Percy Jackson's Greek Gods (5 page)

Could things be any worse?

Oh, wait! He was also the king of the universe with lots of powerful henchmen, so she couldn’t fight back or run away.

Yeah. Things were worse.

Two more times she gave birth to perfect, lovely god babies. The fourth child was a boy named Hades. Rhea hoped Kronos would let him live, because every dad wants a son to play catch with, right? Nope. Down the hatch, matey!

The fifth child was another boy, Poseidon. Same story.
SNARF.

At this point, Rhea fled the palace. She wept and wailed and didn’t know
what
to do. She went to her brothers and sisters, her nieces and nephews, anyone who would listen. She pleaded for help. The other Titans were either too scared of Kronos (like Themis), or they
worked
for Kronos (like Hyperion) and told her to stop whining.

Finally Rhea visited her sister Phoebe at the Oracle of Delphi, but sadly, even the Oracle had no advice for her. Rhea ran to the nearest meadow, threw herself on the ground, and began to cry. Suddenly she heard whispering from the earth. It was the voice of Gaea, who was still asleep; but even in her dreams the Earth Mother couldn’t stand to hear the wailing of her lovely daughter.

When you are ready to deliver your next child,
Gaea’s voice whispered,
go to Crete to give birth! You will find help there! This child will be different! He will save the others!

Rhea sniffled and tried to pull herself together. “Where is Crete?”

It’s an island in the south,
Gaea’s voice said.
You take the Ionian Sea down to, like, Kalamata. Then you turn left and—You know what? You’ll find it.

When the time came and Rhea started to get very big in the belly, she took a few deep breaths, composed herself, and waddled into the throne room.

“My lord Kronos,” she said, “I am off to Crete. I will be back with the
baby.”

“Crete?” Kronos scowled. “Why Crete?”

“Um, well,” Rhea said, “you know how Koios and Phoebe sometimes have glimpses of the future?”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, but they prophesied that if I had this child in Crete, it would please you best of all! And of course, my lord, I am all about pleasing you!”

Kronos frowned. He was suspicious, but he also thought: Hey, I’ve eaten five kids, and Rhea is still here. If she were going to try something fishy, she would’ve
done it already.

Plus, by now his thoughts were getting a little sluggish. He had five young gods shifting around in his gut, fighting for space, so he always felt like he’d just eaten a massive dinner and needed a nap.

I mean, five gods in one stomach—
dang.
That’s enough for doubles tennis, including a ref. They’d been down there so long, they were probably hoping Kronos would swallow a deck of cards or a Monopoly game.

Anyway, Kronos looked at Rhea and said, “You’ll bring the baby to me immediately?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Off you go. Where is Crete?”

“Not sure,” Rhea said. “I’ll find it.”

And she did. Once she got there, she was immediately met by some helpful nymphs who had also heard the voice of Gaea. They brought Rhea to a cozy, well-hidden cave at the base of Mount Ida. The nymphs’ stream ran nearby, so Rhea would have lots of fresh water. The bountiful forest offered plenty to eat.

Yes, I know: immortals live mostly on nectar and ambrosia; but in a pinch they could eat other stuff. Being a god wouldn’t be much fun if you couldn’t enjoy the occasional pizza.

Rhea gave birth to a healthy baby boy god. He was the most beautiful and perfect one yet. Rhea named him Zeus, which, depending on who you ask, either means
Sky
or
Shining
or simply
Living
. I personally vote for the last one, because I think at this point Rhea had simple hopes for this kid—keep him alive and away from hostile stomachs.

Zeus began to cry, maybe because he sensed his mother’s anxiety. The sound echoed through the cave and out into the world—so loud that everyone and their Titan mother knew a baby had been born.

“Oh, great,” Rhea muttered. “I promised to bring the child to Kronos immediately. Now word will get back to Kronos that it’s baby-swallowing time.”

The cave floor rumbled. A large stone emerged from the dirt—a smooth, oval rock exactly the same size and weight as a baby god.

Rhea wasn’t stupid. She knew this was a gift from Gaea. Normally, you would not be excited if your mom gave you a rock for a present, but Rhea understood what to do with it. She wrapped the stone in swaddling clothes and gave the real baby Zeus to the nymphs to take care of. She just hoped she could pull off the switcheroo once she got back to the palace.

