Percy Jackson's Greek Gods Read online

  The five disgorged gods immediately grew to full-size adults right there on the dining table. The Titan guests stared in amazement, their minds working slowly due to the spiked nectar.

  As for Kronos, he was still trying to catapult his guts across the throne room.

  “Get—” He retched. “—them!”

  Atlas was the first to react. He yelled, “Guards!” and tried to stand, but he was so dizzy, he fell right into Hyperion’s lap.

  Zeus wanted to lunge for his father’s scythe. He wanted to slice up the old cannibal on the spot, but the other Titans were starting to recover from their shock. They might be slow and sleepy, but they had weapons. Meanwhile, Zeus’s only weapon was a serving tray. His army consisted of five slimy, unarmed gods who had spent very little time outside a stomach, much less in combat.

  Guards started pouring into the throne room.

  Zeus turned to his confused siblings. “I’m your brother Zeus. Follow me, and I will give you freedom and revenge. Also honey and goat milk.”

  That was good enough for the gods. While Kronos retched and his fighters fumbled with their weapons, Zeus and his siblings turned into eagles and soared out of the palace.

  “Now what?” Hades asked.

  The six gods had gathered at Zeus’s secret lair on Mount Ida, which his siblings refused to call the Zeus Cave. Zeus had briefed them on what was happening in the world, but they all knew they couldn’t stay on Mount Ida very long. The nymphs had heard rumors whispered through the earth: Kronos was sending his Titans to scour the world for the escapees. He wanted them brought back, either in chains or in small pieces. He wasn’t particular.

  “Now we fight,” Zeus said.

  Poseidon grunted. He’d only been out of Kronos’s gut for a day, but he was already starting to dislike his youngest brother—this upstart Zeus, who thought he should be in charge just because he had rescued them.

  “I’m all for fighting Dad,” Poseidon said, “but that requires weapons. Do you have any?”

  Zeus scratched his ear. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. “Well, no….”

  “Perhaps we can make peace,” Hestia suggested.

  The others stared at her as if she were crazy. Hestia was the eldest and gentlest of the gods, but her siblings didn’t take her seriously. You have to wonder how the world might’ve been different if Hestia had been put in charge, but alas, she wasn’t.

  “Uh, no,” said Demeter. “I will never forgive our father. Perhaps we could steal his scythe. We could chop him up like he did Ouranos! Then I could use the scythe for something better—like cutting wheat! Did you see those beautiful fields we flew over?”

  Hera scowled at her sister. “What is it with you and crops? All those years in Kronos’s gut, all you ever talked about was plants, which you never even saw before today!”

  Demeter blushed. “I don’t know. I always dream about green fields. They’re so peaceful and beautiful and—”

  “My children!” said a voice from the woods.

  Mother Rhea stepped into the clearing. She hugged each of her precious sons and daughters, weeping tears of joy over their freedom. Then she drew them together and said, “I know where you can get weapons.”

  She told them the story of the Hundred-Handed Ones and the Elder Cyclopes, whom Kronos had exiled to Tartarus for a second time.

  “The Hundred-Handed Ones are incredible stonemasons,” Rhea said. “They built Kronos’s palace.”

  “Which is pretty awesome,” Zeus admitted.

  “They are strong, and they hate Kronos,” Rhea continued. “They would be good in battle. As for the Cyclopes, they are talented blacksmiths. If anyone can forge weapons more powerful than your father’s scythe, they can.”

  Hades’s dark eyes gleamed. The idea of descending into the most dangerous, vilest part of creation somehow appealed to him. “So we go to Tartarus, and we bring back the Cyclopes and Hundred-Handed Ones.”

  “Piece of cake,” said Hera. She knew about cake, because Kronos had eaten lots of it. The crumbs and icing were always getting in her hair. “Let’s go.”

  A Tartarus jailbreak may not sound like an easy thing for you or me, but six gods can accomplish a lot when they put their minds to it. Hades found a cave system that led deep into the Underworld. He seemed to have a knack for navigating the tunnels. He led his siblings along the course of a subterranean river called the Styx until it spilled over a cliff into the void of Tartarus. The gods became bats (you could argue that they were already bats, but you know what I mean) and flew into the abyss.

