Percy Jackson's Greek Gods Read online

  Anyway, Zeus looked around for a new set of foster parents. Big shock: not many people volunteered after hearing what Hera had done to Ino and Athamas. Finally Zeus flew to Mount Nysa on the Greek mainland and convinced the nymphs there to raise Bacchus. Zeus promised to make them immortal if they just did him this favor, and that was a hard deal to refuse. Young Bacchus became known as “the godly son of Zeus who lives on Nysa,” which got shortened to Dios (god) of Nysa, which eventually became his new name: Dionysus, though he was still called Bacchus, the noisy one, especially after he ate beans or cabbage. Which is way more than you wanted to know.

  Dionysus grew up on Mount Nysa with the nymphs as his foster mothers and the satyrs as his foster fathers. Satyrs are pretty wild and chaotic (no offense to my satyr friends), so it’s no surprise Dionysus turned out a little out-of-the-ordinary.

  Occasionally he played with mortal kids from the nearby farms, and Dionysus became popular for his magic tricks with plants. He discovered early on that he could produce drinkable nectar by crushing any kind of plant matter—twigs, leaves, bark, roots, whatever. Cypress-tree syrup? No problem. Fennel juice? Yum!

  The other kids would challenge him, like, “Bet you can’t make a drink out of that thorn bush!” Dionysus would pick up a rock, smash some branches, and golden sap would flow from the wounded plant. Dionysus would collect it in cups, mix some water, add miniature umbrellas, and voilà, iced thorn-bush spritzers for everyone.

  An entertaining trick—but none of Dionysus’s early recipes caught on. Fennel juice just wasn’t that popular, after all.

  Then one day Dionysus was out in the woods with his best friend, a young satyr boy named Ampelos. They spotted a thick vine curled around the branch of an elm tree about twenty feet above their heads. Dionysus froze in his tracks.

  “What is it?” Ampelos asked.

  “That vine up there,” Dionysus said. “What kind of plant is that?”

  Ampelos frowned. The vine didn’t look like anything special to him. It was thick and bristly, with wide green leaves and no fruit or flowers that he could see. “Well, it’s not ivy. Or honeysuckle. Dunno. Never seen it before. Come on!”

  But Dionysus stood transfixed. There was something important about that plant—something that could change the world.

  “I have to get a closer look.” Dionysus tried to scale the trunk of the elm, but he was a lousy climber. He fell on his butt in the leaves.

  Ampelos laughed. “If it’s so important to you, I’ll get it. Leave the climbing to satyrs.”

  Dionysus felt a sudden chill of dread. He didn’t want Ampelos going up there. But he also wanted the vine.

  “Be careful,” he said.

  Ampelos rolled his eyes. “I’ve climbed higher trees than this!”

  The young satyr clambered up the trunk and was soon straddling the elm branch. “Easy peasy!” He started prying the vine from the branch, feeding the end down to Dionysus like a rope. “Got it?”

  Dionysus reached up and grabbed the vine.

  What happened next isn’t clear. Maybe Dionysus pulled the vine too hard. Maybe Ampelos reached down too low. Whatever the case, Ampelos lost his balance and fell, tangled in the vine.

  Twenty feet isn’t so far, but it was enough. Ampelos hit his head on a rock with a sickening crack.

  Dionysus wailed in horror. He embraced his friend, but the young satyr’s eyes were already dull and empty. He wasn’t breathing. Sticky blood matted his hair and stained the leaves of the vine.

  Ampelos was dead.

  Dionysus sobbed. If he hadn’t wanted this stupid vine, his friend would still be alive. His sadness mixed with anger. He glared at the satyr’s blood on the green leaves. He snarled, “You will pay for this, vine. You will bear the sweetest fruit to make up for this bitter loss. BEAR FRUIT!”

  The vine trembled. The body of Ampelos dissolved into mist. The satyr’s blood soaked into the plant, and clusters of small fruit popped up, ripening instantly to dark red.

  Dionysus had created the first grapevine.

  He wiped away his tears. He had to make his friend’s death mean something. He would learn to use this new plant.

