where did you have in mind?’

  Apollo grinned. ‘Ever heard of Africa?’

  ‘Hmm. I was thinking more like that Italian restaurant in the village, but I suppose Africa works. Can I take my hunting dogs?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘How about my sheep and my cows?’

  ‘No room in the chariot. Sorry. We’ll buy you a new herd when we get there.’

  With a shrug, Cyrene whistled for her dogs and climbed aboard Apollo’s chariot. They traced a fiery arc across the sky as they headed for Africa, leaving the poor sheep and cows to fend for themselves. Fortunately, Cyrene had killed every predator within a fifty-mile radius, so they were probably okay.

  Apollo took his new girlfriend to the northern coast of Africa. They landed in the uplands of what is now Libya, where rolling hills were dotted with cedars, myrtle trees and blood-red oleander. Springs bubbled from the rocks. Clear streams wound through meadows of wildflowers. In the distance, the coast was rimmed with white-sand beaches. The sparkling blue sea stretched to the horizon.

  ‘This is nicer than back home,’ Cyrene admitted.

  ‘And it’s all yours!’ Apollo said.

  Cyrene couldn’t resist being given her own country. She and Apollo became a hot item. They hunted together in the hills, ran along the beaches in the moonlight, and occasionally, just for fun, shot arrows at Hermes as he passed overhead delivering messages for the gods. Shooting Hermes in the butt was always good for a laugh.

  Back in Greece, Apollo’s oracles spread the word: anyone who wanted a new life under a fabulous queen should travel to Africa and join the party.

  Soon a whole colony of Greeks thrived in that valley. They built a city called Cyrene, named after their queen, obviously. Their biggest and most important temple was dedicated to Apollo, also obviously.

  The city of Cyrene became the first and most important Greek colony in Africa. It lasted through most of the Roman Empire. (I hear the ruins are still there, but I haven’t been. Every time I travel somewhere like that I have to fight monsters and almost die, so I’ll let you go instead and send me pictures.)

  Apollo and the huntress Cyrene had two sons together. The older was Aristaios, which means most useful. The kid lived up to his name. When he was young, Apollo took him back to Greece to train with Chiron the centaur. Aristaios wasn’t much good with a spear or sword, but he invented all kinds of important skills, like cheesemaking and beekeeping, which made him a real hit at the local farmers’ markets. The gods were so impressed they eventually made Aristaios a minor deity. Next time you’re playing Trivial Pursuit and you need to know the god of beekeepers and cheesemakers, you’ve got the answer. You’re welcome.

  Cyrene’s younger son, Idmon, grew up to be a seer, since his dad Apollo was the god of prophecy. Unfortunately, the first time Idmon looked into the future, he foresaw his own death. That kind of knowledge could really mess up most people, but Idmon took it in stride. Years later, when the hero Jason was putting together a demigod dream team for his quest to get the Golden Fleece, Idmon joined up, even though he knew he would get killed while aboard the Argo. He didn’t want to miss his chance to die a hero. That’s dedication for you.

  Cyrene was happy in Africa. She liked being the queen of her own city. But as the years passed she began to get lonely. Her hunting dogs passed away. Her children grew up. Apollo visited less and less often.

  Gods are like that. They get easily bored with their mortal loves. To them, humans are like classroom gerbils. The first night you take one home, you’re all excited and want to take good care of it. By the end of the school year, after you’ve taken the gerbil home six times already, you’re like, ‘It’s my turn again? Do I have to?’

  Cyrene never thought she’d get homesick for Greece, but she started to miss the good old days – wrestling lions, watching sheep, getting dissed by hairy Lapith menfolk. Cyrene decided she would go back to Thessaly one more time to check on her childhood friends and see if her dad was still alive.

  It was a long journey. When she finally got there, she learned that her father had passed away. The new king of the Lapiths didn’t want anything to do with her. Most of her friends had got married and didn’t even recognize her, or they’d died, since the Lapiths lived a pretty harsh life.

  Cyrene ventured into the wilderness on her own, roaming the old paths where she used to herd sheep. She missed her hunting dogs. She missed being younger. She felt hollow and angry, though she wasn’t sure who she was angry at, and she thrust the point of her sword into the hard ground.

  ‘That will dull your blade,’ said a voice at her shoulder.