  At the bottom, they found a gloomy landscape of rock spires, gray wastes, fiery pits, and poisonous fog, with all sorts of nasty monsters and evil spirits roaming about. Apparently Tartarus, the spirit of the pit, had been breeding more primordial gods down there in the darkness, and they’d been having kids of their own.

  The six young gods crept around until they found the maximum-security zone, surrounded by a high brass wall and patrolled by demons. In bat form the gods could fly over the wall easily; but once inside, they spotted the jailer and almost lost their nerve.

  Kronos had personally hired the most horrible monster in Tartarus to make sure his high-value prisoners never escaped.

  Her name was Kampê.

  I don’t know if Kronos found her on Craigslist or what, but if the worst creatures from your nightmares had nightmares of their own, they would probably dream about Kampê. From the waist up, she was a humanoid female with snakes for hair. (If that sounds familiar, it’s because the hairdo really caught on with other monsters later.) From the waist down, she was a four-legged dragon. Thousands of vipers sprouted from her legs like grass skirts. Her waist was ringed with the heads of fifty hideous beasts—bears, boars, wombats, you name it—always snapping and snarling and trying to eat Kampê’s shirt.

  Large, dark reptilian wings grew from her shoulder blades. Her scorpionlike tail swished back and forth, dripping venom. Basically, Kampê didn’t get invited on many dates.

  The gods watched from behind a pile of boulders as the monstrous jailer tromped back and forth, lashing the Elder Cyclopes with a fiery whip and stinging the Hundred-Handed Ones with her scorpion tail whenever they got out of line.

  The poor prisoners were forced to work without any break—no water, no sleep, no food, nothing. The Hundred-Handed Ones spent their time at the far end of the yard, quarrying stone blocks from the hard volcanic floor. The Cyclopes worked at the closer end. They each had a forge where they smelted metals and hammered out sheets of bronze and iron. If the Cyclopes tried to sit down, or even pause long enough to catch their breaths, Kampê would leave fresh burning lash marks across their backs.

  Even worse, the prisoners weren’t allowed to finish anything they started. As soon as the Hundred-Handed Ones had a goodly stack of building blocks, Kampê forced them to break their quarried stone into rubble. Whenever the Cyclopes were on the verge of finishing a weapon or a shield or even a tool that might be dangerous, Kampê confiscated it and threw it into the bubbling pits of magma.

  You’re probably thinking: Hey, there were six big dudes and only one Kampê. Why didn’t they overpower her?

  But Kampê had the whip. The venom in her tail could incapacitate even an Elder Cyclops for hours, leaving him writhing in pain. The dragon lady was straight-up terrifying, and the prisoners were chained around their feet so they couldn’t run far.

  Besides, the Hundred-Handed Ones and the Cyclopes were gentle souls. Despite their looks, they were builders, not fighters. Give these dudes a bucket of Legos, and they’d be happy for days.

  Zeus waited until Kampê marched to the far end of the prison yard. Then he sneaked up to the nearest Cyclops.

  “Psst!” he called.

  The Cyclops lowered his hammer. He turned toward Zeus, but his one big eye had been staring into the flames so long, he
couldn’t see who was talking.

  “I am not Psst,” the Cyclops said. “I am Brontes.”

  Oh, boy, Zeus thought. This may take a while.

  “Hey, Brontes.” Zeus spoke slowly and cheerfully, like he was trying to coax a puppy out of its box. “I’m Zeus. I’ve come to rescue you.”

  Brontes scowled. “I have heard that before. Kronos tricked us.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Zeus said. “Kronos is my enemy too. Together, we can get revenge and throw him down here. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds good,” Brontes said. “But how?”

  “First we need weapons,” Zeus said. “Can you make us some?”

  Brontes shook his head. “Kampê is always watching. She will not let us finish any project.”

  “How about you each make a different part of each weapon?” Zeus suggested. “Then you can assemble them at the last second and toss them over to us. Kampê will never know.”

  “You are smart.”

  “I know, right? Spread the word to your friends.” Zeus crept back behind the boulders.