“I’ll visit as often as I can,” Rhea promised the nymphs. “But how will you care for the baby?”

“Don’t sweat it,” said Neda, one of the nymphs. “We can feed him honey from the bees nearby. And for milk, we have an
awesome
immortal goat.”

“A what, now?” Rhea asked.

The nymphs brought in their goat Amaltheia, who produced excellent magical goat milk in many different flavors, including low fat, chocolate, and baby formula.

“Nice goat,” Rhea admitted. “But what if the baby cries? Kronos has incredible hearing up there on Mount Othrys. You may have noticed this kid has a set of lungs on him. Kronos will suspect something.”

Neda considered this. She led Rhea to the cave entrance and called out to the Earth Mother: “Oh, Gaea! I know you’re asleep, and all. Sorry to disturb you. But we could use some help guarding this kid! Preferably some very loud help!”

The ground rumbled again. Three new helpers emerged, born of dirt and the spilled blood of Ouranos (like I said, that stuff got
everywhere
). The new guys were large, hairy humanoids, dressed in fur and feathers and leather like they were on their way to some primeval festival deep in the rain forest. They were armed with spears and shields, so they looked more like headhunters than nursemaids.

“WE ARE THE KOURETES!” one shouted at the top of his lungs. “WE WILL HELP!”

“Thank you,” Rhea said. “Do you have to speak so loudly?”

“THIS IS MY INSIDE VOICE!” the warrior yelled.

Baby Zeus began crying again. The three warriors immediately busted out some sweet tribal dance moves, beating their spears on their shields and shouting and chanting. They covered up the crying just fine.

For some reason, Baby Zeus seemed to like the noise. He went to sleep in the nymph Neda’s arms, and the Kouretes stopped.

“Okay, well,” Rhea said, her ears popping, “looks like you have things under control here.” She hefted her fake baby. “Wish me luck.”

Once she got back to Mount Othrys, Rhea stormed into the throne room with her swaddled boulder. She was terrified her plan wouldn’t work, but after so many years married to Kronos, she was learning to be a good actress. She marched right up to King Cannibal and shouted, “This is the best baby yet! A fine little boy named, uh, Rocky! And I suppose you’re going to eat him!”

Kronos grimaced. Honestly, he wasn’t excited about swallowing another baby god. He was full! But when you’re king, you do what you have to do.

“Yeah—sorry, hon,” he said. “I have to. Prophecy, and all.”

“I hate you!” she screamed. “Ouranos was a horrible father, but at least he didn’t swallow us!”

Kronos snarled. “Give me that child!”

“No!”

Kronos roared. He unhinged his jaw and showed his extreme mouth-opening
skills. “NOW!”

He snatched up the swaddled boulder and stuffed it down his throat without even looking at it, just as Rhea had hoped.

In Kronos’s belly, the five undigested young gods heard the rock rolling down the esophagus.

“Incoming!” yelled Poseidon.

They shifted—as much as they could in the cramped space—and Rocky landed in their midst.

“This is not a baby,” Hades noticed. “I think it’s a rock.”

He was observant that way.

Meanwhile, in the throne room, Rhea threw an Oscar-worthy tantrum. She screamed and stomped her feet and called Kronos all kinds of unflattering names.

“RO-O-CCCKY!” she wailed. “NO-O-O-O-O-O-O!”

Kronos started to get a bad stomachache.

“That kid was
filling
,” he complained. “What have you been feeding him?”

“Why should you care?” Rhea wailed. “I will never have another child again!”

That was okay with Kronos. He was stuffed.

Rhea ran screaming out of the throne room, and he didn’t try to stop her.

Eventually, things quieted down in the palace. Kronos was now convinced he had thwarted the curse of Ouranos. No way could his children displace him, since he knew exactly where they all were. He was the king of the cosmos and would never be overthrown!

Meanwhile, Rhea visited Mount Ida whenever she could. Her baby boy began to grow up, and Rhea made sure he heard lots of bedtime stories about his horrible father and his five undigested siblings who were just waiting to be rescued from Kronos’s gut.

So you
know
that when Zeus comes of age, there’s going to be a father-son smackdown of epic proportions. If you want a “happily ever after” ending for Kronos and his Titans, I would stop reading now. Because in the next chapter, Zeus goes nuclear.

