Percy Jackson's Greek Gods (8 page)

Priapus yelled, “Ahhh!!”

Hestia woke with a start, horrified to find a vegetable god leaning over her, his hand in her hair. She screamed, “HELP!”

Back at the party, the other gods heard her screaming. Immediately they dropped whatever they were doing and ran to help her—because you simply didn’t mess with Hestia.

When they found Priapus, all the gods started whaling on him—throwing goblets at his head, punching him, calling him names. Priapus barely got out of there with his life.

Later, he claimed he had no idea he was flirting with Hestia. He thought she was just a nymph, or something. Still, Priapus was no longer welcome at the Olympian parties. After that, everyone became even more protective of Hestia.

Now, there’s one more part of Hestia’s story that’s kind of important, but I’m going to have to do some speculating here, because you won’t find this in the old myths.

At first, there was only one hearth in the world, and it belonged to the gods. Fire was like their trademarked property. The puny humans didn’t know how to make it. They were still cowering in their caves, grunting and picking their noses and hitting each other with clubs.

The Titan Prometheus, who had made those little dudes out of clay, really felt sorry for them. After all, he’d created them to look like immortals. He was pretty sure humans were capable of
acting
like immortals, too. They just needed a little help getting started.

Whenever Prometheus visited Olympus, he watched the gods gather at Hestia’s hearth. Fire was the single most important thing that made the palace a home. You could use fire to keep warm. You could cook with it. You could make hot beverages. You could light torches at night. You could play any number of funny practical jokes with the hot coals. If only humans had some fire…

Finally Prometheus got up his courage and spoke to Zeus.

“Hey, Lord Zeus,” he said. “Uh, I thought I should show the humans how to make fire.”

Zeus frowned. “Humans? You mean those dirty little guys that make funny shrieks when you step on them? Why would they need fire?”

“They could learn to be more like us,” Prometheus said. “They could build houses, make cities, all sorts of things.”

“That,” Zeus said, “is the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Next, you’re going to want to arm the cockroaches. Give humans fire, and they’re going to take over the world. They’ll get all uppity and decide they’re as good as immortals. No. I absolutely forbid it.”

But Prometheus couldn’t let it go. He kept looking at Hestia sitting next to her hearth. He admired the way she kept the Olympian family together with her sacred fires.

It just wasn’t fair, Prometheus decided. Humans deserved the same comfort.

What happened next?

Most versions of the story say that Prometheus stole hot coals from the hearth. He hid them in the hollowed stalk of a fennel plant—though you’d think somebody would notice him sneaking out of the palace with a smoldering plant that smelled like burning licorice.

None of the stories mention that Hestia helped Prometheus. But the thing is, how could she
not
have known what he was doing? She was always at the hearth. There’s no way Prometheus could’ve stolen fire without Hestia noticing.

Personally, I think she had sympathy for Prometheus and those little humans. Hestia was kindhearted that way. I think she either helped Prometheus or at least turned a blind eye and let him steal the hot coals.

Whatever the case, Prometheus sneaked out of Olympus with his secret burning licorice stick and gave it to the humans. It took a while for them to learn how to use the hot flaming stuff without killing themselves; but finally they managed, and the idea spread like…well, wildfire.

Usually Zeus didn’t pay much attention to what was happening down on the earth. After all, the sky was his domain. But one clear night he stood at the balcony on Mount Olympus and noticed that the world was freckled with lights—in houses, towns, even a few cities. The humans had come out of their caves.

“That little punk,” Zeus grumbled. “Prometheus armed the cockroaches.”

Next to him, the goddess Hera said, “Uh, what?”

“Nothing,” Zeus muttered. He yelled to his guards: “Find Prometheus and get him in here.
NOW
!
”

Zeus was not pleased. He didn’t like it when someone disobeyed his orders, especially when that someone was a Titan whom Zeus had generously spared after the war. Zeus was
so
displeased, he decided to punish Prometheus in a way no one would ever forget. He chained the Titan to a rock on Mount Caucasus at the eastern edge of the world, then summoned a huge eagle, which was Zeus’s sacred animal, to peck open Prometheus’s belly and feed on his liver.

Oh, sorry. That was a little gross. I hope you weren’t on your way to lunch.

Every day, the eagle would rip Prometheus open and chow down. And every night, Prometheus would heal up and grow a new liver, just in time for the eagle to show up the next morning.