  Brontes whispered the plan to his brothers Arges and Steropes. Then they tapped their hammers on their anvils in a secret code they’d developed, sending the message across the yard to the Hundred-Handed Ones—Briares, Kottos, and Gyes.

  I know that’s a bunch of horrible names, but remember, Gaea didn’t have much time to hold her monstrous triplets before Ouranos pitched them into Tartarus. At least they didn’t end up named Huey, Dewey, and Louie.

  The gods waited in the darkness while the Cyclopes forged pieces of the new weapons, making each one look like a harmless, incomplete doohickey. I don’t know if the stuff would’ve gotten through airport security, but it was good enough to fool Kampê.

  The next time the she-dragon turned her back and marched toward the far side of the yard, Brontes quickly assembled the first magic weapon and tossed it to Zeus. It looked like a bronze rocket, about four feet long, with nose cones on both ends. Zeus’s hand fit perfectly around the center. As soon as he lifted it, his whole body tingled with power.

  Poseidon frowned. “What is that? It’s not a scythe.”

  Sparks flew from the points. Electricity arced from one end to the other. Zeus aimed the thing at a nearby boulder, and a thousand tendrils of lightning zapped it into dust.

  “Oh, yeah,” Zeus said. “I can work with this.”

  Fortunately, Kampê didn’t seem to notice the blast. Maybe things exploded a lot in Tartarus.

  A few minutes later, Brontes tossed them a second weapon—a spear with three prongs. Poseidon caught it.

  He immediately fell in love with the trident. He liked pointy things! Also, he could feel the power of storms humming through the spear. When he concentrated, a miniature tornado swirled around its three points, getting faster and larger the more he focused. When he planted the spear on the ground, the floor of the pit began to shake and crack.

  “Best weapon,” he announced. “Right here.”

  Brontes tossed them a third item. Hades caught this one—a gleaming bronze war helmet decorated with scenes of death and destruction.

  “You get weapons,” Hades grumbled. “I get a hat.”

  He put it on and disappeared.

  “Dude, you’re invisible,” Zeus said.

  “Yeah.” Hades sighed miserably. “I’m used to it.”

  “No, I mean you’re actually invisible.”

  “Huh.” Hades willed himself to turn visible again.

  “That is one scary hat,” Demeter said.

  “Yeah,” Hades agreed. “Yeah, it is.”

  He decided to try something else. He glared at his brothers, and waves of terror radiated from the helmet. Zeus and Poseidon turned pale. They started to sweat. Zeus almost dropped his new lightning maker.

  “Stop that!” Zeus hissed. “You’re freaking me out!”

  Hades grinned. “Okay, maybe the hat isn’t so bad.”

  Hera crossed her arms and sniffed disdainfully. “Boys and their toys. I don’t suppose we get weapons? Are we just supposed to stand back and be cheerleaders while you three do the fighting?”

  Zeus winked at her. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll protect you.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” Hera said.

  It’s possible the Cyclopes would have made weapons for the women. But at that moment Kampê turned and marched back toward the Cyclopes. Maybe she had noticed the smoke from Zeus’s lightning blast, or the swirling clouds from Poseidon’s trident. Maybe she could taste the residual fear in the air from Hades’s helmet. Whatever tipped her off, she detected the presence of the gods.

  She raised her whip and howled, “RAWRGGGGWRRR!”

  She charged toward their hiding place, her tail lashing, the thousands of vipers around her legs dripping poison.

  “Great,” muttered Hera.

  “I got this,” Zeus promised.

  He stood and raised his bronze lightning bolt. He focused all his energy into the weapon.

  KA-BLAM!

  A column of white-hot power shot toward Kampê—the most blinding light that had ever been seen in Tartarus.

  Kampê just had time to think Uh-oh, before the bolt blasted her into a million sizzling pieces of reptile confetti.

  “THAT’S what I’m talking about!” Zeus yelled happily.

  Poseidon lowered his trident. “Man, give the rest of us a chance.”

  “You go free the Cyclopes and the Hundred-Handed Ones,” Zeus suggested.

  Poseidon grumbled, but he used his trident to strike the dark chains from the prisoners’ feet.