THE
OLYMPIANS BASH SOME HEADS

Z
EUS HAD A GOOD CHILDHOOD ON
M
OUNT
I
DA
.
He spent his days romping around the countryside with nymphs and satyrs, learning to fight with his loud friends the Kouretes, eating his fill of honey and magical goat milk (yum!), and of course never going to school, because school hadn’t been invented yet.

By the time he was a young adult god, he had grown into a good-looking dude—all tan and ripped from his time in the forest and at the beach. He had short black hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and eyes as blue as the sky, though they could cloud over
very
fast when he got angry.

One day his mom, Rhea, came to visit on her chariot pulled by lions.

“Zeus,” she said, “you need a summer job.”

Zeus scratched his beard. He liked the word
summer.
He wasn’t so sure about the word
job.
“What did you have in mind?”

Rhea’s eyes gleamed. She had been planning her revenge on Kronos for a long time. Now, looking at her son—so confident, strong, and handsome—she knew the time had come.

“There’s an opening at the palace for a cupbearer,” she said.

“But I have no experience bearing cups,” Zeus said.

“It’s easy,” Rhea promised. “Whenever King Kronos asks for a drink, you bring it to him. The pay isn’t great, but the job has good side benefits, such as overthrowing your father and becoming lord of the cosmos.”

“I’m down with that,” Zeus said. “But won’t Kronos recognize me as a god?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Rhea said. “Your siblings have survived in Kronos’s gut all these years and, like you, they’re fully grown by now. That means they must have the power to change their size and shape.
You
should have that power, too. See if you can make yourself appear less godly, more…Titan-ish.”

Zeus considered that. He had already discovered his ability to change shape. Once, he’d scared his caretaker nymphs by transforming into a bear. Another time he’d won a footrace with some satyrs by transforming into a wolf. The satyrs claimed he’d cheated, but he
totally
hadn’t. It was a footrace. Wolves ran on their feet. It’s not like he’d turned into an eagle (which he could also do).

The only Titan that Zeus had ever seen up close was his mother, but he knew Titans were generally bigger than he was. They didn’t radiate power the way he did. They gave off a slightly different vibe—more violent and rougher around the edges. He imagined himself as a Titan. When he opened his eyes, he was taller than his mom for the first time. He felt as if he’d slept badly after a hard day strangling his enemies.

“Well done!” Rhea said. “Now, let’s go to your job interview.”

When Zeus saw Mount Othrys for the first time, his jaw dropped. The palace was
huge.
Its gleaming black towers rose into the clouds like greedy fingers grasping for the stars.

The fortress was meant to inspire fear. Zeus understood that immediately. But it also seemed lonely and dismal—not a fun place to be king. Zeus decided that if he ever got his own crib, it would be much cooler than Othrys. He wouldn’t go so heavy on the whole “Lord of Darkness” look. His palace would be brilliant, blinding white.

One thing at a time,
he told himself.
I have to bear cups first.

Rhea escorted her son into the royal hall, where Old King Cannibal was snoozing on his throne. The years had not been kind to Kronos, which was ironic, since he was the lord of time. He hadn’t
aged
, exactly, but he seemed tired and listless. Making mortal life forms wither and die no longer amused him. Stepping on humans didn’t make him laugh like it used to, despite their cute little shrieks.

He’d put on weight from eating and drinking so much. The five gods in his stomach didn’t help. They’d gotten bigger and heavier over the years. They were constantly trying to break out by climbing up Kronos’s throat. Their attempts were unsuccessful, but they gave Kronos terrible acid reflux.

Rhea approached the throne. “My lord, I have someone for you to meet!”

Kronos snorted and opened his eyes. “I wasn’t asleep!” He blinked at the handsome young Titan who stood before him. “Who…?”

The young immortal bowed low. “I am Zeus, my lord.” Zeus had decided to use his real name, because—why not? Kronos had never heard it. “I would like to be your cupbearer.”

Kronos studied the newcomer’s face. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar—the sparkle in his eyes, the crooked way he smiled. Of course
all
the Titans were related. Maybe that was it. Kronos had so many nieces and nephews these days, he couldn’t keep track of them all. Still, he found this young one unsettling….

He looked around, trying to remember exactly who had introduced the boy, but Rhea had already faded into the shadows. Kronos’s stomach was too full and his thoughts were too sluggish for him to stay suspicious for very long.