The other gods and Titans got the message:
Don’t disobey Zeus, or bad things will happen to you, most likely involving chains, livers, and hungry eagles.

As for Hestia, no one accused her of anything; but she must have felt bad for Prometheus, because she made sure his sacrifice wasn’t in vain. She became the goddess of
all
hearths, across the world. In every mortal home, the central fireplace was sacred to her. If you needed protection, like if someone was chasing you or beating you up, you ran to the nearest hearth and no one could touch you there. Whoever lived in that house was obligated to help if you asked for sanctuary. Families would take their important oaths on the hearth, and whenever they burned a portion of their meal as a sacrifice to the gods, part of that sacrifice went to Hestia.

As towns and cities grew, they operated just like individual homes. Each town had a central hearth that was under Hestia’s protection. If you were an ambassador from another city, you always visited the hearth first to proclaim that you had come in peace. If you got in trouble and you made it to the town hearth, no one in that city could harm you. In fact, the citizens were honor-bound to protect you.

It turned out Prometheus was right. Humans
did
start acting like the gods, for better or worse. Eventually, the gods got used to this and even accepted it. The humans built temples for them, burned sweet-smelling sacrifices, and chanted about how awesome the Olympians were. That certainly helped.

Still, Zeus didn’t forgive Prometheus for disobeying his orders. Eventually Prometheus got freed, but that’s another story.

As for Hestia, she was able to maintain peace on Olympus most of the time—but not always.

For instance, one time her sister Demeter got so mad at her brothers, she almost caused World War Zero….

DEMETER TURNS
INTO
GRAINZILLA

O
H, YEAH
. D
EMETER
!

Try not to get too excited, because this chapter is all about the goddess of wheat, bread, and cereal. Demeter just flat-out
rocks
when it comes to carbohydrates.

I’m not being fair to her, though.

Sure, she was the goddess of agriculture, but she had other things going for her. Among the three eldest goddesses, she was the middle sister, so she combined Hestia’s sweet personality with her younger sister Hera’s knockout hotness. Demeter had long blond hair the color of ripe wheat. She wore a crown of woven corn leaves—not a fashion statement most people can pull off, but she managed. She liked to adorn herself with poppies, which often grow in fields of grain—or so I’m told. I don’t go walking in a lot of grain fields.

A dark robe covered her bright green dress, so whenever she moved, it looked like fresh plant shoots breaking through fertile earth. She smelled like a rainstorm over a field of jasmine.

Since Hestia decided never to get married, Demeter was the first goddess who seriously drew the attention of the guy gods. (Hera was beautiful too, but her
attitude
…well, we’ll get to that later.)

Not only was Demeter good-looking, but she
was also kindhearted (mostly), she knew how to bake awesome bread and cookies, and she cut a surprisingly warlike figure wherever she went. She rode a golden chariot pulled by twin dragons. At her side gleamed a gold sword.

In fact, one of her Greek names was Demeter Khrysaoros, meaning
the Lady with the Golden Blade
. Sounds like a good title for a martial arts movie. According to some legends, her blade was actually the scythe of Kronos, which she reforged into the world’s most deadly harvesting tool. Mostly she used it for cutting wheat, but if she got angry enough, she could fight with it….

Anyway, the guy gods all liked her. Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades all proposed marriage, but Demeter turned them down flat. She preferred to roam the earth, turning barren plains into fertile fields, encouraging orchards to bear fruit and flowers to bloom.

One day, Zeus got persistent. He had just divorced Themis and hadn’t remarried yet. He was lonely. For whatever reason, he fixated on Demeter and decided he absolutely
had
to get with her.

He found her in a field of wheat (no surprise). Demeter yelled at him to go away, but he just kept following her around.

“Come on!” he said. “Just one kiss. Then maybe another kiss. Then maybe—”

“No!” she shouted. “You’re
so
annoying!”

“I’m the king of the universe,” Zeus said. “If we got together, you’d be the queen!”

“Not interested.” Demeter was tempted to draw her golden sword, but Zeus
was
the most powerful god, and people who opposed him got into a lot of trouble. (
Cough
, like Prometheus,
cough
.) Also, her golden chariot was parked way at the other end of the field, so she couldn’t just hop in and flee.

Zeus kept pestering her. “Our kids would be powerful and amazing.”

“Go away.”

“Hey, baby. Don’t be like that.”