  Standing right next to her was a burly man in full combat armour. He held a bloody spear, as if he’d just stepped away from a massacre for a quick coffee break. His face was handsome the way a mountain is handsome – chiselled and unforgiving, majestic and potentially lethal. Painted on his breastplate was a rampant wild boar.

  ‘You’re Ares,’ Cyrene guessed.

  The war god grinned. His eyes burned like miniature funeral pyres. ‘You’re not scared? I can see why Apollo likes you. But what are you doing with a pretty boy like Mr Poetry? You’re a warrior. You need a real man.’

  ‘Oh, I do, eh?’ Cyrene yanked her sword from the ground. She wasn’t scared. She’d grown up in these harsh lands, surrounded by blustering soldiers. She knew Ares. He represented her entire childhood – everything she’d been whisked away from when Apollo took her. She wasn’t sure whether she hated the war god or loved him.

  ‘I suppose you’re going to sweep me off my feet?’ Cyrene snarled. ‘You’ll take me away to some foreign land and make me a queen?’

  Ares laughed. ‘No. But if you’re looking to remind yourself where you came from … I’m your guy. You can’t escape your roots, Cyrene. You’ve got killing in your blood.’

  With a guttural shout, Cyrene attacked the war god. They fought back and forth across the mountainside, trying their best to cut each other’s head off. Cyrene held her own in combat. Ares laughed and shouted encouragement. Finally, exhausted, Cyrene threw her sword down. She tackled Ares around the chest. He embraced her with surprising gentleness. Next thing you know, they were kissing instead of fighting.

  I call that a lapse of judgment. In my opinion, cutting Ares’s head off is always the best choice. But Cyrene was vulnerable and lonely. She was in the mood for something different, and Ares is about as different from Apollo as you can get.

  Cyrene stayed with the war god for many months. Together they had a son named Diomedes, who became the king of Thrace – a country even further north and twice as harsh as Thessaly. Ares was the Thracians’ patron god, so it’s no surprise they made Diomedes their king.

  The guy was a real sweetheart. When he wasn’t waging war or torturing peasants, he raised horses that ate human flesh. Any time he had prisoners or guests he didn’t like, he tossed them into the stables … until a guy named Hercules put a stop to that practice. We’ll get to him in a couple more chapters.

  Eventually Cyrene grew tired of the wild
north. She returned to her city on the African coast and found Apollo waiting for her on the hill where they’d first landed in his chariot, many years before.

  The god smiled, but his golden eyes were sad and distant. ‘Have a good time in Thrace?’

  ‘Um, listen, Apollo …’

  The god raised his palms. ‘You owe me no explanations. I was not as attentive as I should have been. I took you away from your native land and then left you. That was not your fault. But I fear our time together is ending, Cyrene.’

  ‘I know.’ Cyrene felt relieved. She’d had three demigod children with two different gods. She’d done more in her life than most people ever got to do, certainly more than most women of her time. She was ready for some peace and quiet.

  ‘Where do you want to live?’ Apollo asked. ‘Thessaly or here?’

  Cyrene gazed at the hillsides dotted with myrtles and oleander, the green meadows, white beaches and glittering blue sea. The Greek colonists were busy raising new temples to the gods in the city that bore her name.

  ‘I belong here,’ she said.

  Apollo nodded. ‘Then I have one more gift for you. Ares was wrong; your roots are wherever you decide they should be. I will bind you to this land forever. Your spirit shall always remain.’

  Cyrene wasn’t sure about this ‘binding forever’ stuff, but Apollo waved his hand and it was done. A ripple of warmth passed through Cyrene’s body. Her vision cleared as if someone had finally given her the right prescription glasses. Suddenly the world was in higher definition. She could see wind spirits flitting across the sky, and dryads dancing among the trees, making the woods a tapestry of green light and shadows. The wildflowers smelled sweeter. The ground felt more solid beneath her feet. The babbling of the streams became a chorus of clear, beautiful voices.

  ‘What have you done?’ Cyrene asked, more amazed than frightened.

  Apollo kissed her forehead. ‘I have made you a naiad. Your great-grandfather was Oceanus. Your grandfather was a river god. You’ve always been part water spirit. Now your essence is tied to the rivers of this valley. You will live much longer than any mortal. You will enjoy peace and good health. As long as this valley flourishes, so will you. Goodbye, Cyrene. And thanks for the memories.’