Percy Jackson's Greek Gods

  Persephone should have been shouting with joy. This was what she wanted! So why did she feel so bad about it? She couldn’t stand the look of devastation on Hades’s face. He’d made this garden just for her. He’d treated her well…at least after the initial kidnapping, and that had been Zeus’s idea. Hades had been ready to open the gates of the dead for her sake.

  Hermes didn’t seem bothered by any of that. “Well, excellent!” He grinned at Persephone. “Ready to go? Just some regulation questions I have to ask first—you know, customs stuff for crossing the border. Have you come into contact with any live animals?”

  Persephone frowned. “No.”

  “Visited any farms?” Hermes inquired. “Are you carrying more than ten thousand drachmas in foreign currency?”

  “Uh…no.”

  “Last question,” Hermes said. “Have you eaten any food in the Underworld?” He held up his hands in apology. “I know it’s stupid question. I mean, obviously you’re smarter than that. If you ate any food in the Underworld, you’d have to stay here forever!”

  Persephone cleared her throat. “Uh…”

  I don’t know if she would’ve lied or not, but before she could answer, the gardener Askalaphos said, “Show them your hands, my lady.”

  Persephone blushed. She held out her hands, which were stained purple. “One third of a pomegranate,” she said. “That’s all.”

  “Oh,” Hermes said. “Whoops.”

  “She can stay!” Hades danced in a circle, grinning from ear to ear, then seemed to realize he didn’t look very dignified. “Er, I mean, she must stay. I’m—I’m sorry, my dear, if that makes you sad. But I can’t pretend I’m not delighted. This is wonderful news.”

  Persephone’s emotions were so jumbled that she wasn’t sure how she felt.

  Hermes scratched his head. “This complicates things. I’ve got to report for new orders. Back soon.”

  He flew to Mount Olympus and told the other gods his news.

  When Demeter heard the problem, she flew into a rage. Somehow she managed to send a powerful curse straight through the ground, into that Underworld garden in Hades’s mansion. She zapped the gardener Askalaphos into a gecko because he’d told on Persephone.

  Why a gecko? I have no idea. I guess, off the top of her head, a zombie gecko was the worst curse she could think of.

  Demeter threatened to let the world keep starving unless she got her daughter back. Hades sent a new message via Hermes, warning that the dead would rise in a zombie apocalypse unless Persephone stayed with him. Zeus was getting a splitting headache, imagining his beautiful world being ripped apart, until Hestia came up with a solution.

  “Let Persephone divide her time,” suggested the hearth goddess. “She ate one third of the pomegranate. Let her spend a third of the year with Hades, and two-thirds with Demeter.”

  Amazingly, all the gods agreed. Hades was happy to have his wife, even for just a third of the year. Demeter was overjoyed, though she never got over being mad at Hades. Whenever Persephone was in the Underworld, Demeter turned cold and angry and wouldn’t let the plants grow.

  According to the old stories, that’s why there are three distinct seasons in Greece, and during the colder months of autumn, crops don’t grow.

  As for Persephone, the whole experience kind of forced her to grow up. She fell in love with Hades and made a place for herself in the Underworld, though she still enjoyed spending time in the mortal world with her mom and her old friends. The magic Titan Hecate, who had helped Demeter search, went to the Underworld and became one of Persephone’s attendants. That was cool with Hecate. The Underworld was much darker, and a better place to work magic than a drafty cave.

  Demeter even remembered her promise to Triptolemus, the prince of Eleusis. She gave him his own serpent-wheeled chariot and made him the god of farming. She told him to travel the world and teach people about agriculture. It doesn’t sound like a very flashy job, but I guess Triptolemus liked it better than being thrown in a bed of fire.

  After that, Demeter really did settle down. She didn’t throw any more tantrums, which was good, because once her sister Hera got started, Hera’s temper would make Demeter’s anger look tame.

  HERA GETS A LITTLE CUCKOO

  LET’S START WITH THE GOOD NEWS. Hera was hot. I mean totally knockout gorgeous.