Finally Demeter got so disgusted, she transformed herself into a serpent. She figured she could lose Zeus by hiding in the fields and slithering away.

Bad idea.

Zeus could transform into an animal too. He changed into a snake and followed her. That was easy, since snakes have a great sense of smell; and like I said earlier, Demeter had a very distinctive rainstorm-over-jasmine scent.

Demeter slithered into a hole in the dirt. Another pretty terrible idea.

Zeus slithered in after her. The tunnel was narrow, so once Zeus blocked the entrance, Demeter couldn’t get out. She didn’t have room to change form.

Zeus trapped her and wouldn’t let her go until…Well, use your imagination.

Months later, Demeter gave birth to her first child—a daughter named Persephone. She was such a cute, sweet baby, Demeter
almost
forgave Zeus for tricking her into reptile hanky-panky. Almost. They didn’t get married, and Zeus was a pretty neglectful dad; but still the little girl became the light of Demeter’s life.

More about Persephone in a sec…

I’d like to say that was the only time Demeter got into a bad situation with a man. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

A few years later, Demeter took a vacation to the beach. She was walking along, enjoying the solitude and the fresh sea air, when Poseidon happened to spot her. Being a sea god, he tended to notice pretty ladies walking along the beach.

He appeared out of the waves in his best green robes, with his trident in his hand and a crown of seashells on his head. (He was sure that the crown made him look irresistible.)

“Hey, girl,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “You must be the riptide, ’cause you sweep me off my feet.”

He’d been practicing that pickup line for years. He was glad he finally got to use it.

Demeter was not impressed. “Go away, Poseidon.”

“Sometimes the sea goes away,” Poseidon agreed, “but it always comes back. What do you say you and me have a romantic dinner at my undersea palace?”

Demeter made a mental note not to park her chariot so far away. She really could’ve used her two dragons for backup. She decided to change form and get away, but she knew better than to turn into a snake this time.

I need something faster, she thought.

Then she glanced down the beach and saw a herd of wild horses galloping through the surf.

That’s perfect! Demeter thought. A horse!

Instantly she became a white mare and raced down the beach. She joined the herd and blended in with the other horses.

Her plan had serious flaws. First, Poseidon could also turn into a horse, and he did—a strong white stallion. He raced after her. Second, Poseidon had
created
horses. He knew all about them and could control them.

Why would a sea god create a land animal like the horse? We’ll get to that later. Anyway, Poseidon reached the herd and started pushing his way through, looking for Demeter—or rather sniffing for her sweet, distinctive perfume. She was easy to find.

Demeter’s seemingly perfect camouflage in the herd turned out to be a perfect trap. The other horses made way for Poseidon, but they hemmed in Demeter and wouldn’t let her move. She got so panicky, afraid of getting trampled, that she couldn’t even change shape into something else. Poseidon sidled up to her and whinnied something like
Hey, beautiful. Galloping my way?

Much to Demeter’s horror, Poseidon got a lot cuddlier than she wanted.

These days, Poseidon would be arrested for that kind of behavior. I mean…assuming he wasn’t in horse form. I don’t think you can arrest a horse. Anyway, back in those days, the world was a rougher, ruder place. Demeter couldn’t exactly report Poseidon to King Zeus, because Zeus was just as bad.

Months later, a very embarrassed and angry Demeter gave birth to twins. The weirdest thing? One of the babies was a goddess; the other one was a stallion. I’m not going to even
try
to figure that out. The baby girl was named Despoine, but you don’t hear much about her in the myths. When she grew up, her job was looking after Demeter’s temple, like the high priestess of corn magic or something. Her baby brother, the stallion, was named Arion. He grew up to be a super-fast immortal steed who helped out Hercules and some other heroes, too. He was a pretty awesome horse, though I’m not sure that Demeter was real proud of having a son who needed new horseshoes every few months and was constantly nuzzling her for apples.

At this point, you’d think Demeter would have sworn off those gross, disgusting men forever and joined Hestia in the Permanently Single Club.

Strangely, a couple of months later, she fell in love with a human prince named Iasion (pronounced EYE-son, I think). Just shows you how far humans had come since Prometheus gave them fire. Now they could speak and write. They could brush their teeth and comb their hair. They wore clothes and occasionally took baths. Some of them were even handsome enough to flirt with goddesses.