  The grapes looked full of juice, so Dionysus picked several bunches. He carried them to a nearby creek bed and found two large flat stones. He crushed the grapes between the rocks, inventing the first winepress.

  Dionysus collected the juice in his drinking cup, which he always kept at his belt. He held the liquid in the sunlight and worked his magic, swishing the grape juice around until it fermented into…something else. Something new.

  He took a sip and his taste buds nearly exploded. “This,” he pronounced, “is good stuff.”

  Dionysus called it wine. He made enough to fill his flask, then looked back wistfully one more time at the place where Ampelos had died. The grapevines were going crazy now, spreading all over the woods, blooming with a vengeance and bearing more grapes.

  Dionysus nodded, satisfied. If he had his way, the whole world would be filled with grapevines in Ampelos’s honor.

  He went back to the cave where he lived on Mount Nysa. He showed his discovery to one of his foster moms, a nymph named Ambrosia. (Yes, she was named after the godly food. I don’t know why. At least it’s better than Cookie or Snickerdoodle.)

  Ambrosia took a sip of wine. Her eyes widened. “This is delicious! Where’s Ampelos?”

  “Oh…” Dionysus hung his head. “He died, falling from a tree.”

  “That’s terrible!” Ambrosia took another sip. “But this is good stuff!”

  Soon she was sharing wine with all her nymph friends. The satyrs came by to see what the giggling was about. Pretty soon, the whole mountain was one giant party, with dancing and singing and tiki torches and lots of wine. Dionysus kept making the stuff and passing it around. He couldn’t keep up with demand. Finally he taught the satyrs and nymphs how to make it themselves, and by the end of the night, everybody on the mountain was an expert winemaker.

  The satyrs quickly discovered that if they drank too much wine, they got drunk. They couldn’t think straight, see straight, or walk straight. For some reason, they found this hilarious. They kept on drinking.

  An older satyr, Silenos, threw his arm around Dionysus’s shoulders. “You, sir, are a god! No, I mean that. The god of…what’s this stuff called again?”

  “Wine,” said Dionysus.

  “God of wine!” Silenos hiccupped. “Got any more?”

  Now, kids, this is another good time to remind you that wine is for grown-ups! It tastes horrible and could seriously mess up your life. Don’t even be tempted until you’re at least forty years old!

  Aw, but Percy, you whine (get it, whine?), it sounds like the satyrs had so much fun drinking wine!

  It might sound that way, kids. But satyrs can be pretty stupid. (Again, no offense to my buddy Grover.) You also didn’t see the satyrs the morning after, when they had splitting headaches and were stumbling into the woods to puke their guts out.

  Still, the nymphs and satyrs were so impressed with Dionysus that they decided he really must be a god. His invention was just that amazing.

  Maybe you’re thinking…Okay, it’s wine. Big deal. How does that rate making Dionysus a god? If I invented tuna salad, would I be a god, too?

  But wine was a major breakthrough in beverage technology.

  Sure, people drank water, but water could kill you. Especially in the cities, it was full of bacteria and other people’s garbage and…well, I’m not really going to go into it. Let’s just say that water was gross. Nobody had invented canned soda or even tea or coffee, so you were pretty much stuck with water or milk. Even with milk, you had to drink quickly before it spoiled, since there were no refrigerators.

  Then Dionysus came along and invented wine. It didn’t go bad as long as you kept it bottled up. Sometimes it even tasted b
etter if you let it sit for a few years. You could water it down so it wasn’t as strong, but the alcohol would still kill germs and stuff, so it was safer to drink than regular water. You could even adjust the taste to make it sweeter with honey, or vary the flavor by using different kinds of grapes.

  Basically, it was the super-beverage of Ancient Greece.

  Not only that, but if you drank a little, it would mellow you out. If you drank a lot, it would make you giddy and crazy. Some people even thought they had visions of the gods if they chugged enough wine. (Again: do not try this at home. You will not see the Greek gods. You may get a close-up view of your toilet as you are throwing up, but you will not see gods.)

  Word spread quickly about the new drink. Nymphs and satyrs from Mount Nysa traveled the countryside, telling anyone who would listen about the awesomeness of wine and the god who made it, Dionysus. They set up tasting booths on the side of the road. They offered starter kits including a potted grapevine, an instruction manual for making a winepress, and access to a toll-free customer service hotline.