  “Thank you,” Brontes said. “We will help you fight Kronos.”

  “Excellent!” Zeus said.

  Hera cleared her throat. “Yes, but about those weapons for the ladies—”

  Outside the bronze walls, monstrous roars reverberated through the pit. Every spirit and beast in Tartarus had probably seen the flash of lightning, and now they were closing in to investigate.

  “We should leave,” Demeter said. “Like, right now.”

  That was the best non-grain-related idea Demeter had ever had, so Hades led his siblings back to the upper world, along with their six large new friends.

  Kronos wasn’t an easy guy to defeat.

  By most accounts, the Titan War took ten years—or maybe Kronos just used his time tricks to make it seem that long, hoping the gods would give up. If so, it didn’t work.

  Rhea the Great Mother visited every Titan she could, trying to persuade them to side with Zeus. Many listened. After all, Kronos wasn’t the most popular leader. Almost all the female Titans either helped Zeus or stayed out of his way. Prometheus, the creator of humans, was smart enough to remain neutral. Oceanus kept to himself in the depths of the ocean. Helios and Selene, the sun and moon, agreed not to take sides as long as they got to keep their jobs.

  That left Kronos and most of the other male Titans, with Atlas as his general and champion fighter.

  The gods and Titans skirmished back and forth—blowing up an island here, vaporizing a sea there. The Titans were strong and well armed. At the beginning, they held the advantage. Even with magic Cyclops weapons, the gods weren’t used to combat. It’s a hard thing not to drop your trident and run when Atlas is barreling down on you, screaming and waving his sword.

  But the gods did learn to fight. The Cyclopes eventually armed all Zeus’s allies with top-of-the-line weapons. The Hundred-Handed Ones learned to throw barrages of stones like living catapults.

  You’re thinking, How hard can it be to throw rocks?

  Okay, you try throwing rocks with both hands at the same time and hitting your target. It’s not as easy as it sounds. Now, imagine coordinating one hundred hands—all throwing rocks the size of refrigerators. If you’re not careful, you’ll spew rocks everywh
ere and crush yourself and your allies.

  Once the gods learned to fight, the war still took a long time, because none of the combatants on either side could die. You couldn’t just stab a guy, zap him, or throw a house on him and call it a day. You had to actually capture each enemy and make sure he was hurt so badly, he would never heal. Then you had to figure out what to do with his crippled body. As Zeus knew, even throwing somebody into Tartarus wasn’t a guarantee he would stay gone forever.

  Little skirmishes weren’t going to decide anything.

  Finally Zeus came up with his big plan.

  “We have to storm Mount Othrys,” he told his siblings at their weekly war meeting. “A full frontal assault on their headquarters. If we do that, the hostile Titans will rally to protect Kronos. Then we can take them all down at once.”

  “In other words,” Hades said, “you want us to commit suicide.”

  Poseidon leaned on his trident. “For once, I agree with Hades. If we march up the slopes of Mount Othrys, Atlas will be ready for us. His troops will have the high ground. They’ll smash us flat. If we try flying in, we’ll get shot out of the air. They’ve got plenty of anti-god missile weapons.”

  Zeus’s eyes gleamed. “But I’ve got a different plan. We’ll soften them up by attacking from the next mountain over.”

  “Do what, now?” asked Demeter. She looked uncomfortable in her armor, even though she’d designed it herself. She’d painted a sheaf of barley and a daisy on her shield, and for her main weapon she’d chosen a fearsome garden trowel.

  Zeus drew a map of the Greek mainland in the dirt. Near Mount Othrys was another Greek mountain—not quite as tall, not as well known. It was called Mount Olympus.

  “We scale Olympus,” Zeus said. “They won’t be expecting that, but Othrys will be within range of our missile weapons. The Hundred-Handed Ones will launch volleys of boulders. I’ll bust out the lightning. Poseidon will summon storms and earthquakes.”

  “And I’ll turn invisible,” Hades muttered.

  Zeus clapped his brother on the shoulder. “You have an important job too. You send waves of terror through the enemy ranks. Once we’ve destroyed their defenses, we all fly over there—”