  She had long licorice-black hair. Her face was regal and unapproachably beautiful, like the face of a supermodel on a fashion runway. The Greeks described her eyes as “oxlike.” Believe it or not, that was a compliment. It meant she had large, soft brown eyes that you could get lost in. I guess the Greeks spent a lot of time staring at oxen.

  Anyway, in the early days of Mount Olympus, all the male gods and Titans were falling over themselves for Hera. Which brings us to the bad news. Hera had a short temper and massive attitude. Whenever a guy approached her, she would cut him down so fast—pointing out his faults, trash-talking him like a pro—that the guy would leave in tears and never try flirting with her again.

  Mother Rhea decided Hera would do well at a boarding school for girls, where she could grow up a little and learn to be less abrasive. Unfortunately, nobody had invented boarding schools for girls yet.

  Rhea did the next best thing. She sent Hera off to live with her Uncle Oceanus and Aunt Tethys at the bottom of the farthest sea.

  For a while, Hera was off the radar screen. She spent some happy years with Oceanus and Tethys, who had a pretty solid marriage compared to the other immortals. Hera decided she wanted a marriage like that. She would hold out for the right guy. She wouldn’t marry just any old god who came along, unless he could prove he would be a good and faithful husband.

  She’d heard about her sister Demeter’s troubles. Poseidon, Zeus, and Hades were all complete jerks. Hestia had been smart to stay single.

  Hera wasn’t about to be a bachelorette forever, though. She wanted a husband, kids, a house in the suburbs—the whole package. She would just have to be careful about which husband she chose.

  After a few years, she moved back to Mount Olympus and got her own set of apartments in the palace. Her nasty temper was more under control, but the guy gods still found her hard to flirt with. If they got too fresh, she would shut them down fast.

  Kiss Hera? I don’t think so, loser. Not unless you show her a wedding ring and a financial statement proving you can support a family.

  Eventually most of the gods and Titans decided Hera was too much work, even though she was absolutely the most beautiful goddess in creation. (Well, so far, anyway.)

  One god saw her as a challenge, though.

  Zeus didn’t like to take no for an answer. You may have noticed that.

  He would slide in next to her at the dinner table and tell his best jokes. He would sing for her at the hearth. He would see her walking down the hall, and he’d suddenly bust into a Kouretes dance number just to get her to smile.

  Secretly she enjoyed the attention. Zeus was funny when he wanted to be. He was handsome with his dark hair and blue eyes, and he liked to walk around without his shirt on, casually flexing his muscles and showing off his abs. He was in good shape, no doubt about it. And, yes, he was the king of the universe, so most women might consider him a good match.

  But not Hera. She knew all about Zeus’s womanizing. He’d already been married at least twice. He’d had a child with Demeter. There were rumors of many other affairs with goddesses, Titans, and even mortals.

  Hera was not going to be another conquest. She wasn’t a trophy. She knew that if she ever gave in to Zeus, he would lose interest in her immediately, stop being so charming, and go off to flirt with other women. Hera couldn’t stand that idea.

  One night at dinner he told a particularly funny joke—something about a donkey, a god, and a Cyclops walking into a temple—and Hera couldn’t help laughing. She had tears in her eye
s and couldn’t breathe.

  She gazed across the table and met Zeus’s gaze a moment too long. She cleared her throat and looked away, but Zeus had glimpsed her feelings.

  “You like me,” he said. “You know you do.”

  “I certainly do not,” she said. “You’re a fool, a womanizer, a villain, and a liar!”

  “Exactly!” Zeus said. “Those are my best qualities!”

  She tried hard not to laugh. She’d never met a guy who was so immune to her insults. Zeus was almost as stubborn as she was.

  “When will you give up?” she demanded. “I’m not interested.”

  “I’ll never give up,” he said. “And you are interested. You and I…king and queen of the cosmos. Imagine it! We’d be an unbeatable couple. Clearly, you are the most beautiful goddess in creation. And I, of course, am devilishly handsome.”

  He flexed his muscles. He was a ridiculous show-off, but Hera had to admit he was buff.

