Athena squirmed in her chair. “Oh, well. I—I don’t know exactly. He went to Crete yesterday. He should’ve made it back by now, but—”
Zeus’s brows shot up to form two big, angry Vs. Both of his palms hit the desk, making everything in the room jump, including Athena. “WHAT?” he thundered. “You let Heracles go off to Crete on his own? Without telling me? After I specifically asked you to watch out for him?”
Athena cringed. “I know, I know. It’s just that I didn’t want to bother you. I thought he’d be back sooner than this. I’m sorry.”
Grunting suddenly, Zeus slapped the side of his head and got that familiar, spacey look in his eyes that meant Metis was talking to him. “Yes, you’re right, it might have been wiser of me to choose someone other than Eurystheus to come up with the list of labors,” he admitted, with a mix of irritation and reluctance in his voice. “And yes, I suppose I should’ve reviewed the list myself before it was given to Heracles, but I didn’t expect—” Metis must have interrupted because he sighed, listening again. “I know it was an awfully short deadline, but the temple will be—” His voice trailed off and his expression turned sneaky as he glanced at Athena. “We can talk more about this later, Metis,” he growled.
“The temple will be what?” Athena asked when he “hung up” on Metis.
“Huh?” Zeus looked at her blankly.
“The temple will be what?” she repeated. “You didn’t finish your sentence. And were you talking about the temple where Heracles went to consult the oracle? Or the one being built in your honor? Or some other temple?”
Just then Ms. Hydra poked two of her heads in at the door, interrupting them. Was it her imagination, or did Zeus look relieved?
“A letter just arrived from Hermes’ Special Delivery,” the assistant informed him. A rolled-up piece of papyrus tied with a wide red ribbon wriggled as it struggled to escape her grasp. As soon as she released it, it flew on tiny wings to land on Zeus’s desk.
Zeus removed the red ribbon and unrolled the papyrus. After scanning it quickly, he said, “It’s from Heracles.” Then he began reading aloud from it:
DEAR PRINCIPAL ZEUS, SORRY FOR MISSING SCHOOL YESTERDAY. AS ATHENA MAY HAVE TOLD YOU BY NOW, [And here Zeus raised his shaggy head to give Athena a long, hard look.] I’VE BEEN IN CRETE, WRANGLING A BULL. TODAY I MOVE ON TO THRACE TO CORRAL SOME HORSES, AND THEN I WILL BE OFF TO NORTHERN AFRICA TO RUSTLE SOME CATTLE BELONGING TO A GERYON. YEE-HAH!
Ye gods! thought Athena. A real Geryon? She and her friends had battled one of them not long ago in the Forest of the Beasts, but that had only been a fake one. Real Geryons were terrifying one-headed, two-armed, three-bodied, four-winged, six-legged beasts with vicious talons, slimy green lips, and extremely bad breath that was even worse than that of the black sheep of Ms. Hydra’s family!
Zeus read on:
ANYWAY, I EXPECT TO RETURN TO MOA THURSDAY MORNING. AND I PROMISE TO STUDY DOUBLE-TIME TO MAKE UP THE WORK I’M MISSING IN MY CLASSES IF ONLY YOU’LL ALLOW ME TO STAY AT THE ACADEMY.
WORSHIPFULLY,
HERACLES
Zeus looked a little guilty as he finished. He must have finally realized he’d set Heracles an impossible task, expecting him to complete all twelve labors in one week and still remain in school and keep up with his classes. Though she was relieved to know Heracles was okay, Athena couldn’t help feeling a bit hurt that he had sent Zeus a message to let him know what was going on but hadn’t bothered to contact her. Didn’t he think she was worried about him? It was pure luck that she happened to be here when his letter arrived. Otherwise, she’d be in the dark!
Shaking off her hurt feelings, she did some quick calculations. If all went well, Heracles would have only three labors left to complete when he got back Thursday morning. She wished she knew what they were. If only she didn’t have her contest with Arachne. She didn’t want to miss his return!
“Couldn’t you give Heracles an extra day or two to finish the twelve labors?” she suggested to Zeus, though, having heard his one-sided conversation with her mom, she figured she knew the answer.