This dude Iasion (not Jason, that’s a different guy) was a hero of Crete. He was handsome and well mannered, and he always looked out for his local farmers, which was a sure way to Demeter’s heart. One day Iasion was out inspecting some newly plowed fields when Demeter happened by in the guise of a mortal maiden. They started talking:
Oh, I love wheat. Me, too! Wheat is the best!
Or something like that; and they fell in love.

They met in the fields several more times. For a few weeks, Demeter was head-over-heels in love. Of course, something had to go wrong. The next time Demeter visited the fields, Zeus happened to be watching from Mount Olympus. He saw Demeter getting cozy with this mortal guy—hugging and kissing and talking about wheat—and Zeus got insanely jealous.

Completely unfair, right? Zeus and Demeter weren’t even together. Still, when Zeus saw a mortal hero making time with “his” girl, he blew his top.

The nice thing about getting mad at mortals—they are mortal. Which means you can kill them.

Demeter was giving Iasion a big kiss when the sky rumbled. The clouds tore open, and lightning flashed.
KER-ZAP!
Suddenly Demeter was alone in the wheat field, her clothes smoldering. A pile of hero ashes lay at her feet.

She wailed and screamed curses at Zeus, but there was nothing she could do. She sulked off to her private apartment on Mount Olympus and stayed there for months. When she finally came out, she was holding the last child she would ever bear—a boy named Pluotos. (Not Pluto. That’s
another
different guy). You don’t hear much about Pluotos in the old myths either, but he became a minor god of agricultural wealth. He wandered around Greece, looking for successful farmers and rewarding them for their hard work with bags of cash—kind of like the Old MacDonald Prize Patrol.

At this point, Demeter decided enough was enough. She still had the occasional date, but she never got married, never had another kid, and her relationships with the male gods were always strained.

Her experiences also kind of soured that sweet personality of hers. You might not think a grain goddess could be scary, but
dang
. You should’ve seen what she did to this one dude, Erisikhthon.

I know. Stupidest name ever. I think it’s pronounced Err-ISS-ick-thon, but heck, I’m just guessing. Anyway, this guy was a local prince who thought he was the coolest thing since bronze. He wanted to build himself a huge mansion with lumber from the nearby forests.

The problem? The biggest and nicest trees—the only ones he thought were good enough for his mansion—were in a grove that was sacred to Demeter. These massive oaks and poplars soared over a hundred feet tall, and each one had a nature spirit, a dryad, watching over it. The dryads would dance around, singing songs about Demeter and making flower necklaces, or whatever dryads do in their spare time.

Everybody in the whole country knew the grove was sacred to Demeter, but Eric Whatever-his-name-was—he didn’t care. (You know, I think I’ll just call him Eric.) So Eric got like fifty of his biggest, strongest friends together. He gave them sharp bronze axes, and they headed off to the grove.

As soon as the dryads saw them coming, they shrieked in alarm and called on Demeter to protect them.

They must’ve had the goddess on speed dial, because she was there in a flash.

Demeter took the form of a human maiden and appeared in the road, right in front of Eric and his army of ax-wielding goons.

“Oh, my!” she said. “Such big strong men! Where are you going?”

“Out of the way, girl,” Eric grumbled. “We have some chopping to do.”

“But why are you attacking these poor defenseless trees?”

“I need the lumber!” Eric bellowed. “I’m going to make the greatest mansion in the world!”

His friends cheered and waved their axes menacingly.

“You should choose other trees,” Demeter said, trying to keep her cool. “This grove is sacred to Demeter.”

“Bah!” Eric said. “These are the tallest trees in the land. I need
tall
trees for my great hall. My friends and I intend to feast there every night. We will have such excellent feasts, I will be famous throughout Greece!”

His friends shouted, “Yum!” and made lip-smacking noises.

“But this is the home of many innocent dryads,” Demeter persisted.

“If the dryads try to stop me,” Eric said, “I will cut them down too!”

Demeter clenched her jaw. “And if Demeter tries to stop you?”

Eric laughed. “Let her try. I’m not afraid of a silly
crop
goddess. Now, stand aside, or I’ll chop you up as well, girl.”

He shouldered the goddess aside and marched toward the largest tree—a huge white poplar. As he swung his ax, a blast of hot wind knocked him on his butt.

Demeter grew to massive height—towering above the trees like Grainzilla in her green-and-black robes, her crown of corn leaves steaming in her golden hair, her scythe blade casting a shadow across the entire group of mortals.