  She shook her head. “How can I convince you that you’re wasting your time?”

  “You can’t. I love you.”

  She snorted. “You love anything in a dress.”

  “This is different. You’re the right goddess. I know it. You do, too. Just say I love you. You can do it. You’ll feel better if you’re honest.”

  “Never,” she said. “I will never tell you that. Ever.”

  “Oh, sounds like a challenge!” Zeus grinned. “If I can get you to admit you love me, will you marry me?”

  Hera rolled her eyes. “Sure, Zeus. Since that will never happen, I can safely say that if I ever admitted to…you know, what you said…then sure, I’d marry you. Which I can only promise because IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN!”

  Zeus winked. “Challenge accepted.”

  He left the dinner table, and Hera began wondering if she’d somehow made a mistake.

  By a few nights later, Hera had almost forgotten about the conversation. Strangely, Zeus hadn’t mentioned it again. In fact, he hadn’t paid much attention to her at all since that night—which should have filled her with relief, but somehow it bummed her out.

  Forget him, she told herself. He finally got the message. He’s probably accosting some other poor goddess.

  She tried to convince herself this was good news. She wasn’t jealous. That would be ridiculous.

  During the night, a huge thunderstorm raged over Mount Olympus—which probably should’ve made Hera suspicious, since Zeus was the god of the sky, and all—but she was too busy covering her windows to keep out the rain.

  She ran to her bedroom and was just closing the last shutters when a small bird fluttered in and collapsed, exhausted, on her floor.

  “Yikes!” Hera stepped back in alarm. “How did you get here?”

  The bird flapped helplessly on the marble tiles. Its chest heaved, its whole body shivering from the cold. Hera knelt down and saw that it was a cuckoo.

  Have you ever seen an actual cuckoo bird (not the carved ones that pop out of old clocks)? I haven’t. I had to look it up. It’s a weird-looking little guy. It’s got a sort of Mohawk thing going on with its head feathers, which don’t match its sleek brown-and-white wings or its long tail. Basically, it looks like its head got zapped in some mad scientist’s device, so I can see why cuckoo became another word for crazy.

  Anyway, Hera knelt down and scooped up the bird. She could feel its heart beating against her palm. One of its wings was bent the wrong way. Hera didn’t understand how such a small bird could have flown all the way up to Mount Olympus. Usually only eagles flew that high, since the airspace around Olympus was restricted.

  On the other hand, Hera knew that storms had powerful winds. Possibly the poor bird just got swept away.

  “It’s a miracle you’re alive,” Hera told the bird. “Don’t worry, little guy. I’ll take care of you.”

  She made a nest of blankets at the foot of her bed and gently set the bird inside. She dried its wings and fed it a few drops of nectar, which seemed to help. The cuckoo puffed up its feathers. It closed its eyes and started to make whistling, snoring noises, like soft notes played on a flute. Hera found the sound pleasing.

  “I’ll just keep him overnight,” she said to herself. (She’d decided it was a boy.) “If he’s better in the morning, I’ll send him on his way.”

  In the morning, the cuckoo made no attempt to fly away. He sat contentedly on Hera’s finger, eating pieces of seed and nut out of her hand. Hera had never had a pet before, and it made her smile.

  “You’re a good friend, aren’t you?” she murmured to the bird.

  “Coo,” said the cuckoo.

  Hera’s heart warmed as she looked into his trusting orange eyes. “Should I keep you?”

  “Coo.” The cuckoo rubbed his beak on her finger in an unmistakably affectionate way.

  Hera laughed in delight. “All right, then. Yes. I love you, too.”

  Instantly the cuckoo hopped to the floor. It began to grow. At first Hera was afraid she’d fed him too much nectar and the bird was going to explode, which would have been both distressing and messy. Instead, the bird took on the form of a god. Suddenly Zeus was standing before her in his glowing white robes, his golden crown gleaming in his black hair, which was still mussed up in a cuckoo-style hairdo.

  “Sweet words, my lady,” Zeus said. “I love you, too. Now, I believe you and I had a deal.”