Zeus shook his giant head from side to side. “Once a god’s words have been uttered through an oracle, they can’t be changed.”
“Oh,” said Athena. “I was afraid of that.”
Zeus tapped his fingertips together. Sparks flew out from between them and landed on a pile of papers on top of his desk. “I can’t tell you how important Heracles’ success is to me, Theeny,” he said.
Nodding, Athena leaned over and began blowing on the smoldering papers to prevent them from bursting into flame. It was truly a wonder his office hadn’t burned down by now.
“I need for you to continue helping him,” Zeus was saying. “After he returns, I want you to stick to him like a flea on a lion until he completes every last one of those labors.”
Athena didn’t like being compared to a flea. Still, one didn’t quibble with the King of the Gods over his choice of similes, even if he was one’s dad. “Okay,” she said, “but—”
“No buts about it,” interrupted Zeus with a frown. Unlike last Friday, he seemed in no mood today to plead for her consent. He was ordering her now. She’d been about to mention her commitment to Thursday’s weaving contest, but now she thought better of it. If Zeus was so set on her helping Heracles, his reasons had to be important. Maybe she should try to find a way to wiggle out of the contest.
Zeus’s eyes went spacey again, and he thumped his hand against the side of his head. “All right, Metis. Take it easy. I’ll tell her!” Rolling his eyes at Athena, he said, “Your mother wants you to know that we love you dearly, and that no one else will ever take your place in our hearts—no matter how strong they are or how skilled at battle. You’ve got other skills that are—um—just as important and useful.”
“Other skills?” Athena repeated.
Zeus paused, listening to Metis again. Finally he said, “Art skills, for example.” He waved a meaty paw in the air. “You’re good at inventions and all that sewing stuff—you know, like weaving—”
“Gotcha,” Athena said quickly. Luckily the lyrebell sounded just then. She jumped to her feet. “Guess I’d better go, huh? Don’t want to be late for class!”
“Yes, go,” said Zeus, somewhat distractedly. From the way he kept shaking his head, it appeared that Metis was still yakking at him. “Don’t forget what I said,” he called to her as she hurried out the door.
About how he and her mother loved her dearly? Athena wondered, or about sticking to Heracles like a flea on a lion? It was obvious that Zeus took pride in Heracles’ strength and battle skills, she thought as she ran down the hall to her next class. She didn’t mind that, not really. Well, maybe she did, actually. Just a little. She wished Zeus hadn’t brought up her weaving. It was nice to know that her mom and dad loved her regardless of her skills, but she wanted them to be proud of her too. As proud as Zeus was of Heracles. She simply couldn’t skip the contest now. If she did, it would be like admitting she thought she would lose, and that would not make her parents proud. She couldn’t let a mere mortal best her at a skill for which she was so famed. That wouldn’t be wise at all!
Still, how could she be in two places at once?
The Contest
ATHENA GOT UP AT THE CRACK OF DAWN on Thursday morning to finish choosing her yarns. The previous night, she’d finally come up with an idea for a design, and she knew it was a good one. She moved around her room quietly, trying not to wake Pandora. Just as she was about to leave she realized she’d need something to eat along the way. She ran to her desk to grab a couple of breakfast bars and stumbled into her chair. “Ow!”
She froze as Pandora’s eyes flew open. “Huh?” she mumbled. “Did you say you like me, Poseidon? Really . . . ?” Her roomie mumbled something else that Athena couldn’t quite make out—though it sounded like a question, of course—then she promptly rolled over and fell back to sleep.
After pocketing the snacks, Athena picke
d up her bag of yarns and left, closing the door soundlessly behind her. At the end of the hall, she donned a pair of winged sandals, then skimmed down the marble staircase, whizzed through the bronze doors, and was off to Hypaepa.
As she descended Mount Olympus, she wondered if she should have taken her friends up on their offer to accompany her after all. She’d been afraid their presence might make her feel nervous, but now she wasn’t so sure. They could have cheered her on! She felt tired and anxious. She’d slept poorly during the night, going over and over her design and fretting about today’s contest. Though she told herself there was no way she could lose, a tiny bit of doubt, no bigger than an olive pit, had worked its way into her mind.