“Well,” he said to the boy, “do you have any experience bearing cups?”

Zeus grinned. “No, my lord. But I’m a quick learner. I can also sing, dance, and tell satyr jokes.”

Zeus burst into a song the nymphs had taught him. Then he demonstrated some Kouretes dance moves. It was the most interesting thing that had happened on Mount Othrys in a long time. Other Titans gathered in the throne room to watch. Soon they were cheering and laughing. Even Kronos had a smile on his face.

“You’re hired,” Kronos said. “In fact, I’m thirsty.”

“One cup, coming up!” Zeus hustled off to find the kitchen, where he filled a golden chalice with ice-cold nectar.

In no time, Zeus became the most popular servant in the palace. He bore cups like nobody’s business. His singing was as clear as the streams on Mount Ida. His satyr jokes were so edgy, I can’t tell them in a family-friendly book.

He always knew exactly what Kronos would like to drink—hot spiced nectar, cold nectar with a twist of lemon, nectar spritzer with a little cranberry juice. He also introduced the Titans to drinking contests, which were very popular with the satyrs back on Mount Ida. Everybody at the table started chugging at the same time. The fastest drinker won. What did he win? Well, nothing—but it was a great way to show off, because nothing looks more manly (or Titanly) than having nectar dribbling down your chin and all over your shirt.

These contests rekindled some of Kronos’s competitive spirit. Sure, he was king of the universe, but he was still the youngest of twelve kids. He couldn’t allow his brothers or nephews to be better than him at anything. Despite his constantly full stomach, he got to the point where he could chug a full goblet of nectar in three seconds, and Titan goblets are the size of water cooler jugs.

He trusted Zeus to fill his glass with whatever would go down the smoothest.

Which was exactly Zeus’s plan.

One night when Kronos was dining with his favorite lieutenants, Zeus mixed some special brews for the drinking contest. The nymphs back on Mount Ida had taught him a lot about herbs and stuff. He knew which plants could make you drowsy, which ones could make you dizzy, and which could make you feel so
terrible,
your stomach would want to exit your body.

For the king’s guests, Zeus mixed some sleepy-time extra-dizzy nighty-night nectar. For Kronos, he mixed a special blend of nectar and mustard. Some versions of the story will say Zeus used wine, but that can’t be right, because wine hadn’t been invented yet. We’ll get to that later.

Anyway, the stuff in Kronos’s goblet was
ü
ber-nasty. Zeus set it aside and waited for the right moment.

Dinner started out as usual, with lots of drinking, eating, and catching up on the Titan news of the day. Zeus kept the nectar flowing. He entertained the guests with his jokes and his singing. Toward the end of the evening, when everybody was content and relaxed and sleepy, Zeus began boasting about the king’s drinking skill.

“Kronos is the boss at drinking!” he proclaimed. “You should
see
him. The guy is
insane.
I mean his record is, what—three seconds?”

“Urg,” Kronos said. He was full already and had been hoping to avoid a drinking contest.

“If he wanted to,” Zeus said, “he could drink faster than all of you! I bet he would set a new world record tonight. Wouldn’t you love to see that?”

Atlas, Hyperion, Koios, and the others cheered and called for a contest.

Kronos
really
wasn’t in the mood, but he couldn’t decline. His honor as a super-chugger was at stake. He gestured for Zeus to bring in another round.

Zeus ran to the kitchen and fetched his special concoctions. He offered the guests their sleepy-time nectar, then served Kronos last, giving the king no time to smell his brew before yelling, “Ready, set, go!”

The Titans gulped down their tasty beverages. Kronos immediately noticed that his nectar tasted weird, but it was a contest. He couldn’t stop chugging. The whole point was to drain the cup! Maybe his taste buds were just a little off. After all, Zeus had never steered him wrong.

Kronos drained his nectar in two and a half seconds. He slammed the goblet upside down on the table and shouted: “I win! I—”

The next sound out of his mouth was like a walrus getting the Heimlich maneuver.

There’s no pleasant way to say it. Kronos puked. He puked a puke worthy of the king of the universe. It was a
kingly
puke.

His stomach tried to propel itself out his throat. His mouth hinged open all by itself—the better to upchuck you with, my dear—and shot out five gods, a very slimy rock, quite a lot of nectar, some biscuits, and a chariot license plate. (No, I don’t know how all that got in there.)

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.