  Hera was so stunned, she couldn’t respond. Anger overwhelmed her. But she also felt a creeping admiration for what an incredible no-good scoundrel Zeus was. She wasn’t sure whether she should hit him or laugh at him or just kiss him. He was awfully cute.

  “On one condition,” she said tightly.

  “Name it.”

  “If I marry you,” she said, “you will be a good, faithful husband. No more playing around. No more affairs or chasing after pretty mortals. I will not be made a laughingstock.”

  Zeus counted on his fingers. “That seems like more than one condition. But never mind! I accept!”

  Hera should have made him promise on the River Styx, which is the most serious oath the gods can make. She didn’t, though. She agreed to marry him.

  After that, the cuckoo became one of her sacred animals. You’ll usually see pictures of Hera holding a staff topped with either a cuckoo or a lotus flower, which was her sacred plant. In case you’re curious, her other sacred animal was the cow, because it was such a motherly animal. Personally, if somebody told me, “Wow, babe, you remind me of a heifer,” I would not take it as a compliment; but it didn’t seem to bother Hera. Whatever clunks your cowbell, I suppose.

  Zeus and Hera announced the happy news, and the gods began preparing for the biggest wedding in the history of weddings.

  You have to pity Hermes the messenger god, who had to deliver the wedding invitations. Every god, Titan, mortal, nymph, satyr, and animal in the world was invited to join the party. I hope the snails got their invites early. It must’ve taken them forever to get there.

  Different people will tell you different stories about where the wedding was held. We’ll go with the island of Crete, because it makes sense. That was where Zeus hid on Mount Ida when he was a baby, so the place had good karma.

  I’m still trying to figure out the logistics, though….So, you invite a wild rabbit living in Italy to a party on the island of Crete. What’s it supposed to do, swim there? Its little tux would get wet.

  Anyway, everybody who was invited showed up, except for one really stupid nymph named Chelone. She lived in Arcadia on the Greek mainland, in this hut by a river, and she just threw her invitation away.

  “Meh,” she said. “Stupid wedding. I’d rather stay home.”

  When Hermes discovered she was a no-show, he got mad. (I guess it was also his job to check the guest list.) He flew back to Chelone’s place and found her bathing in the river.

  “W
hat’s the deal?” he demanded. “You’re not even dressed. The wedding is on!”

  “Uh…” Chelone said. “I, um…I’m a little slow. I’ll be there!”

  “Really? That’s the story you’re going with?”

  “Okay, no,” she admitted. “I just wanted to stay home.”

  Hermes got a dark look in his eyes. “Fine.”

  He marched over to Chelone’s hut and picked up the entire building, Superman-style. “You want to stay home? Stay home forever.”

  He threw the house right on top of her, but instead of dying, Chelone changed form. The house shrank over her back, melting into a shell, and Chelone became the world’s first tortoise, an animal that’s always slow and carries its house on its back. That’s why chelone means tortoise in Greek. Hey, you never know. You might need that info on Jeopardy! someday.

  The rest of the world was smart and went to the party. The bride and groom entered the sacred grove in a golden chariot driven by Eos, the Titan of the dawn, so rosy red light spread over the crowd as Zeus and Hera approached, signaling the dawning of a new day. The Three Fates officiated at the ceremony, which would have made me nervous. Those creepy old ladies could control the future and snip your lifeline, so you’d have to take your vows pretty seriously.

  Hera and Zeus became man and wife, king and queen of the universe.

  Everybody gave them amazing presents, but the last one was Hera’s favorite. The earth rumbled, and a sapling burst from the ground—a young apple tree bearing solid gold fruit. There was no card attached, but Hera knew it was a gift from her grandmother Gaea, who was still asleep, but who must have sensed a party going on.

  Hera ordered the apple tree taken to the farthest western corner of the earth, where it was replanted in a beautiful garden right at the feet of the Titan Atlas, who was still holding up the sky. She sent an immortal dragon named Ladon to guard the tree, along with a group of Atlas’s daughters called the Hesperides, the nymphs of the evening sky.