Athena coasted to a stop just outside of town. Loosening the straps at her ankles, she looped them around her sandals’ silver wings, then walked the rest of the way. When she knocked on the door of Arachne’s small wooden house, the girl called out, “Let yourself in. I’m busy!”
Humph, thought Athena as she turned the knob and pushed open the heavy door. She’d never met anyone with such poor manners—mortal or immortal!
Arachne’s long, thin fingers were already at work stringing her loom. “Over there,” she grunted, cocking her head toward a second loom. Athena went over to the loom and inspected it. Though it wasn’t as fine or as sturdy as her own back at MOA, it would do. She opened her bag and took out several balls of yarn. After cutting off long lengths of thread from each, she tied, stretched, and looped the threads from top to bottom to create columns of threads called the warp.
Once both looms were strung, the girls each set to work, passing new threads over and under the warp, then pulling the threads tight at the end of each row. Few weavers could have matched the rhythm and pace of their nimble fingers. As the design she had planned began to emerge, Athena’s confidence grew. Instead of one big scene, she’d divided her design into sections, each with a different, but related, scene. Every thread was in exactly the right place, and her colors were as vibrant and true as the masterful murals that adorned the walls of MOA.
When her tapestry was almost finished, she glanced up and was surprised to see that a group of women had quietly entered the room. They were the judges, of course, and stood watching, just inside the door. Athena caught the eye of one of them, an older woman with white hair and gnarled hands. The woman lowered her gaze and bowed reverently. Now that was the kind of respect a goddess expected from mortals!
Several minutes later, at almost the exact same moment, Athena and Arachne declared their tapestries done. With a sly, self-satisfied grin on her face, Arachne stepped away from her loom. Athena wondered what she had woven, but the women who had come to judge the contest had moved between the two looms to examine both tapestries, and Athena couldn’t see over their heads. Awed exclamations, aimed equally at the work of both girls, began to fill the room: “Incredible! Beautiful! Exquisite!”
But then some of the judges admiring Arachne’s work began to laugh awkwardly, darting glances at Athena. “Superb work, as usual, Arachne,” said the older woman who had bowed to Athena, “but hardly a fit subject.”
“May I see?” asked Athena, overcome with curiosity. The judges drew back to let her through. Arachne’s tapestry sparkled with lush colors, and its flawless weave was every bit the equal of Athena’s. But the picture! It showed a crazed-looking Zeus dancing around in pain as a fly (Metis, no doubt!) buzzed around his head. A badly aimed thunderbolt was stuck in his foot, and another had set the hem of his tunic on fire.
At first Athena was too shocked to speak. Then her eyes narrowed and her cheeks grew hot. She glared at Arachne. Perhaps realizing the enormity of what she’d done, the girl’s face turned pale with fright. “How dare you!” Athena exclaimed. Erupting with fury, she pounced on Arachne’s tapestry and ripped it to shreds. Then she stomped on it for good measure as Arachne stood trembling and the women stared on in horror. Making fun of her was one thing, but Athena couldn’t allow this girl to dishonor her parents!
Consumed with anger, she now turned on Arachne herself. “With your mockery of my parents, you’ve doomed yourself forever to spin empty, colorless threads!” Reaching out, she touched the girl. Immediately Arachne’s head and body began to shrink and her ten long, thin fingers began to change into eight spindly legs. When the change was complete, Arachne, now a spider, scurried up the nearest wall and began to weave a fragile web. As if afraid of what Athena might do next, the judges all fled the house, even the older woman who’d been properly respectful and therefore had nothing to fear.
Her wrath spent, Athena cut loose her tapestry with its six spectacular, vibrant scenes. She rolled it up, stuffed it into her bag, then headed back to Mount Olympus on winged sandals. As towns and trees and boulders rushed past, her mind began to calm. Thinking about what had just happened, she could scarcely believe what she’d done! It seemed to her now that she’d let anger carry away her reason. She’d lashed out in a way that was more like Heracles than like her, using violence to solve her problem.
Was his influence rubbing off on her instead of the other way around? She felt sure he’d have approved of her actions if he’d been there to see what happened. Yet had she been so wrong? Arachne had insulted her parents, after all. Retribution was required. She’d been within her rights to destroy the girl’s tapestry and turn her into a spider. Still, she couldn’t help wondering if, instead of delivering justice, she’d simply been vengeful. How did one tell the difference? At times like these, being a goddessgirl was really hard!
