“You too,” Athena said, softening toward him. “But you could have sent me a note, like you did Zeus, when you realized you were going to be late.”
Heracles raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t worry about me, did you?”
“’Course not,” Athena lied.
He cocked his head toward her. “You sure?”
“Well, maybe a little,” she admitted.
Suddenly he turned serious. “You don’t ever have to worry about me,” he said, his dark brown eyes holding her gray ones. “I’ve never yet met a situation I couldn’t handle.” He held out one of the magic apples. “Eurystheus can have the other two, but I got this one for you. It was the prettiest.”
“Thanks,” she said, touched by his generosity. The apple was perfectly round and shone like a miniature sun. As she took it from him, their hands touched. To her confusion, Heracles blushed. Why? After all, they’d held hands several times while wearing the winged sandals. Pretending she hadn’t noticed the rosy glow that had spread over his neck and face, she said, “So, now you’re done with the tenth task, right?”
“Actually, the apples were the eleventh labor,” he said.
“Eleventh?” Athena repeated. “Did I count wrong? I thought you had two more tasks to complete.”
“Well, I skipped—uh—postponed the ninth one,” he said, his blush deepening. “The other labors were easier, so I’ll get back to that one later.” Before she could ask what the ninth labor was, he rushed on, “You’re friends with Persephone, right? Do you think you could get her to keep Hades busy for a couple of hours tomorrow morning?”
“Why?” asked Athena.
“I need to borrow his dog for a little while.”
Athena’s eyes widened. “Cerberus? Let me guess. You have to show him to Eurystheus. For the next-to-last labor.”
Heracles grinned. “You got it.”
Was it possible he’d already forgotten how upset Artemis had been when they’d taken her deer without her knowledge? “Wouldn’t it be better to ask Hades’ permission instead of trying to take Cerberus behind his back?” Athena suggested.
Heracles rubbed his chin, thinking. “But what if he says no?”
“Just give it a shot,” Athena urged. “I thought you guys were getting to be friends.”
“Yeah. Well, okay. If you think it’s best, I’ll ask him in the morning.” He yawned. “Sorry. It’s been a long few days. I could sleep for a week!”
“Oh! I shouldn’t have kept you talking,” said Athena. “You’re exhausted!”
“That’s okay. I wanted to talk to you,” Heracles insisted. Still, he didn’t protest when she gently took his elbow and propelled him up the steps of the academy.
“Wait a second,” he said, as they pushed through the bronze doors, “I forgot to ask about your weaving contest.”
Athena sighed. “Don’t ask.”
“Uh-oh. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“No,” he said stubbornly. “Now!” Pulling her down beside him, he sank onto the marble staircase that led up to the dorms. He refused to budge until she told him the entire story.
“You turned her into a spider?” he said when she’d finished. “Awesome!”
“You don’t think I was too harsh?” she asked.
“No way. Arachne deserved it!”
His words were a comfort, but Athena still had doubts about whether she’d done the right thing. Heracles’ view of the world was so simple. For him right and wrong were easy to distinguish, like black and white. Not so for her. She saw things in shades of gray, which meant some things were sort of right and sort of wrong. If she’d learned one thing from her encounter with Arachne, it was that all gods, herself included, could act as rashly as mortals when anger ran away with them. Perhaps true wisdom meant realizing and accepting that.
Snort! Her thoughts were interrupted when Heracles sagged across her lap. He was snoring! She gave him a gentle push.
“Wha—?” he exclaimed, his eyes popping open. Seeing where he was, he quickly straightened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Come on,” Athena interrupted softly. “You need to get upstairs.” They climbed the steps together and said good-bye at the entrance to the fourth-floor dorm.
Once she was back in her room, Athena couldn’t sleep. Instead, she began to weave a new tapestry, continuing with the same subject she’d chosen for her contest with Arachne. She smiled to herself, imagining how surprised Heracles would be when she showed him her work, for he had inspired it. She was weaving scenes from all of his labors. While the contest tapestry showed scenes from Heracles’ first six labors, the new tapestry would illustrate the last six. She would show Heracles riding the Cretan bull across the sea, corralling horses, herding the Geryon’s red cattle as the monster roared with fury, and juggling the golden apples.
She wished she’d remembered to ask Heracles what the ninth labor was—the one he’d skipped. He’d implied it would be harder than all the other labors, but she couldn’t imagine anything more difficult than the tasks he’d already completed! She would add scenes for the ninth and twelfth labors after Heracles completed them tomorrow. And if he needed her help with that mysterious ninth labor, she’d do all that she could to ensure his success.
Last Labors
ATHENA GOT SO INVOLVED IN HER WEAVING that night that even after Pandora came in and went to bed, she continued working. Naturally, she overslept the next morning—the second time that week!—and had to skip breakfast. After gobbling down a couple Breakfast of the Gods power bars from her rapidly diminishing supply, she hightailed it down to the main floor. She’d just pulled some textscrolls from her locker when Persephone raced up to her, a look of distress on her naturally pale face. “Hades just sent me a note!” she said, waving the sheet of papyrus clutched in her hand. “There’s trouble in the Underworld!”
Athena gulped. “Is Heracles involved?” She was pretty certain she knew the answer.
Sure enough, Persephone nodded. “At breakfast this morning he asked if Hades would let him borrow Cerberus.”
“But Hades said no?” Athena guessed.
Persephone nodded again. “Heracles seemed okay with the refusal, but Hades followed him when he left the cafeteria, just to be sure.”
“Let me guess,” said Athena. “Heracles went down to the Underworld and tried to sneak Cerberus out.”
“Uh-huh. When Hades caught up with him, Heracles was trying to attach horns to Cerberus’s heads.”
Athena gave her a puzzled look. “Horns?”