  Dionysus became famous. Even regular mortals began to gather on Mount Nysa every night for the ultimate party. Sure, they drank too much and got wild, but it wasn’t just for fun. The followers of Dionysus considered themselves religious people. They called themselves the bacchae—the groupies of Bacchus—and partying was their way of going to church. They believed it brought them closer to all the gods, because Dionysus was destined to be the twelfth Olympian.

  How did Dionysus feel about that?

  A little nervous. He was still young and insecure. He wasn’t sure if he was truly a god or not. On the other hand, he was happy to see people enjoying his new beverage. By spreading the knowledge of wine, he figured he was doing something good for the world, which made him feel better about all the pain he’d been through—his mom dying before he was born, Hera driving his foster parents crazy, and of course, his best friend Ampelos dying in the woods.

  Then one day his followers gathered around him and pitched an idea.

  “We need to go mainstream!” explained one of the satyrs. “We should go to the nearest major city and get the king on our side. You can offer to become their patron god. They’ll build you a temple, and your fame will spread even faster!”

  The nearest king was a dude named Lycurgus, who ran a seaside town at the base of Mount Nysa. The satyrs suggested they start there, to support local business and all.

  Dionysus wasn’t sure he was ready for prime time, but his followers were enthusiastic. They wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “It’s a great idea!” they promised him.

  As Dionysus soon found out, it was a terrible idea.

  Lycurgus was all kinds of evil.

  He enjoyed whipping helpless animals like dogs, horses, hamsters, and anything else that got in his way. In fact, he had a special whip made just for that purpose—ten feet of black leather braided with iron spikes and jagged pieces of glass.

  If no hamsters happened to be around, he would whip his servants. Sometimes, just for fun, he would whip his subjects when they came into the throne room to petition him for stuff.

  “My lord, OWWWW! My neighbor killed my horse, and—OWWWW! I’d like him to pay for damages. OWWWW! OWWWW!”

  It made his audiences go much more quickly.

  Dionysus and his followers didn’t know this. They spent all their time partying on Mount Nysa. They marched into town in a happy parade, handing out free grapes, grapevines, and glasses of wine, clanging cymbals, singing songs, and stumbling into pedestrians. Dionysus noted the nervous faces of the townspeople. Many of them bore scars from whippings. Dionysus didn’t like that, but his followers were announcing him as a god, singing his praises, and dancing around him. They’d dressed him in expensive purple robes and put a crown of ivy leaves on his head. He was supposed to be the newest Olympian, master of wine and lord of parties. If he ran away, it would probably ruin the effect.

  They made their way into the royal palace.

  Lycurgus didn’t normally get hundreds of satyrs and nymphs bursting into his house in a party mood. For a few moments, he was too stunned to act.

  Dionysus approached the throne, mentally rehearsing his lines.

  “King Lycurgus,” he said. “I am Dionysus, the god of wine, and these are my followers.”

  The king stared at him. The boy looked no more than fourteen or fifteen, with long dark hair and a pretty face—almost girlish, Lycurgus thought.

  “You’re a god,” the king said flatly. “I see. And what exactly is wine?”

  Dionysus’s followers raised their cups in salute. Some laid potted grapevines and bottles of wine at the steps of the throne.

  “Wine is a new drink,” Dionysus explained. “But it’s more than just a drink. It’s a religious experience!”

  Dionysus began to explain wine’s other virtues, but Lycurgus held up his hand for silence.

  “Why are you here?” he demanded. “What do you want from me?”

  “We simply want to share knowledge about wine,” Dionysus said. “If you allow your people to learn the arts of grape harvesting and wine making, your kingdom will flourish. Also, I will be your city’s patron god. All I ask is that you build me a temple.”

  Lycurgus’s mouth twitched. It had been a long time since he’d been tempted to laugh. “A temple. Is that all?”

  Dionysus shuffled from foot to foot. “Erm. Yes.”

  “Well, young god, I invented something too. Would you like to see it? I call it the new and improved whip. I use it to get rid of PEOPLE WHO WASTE MY TIME!”