It was lunchtime when Athena reached MOA. As she entered the cafeteria she spotted Pheme. The goddessgirl of rumor obviously had some delicious gossip today, for she dashed from table to table, words puffing from her lips faster than winged sandals could fly. Athena’s stomach sank. Had the news of what she’d done in Hypaepa reached Pheme’s ears already? But a moment later she discovered that Pheme’s news was about Heracles, not her. Somehow the orange-haired goddess had learned the contents of the letter he’d sent Zeus.
Athena breathed a sigh of relief. No doubt Pheme—and through her everyone else—would learn of Arachne’s fate soon enough, but for now Athena could relax. Even her friends held off asking her about the contest in their eagerness to tell her what they’d heard about Heracles that morning.
“The Cretan bull was so huge and savage that no one on the island could catch him,” Persephone reported, gesturing wildly. “But Heracles managed to seize him by the horns. Then he tossed the bull into the sea and rode him all the way back to land.”
With her spoon full of yambrosia stew almost to her mouth, Athena looked at Persephone in surprise. Those details hadn’t been in the letter! “Is Heracles here?” she asked, glancing around the room. She hadn’t seen him when she entered the cafeteria. She’d just assumed he hadn’t yet returned.
Aphrodite shook her head. “He was, but he left about an hour ago after telling everyone his adventures.”
Oh, flute loops, Athena huffed. Before she could ask if Aphrodite knew where he’d gone, Artemis spoke up. “Did you hear how he captured the man-eating horses and tricked a Geryon so he could steal its herd of red cows?”
Athena was surprised to hear the admiration in her voice. It sounded like Heracles’ daring deeds had finally won her over. And considering all the stuff he’d done, who wouldn’t be impressed by his strength and courage? “Yes, I did hear something about that,” she said hurriedly. “Does anyone know where he is now?”
“He told Hades he had to go pick some magic apples,” said Persephone. “It’s another of his labors. Atlas went with him.”
“He did?” Though Athena had been the one to suggest that Heracles ask the godboys for help, she’d secretly liked that he seemed to prefer her help. She liked feeling special—the only person at MOA whose advice Heracles valued. “Did he ask about me?” she asked with pretended nonchalance.
Aphrodite and Artemis exchanged a look. “I’m sure he must have,” Aphrodite said
at the same time that Artemis shook her head no.
Athena tried not to feel too hurt, but her disappointment must’ve shown because Persephone changed the subject. “So tell us about the weaving contest. I bet you astounded everyone!” she said brightly.
With a wry smile, Athena said, “Yes, I guess you could say that.” And then she told them what had happened.
When Heracles returned that evening he was in high spirits. Even from her room four floors up, Athena could hear him singing loudly and off-key as he swaggered across the courtyard at the front of the school. Still a little hurt that he hadn’t waited for her to return from Hypaepa so she could accompany him on his next labor, she held back for a few minutes. But eventually she gave in and raced downstairs.
Unfortunately, almost everyone else at MOA had heard him coming and had run down to meet him too. There was already an admiring crowd around him at the bottom of the granite steps by the time Athena got outside. Juggling three magic apples, Heracles exclaimed, “You wouldn’t believe what I had to go through to get these! They’re only grown in the Garden of the Hesperides on a magical tree with golden bark and golden leaves.” He kept the students spellbound as he told them how he’d tricked a shape-shifting sea god into revealing the well-kept secret of the hidden garden’s location.
“Where’s Atlas?” someone asked after a while.
Heracles grinned. “I left him holding up the sky.”
The godboys in his audience laughed, but Athena frowned. Holding up the sky? What kind of joke was that to play on poor Atlas? “Don’t you think you should go back for him?” she asked.
As if just noticing she was there, Heracles smiled at her. “He looked like he was having fun,” he said good-naturedly. He rubbed the back of his neck. “But I guess I should.”
“We’ll go get him,” offered Ares and Poseidon.
Once they left, the crowd began to disperse and Heracles found Athena. “Hi. Good to see you again.” He smiled at her, almost shyly.
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