  King Lycurgus started whipping everyone. If he saw it, he whipped it. He whipped it good.

  Dionysus’s followers scattered. They hadn’t expected a fight, and they couldn’t defend themselves with grapes and glasses. Many wore only scanty tunics, so the whip really hurt. Dionysus’s foster mother Ambrosia got struck in the face and fell down dead at Dionysus’s feet.

  “NOOOOO!” Dionysus wailed.

  Palace guards closed in on all sides, rounding up the satyrs and nymphs and arresting them.

  Dionysus fled, pursued by guards. He was almost captured but jumped from a balcony into the ocean, where the Nereid Thetis conveniently came to his rescue. She allowed Dionysus to breathe underwater and bound his wounds while he waited for the king’s soldiers to give up the search.

  Dionysus cried bitterly as the sea nymph held him. “Thetis, I can’t do anything right! Everyone who gets close to me dies or gets punished for believing in me!”

  Thetis stroked his hair soothingly. “Don’t give up, Dionysus. You will be a god, but you can’t let jealous mortals stand in your way. Go back to Lycurgus and teach him that he cannot disrespect you like this.”

  “He’s got a whip!”

  “You have weapons too.”

  Dionysus thought about that. A fire began to burn in his stomach, as it had when he took his first gulp of wine. “You’re right. Thanks, Thetis.”

  “Go get ’em, champ.”

  Dionysus marched out of the sea and straight back to Lycurgus’s palace.

  Was that the moment when Dionysus changed from a demigod into a full god? Nobody really knows. His evolution was gradual, but definitely he got more powerful as his followers increased, and when he decided to confront Lycurgus, I think that was the first time he believed in himself as much as the bacchae believed in him.

  King Lycurgus was sitting on his throne, talking to his eldest son, Prince Dryas, who had just arrived and was wondering why there were a bunch of dead nymphs and satyrs on the floor.

  Dionysus stormed in, soaking wet and with a steely gleam in his eyes.

  Lycurgus was even more surprised than he had been the first time. “You again?” asked the king. “All your followers are dead or in prison. Do you wish to join them?”

  “Y
ou will release my remaining followers immediately,” said Dionysus.

  Lycurgus laughed. “Or what?”

  “Or your kingdom will turn barren. No vines will grow. No fruit will ripen. No plants of any kind will bloom.”

  “Ha! Is that all?”

  “No,” Dionysus said coldly. “Also, you will be afflicted with madness. Do you refuse?”

  “I refuse!” Lycurgus grinned. “So where is this madness—ACK!”

  Lycurgus doubled over in pain. Then he stood bolt upright and screamed in falsetto.

  His son Dryas grabbed his arm in concern. “Dad! Are you okay?”

  Lycurgus looked at the prince, but all he saw was a writhing pillar of grapevines. The king stumbled back in horror. “The grapes! They’re everywhere! The grapes are taking over!”

  Lycurgus snatched a double-bladed ax from the nearest guard and chopped at the pillar of vines.

  “Dad!” the vines wailed.

  “Die, grapes!” Lycurgus chopped and hacked until the wailing stopped. The grapevines lay in pieces all around his feet.

  The king’s vision cleared, and he saw what he had done. Lycurgus sobbed in misery and fell to his knees, the blood of his dead son glistening on his ax.

  If Dionysus felt any regret, he didn’t show it. After all, Hera had taught him how to use madness to punish his foes. Dionysus had learned from the best.

  “Lycurgus, this is the price of your insolence,” said the wine god. “Until you free my followers and recognize me as a god, your entire kingdom will suffer.”

  “Kill him!” the king screamed.

  The guards surged forward, but Dionysus simply looked at them and they backed away. They could see the power and divine anger in his eyes.

  “Your king will never bow to me,” Dionysus told them. “Your land will suffer until he is…removed. Think on this.”

  Dionysus strode out of the palace.

  In the following days, the countryside withered. In the city and the fields, every plant shriveled up. Fruit rotted. Bread turned to mold. The water in the wells turned warm and scummy. The farmers couldn’t grow anything. The townspeople couldn’t feed their families.