Persephone shrugged. “It was a disguise, I guess. He was trying to make Cerberus look like a three-headed goat!”
“As if that would fool anyone,” said Athena, groaning. “So now Hades and Heracles are the ones butting heads, I bet.”
Persephone nodded. “And I’m worried someone will get hurt!”
Given Heracles’ size and strength, it would most likely be Hades, thought Athena. No wonder Persephone was worried! Well, if ever there was a good reason for skipping class, surely this was it. She shoved her textscrolls back in her locker and slammed it shut. “Let’s go sort this out.”
Quickly, they each shape-shifted into birds—Athena an owl, and Persephone a dove—and winged it down to the River Styx, where they shape-shifted back into themselves. “We have to go by boat,” Persephone told her. “That’s the only way.”
Having visited the Underworld to see Hades many times by now, Persephone knew the grizzled old ferryman, Charon. “Who’s your friend?” he asked her, as he reached down to pull the two goddessgirls aboard his boat.
After Persephone made the introductions, Charon dipped his pole into the river and shoved off. “So I suppose you heard about the fireworks going off on the opposite shore,” he said grimly. “All that growling and barking really upset my first load of passengers, and it wasn’t Cerberus making the noise!”
Persephone and Athena looked at each other worriedly.
“Can’t he go any faster?” Athena whispered. Persephone shook her head. “No, and don’t ask.”
Unfortunately, Charon had overheard her. “The living are always in such a hurry. That’s why I prefer the dead. They’re in no rush at all.”
Eventually, their boat bumped into the far shore, and Athena and Persephone jumped off. “Thanks!” they called to Charon as he pushed off again to return to the other side.
A dank, gray mist made it hard to see what lay ahead as they rushed down a marshy path. But Athena could hear the boys yelling up ahead. She almost lost a sandal in the muck, and the strong smell of rotting grasses in stagnant water made her feel like gagging. As she had expected, the Underworld was a gloomy place.
But then the mist cleared, and they came upon fields and fields of tall stalks topped with pretty white flowers. “Asphodel,” Persephone informed her matter-of-factly. “It’s what the dead eat—the shades, that is.”
Interesting, thought Athena, inhaling the flowers’ sweet scent. She would’ve liked to have had time to look around—to maybe meet a few shades since this was her first time here. But she and Persephone were on a mission! At the far edge of the second field of asphodel they came upon the boys.
Heracles was waving his club around like he intended to use it. But on what or on whom? Hades was nowhere to be seen. And Cerberus lay some distance away, with his three heads on his paws and his snakelike tail curled around him. He seemed to have wisely decided to stay out of the boys’ argument.
“Can’t clobber what you can’t see, can you, Heracles?” Hades’ voice taunted, surprising both goddessgirls.
“He must be wearing his cap of invisibility,” Persephone whispered to Athena. “He told me about it once, but said it’s only meant to be used during times of war.”
“Close enough,” Athena whispered back as Heracles thrashed at the air with his club.
“Come on, fight fair! Show yourself!” he shouted.
“Stop it right now!” Athena yelled. Startled, Heracles spun toward her.
“You, too, Hades!” Persephone called out. “This is ridiculous!” Hearing her voice, Cerberus’s heads popped up and his snakelike tail began to wag joyfully. Leaping to his feet, he bounded over to Persephone and licked her face with all three of his tongues.
As Heracles lowered his club, Hades whipped the magical cap off of his head and became visible. Athena eyed the two of them sternly. “Let’s talk this out.”
“I tried that already,” said Heracles, glaring at Hades. “My club is mightier than talk. The best way to settle this is by fighting.”
Athena folded her arms across her chest. “No!” She pointed to the ground. “Sit! Sit!” She sounded just like her dad!
But it worked. The boys sat. So did Cerberus.
“Shake hands,” she said.
Cerberus held up a paw. “Not you,” said Persephone, ruffling his fur. She pointed to the boys. “Them.”
Looking a little sheepish now, Heracles reached out his hand to Hades. After some hesitation, Hades shook it.
“That’s better,” said Athena. Looking at Heracles, she said, “Did you explain to Hades why you wanted to borrow Cerberus?”
“Yes. Because I need to show him to my cousin.”
Hades frowned. “That’s hardly a good reason for taking him out of the Underworld. Cerberus is a working dog. He’s got a job to do here!”
Everyone glanced at Cerberus. The dog had rolled onto his back and was writhing back and forth in the grass as Persephone scratched his stomach. “I can see that,” Heracles said drily.
Athena couldn’t help smiling a little. “Did Heracles explain to you that borrowing Cerberus is his twelfth labor?” she asked Hades.
“Yes,” said Hades. “But I don’t like the idea of Cerberus being part of this, regardless of what some oracle said. What’s the point of all these labors anyway?”
Athena didn’t tell him it was something she’d been wondering about too. Zeus must have a reason—beyond his stated aim to see if Heracles truly belonged at MOA—but whatever it was, he certainly hadn’t let her in on it. And surely it was something important! “Look, you know that Heracles’ cousin got to decide what the labors would be, right?” Athena said to Hades. “They weren’t Heracles’ choosing.”
Hades nodded.
“Well,” said Athena. “Since this is the twelfth of the twelve labors, it must be the biggest, most difficult and impressive task he could think of.” She paused to let that sink in.
Hades didn’t say anything, but she could tell he was listening intently now.
“Eurystheus obviously sees Cerberus as one of most fearsome creatures ever, right up there with the Hydra, the Cretan bull, and the Geryon. Why, it’s practically an honor that Cerberus was included in the labors.” Athena didn’t mention that cleaning King Augeas’s stable had also been on the list of labors and hoped that Hades hadn’t heard, or at least wouldn’t remember, about that one.
Luckily her words seemed to sway him. “Really?” He looked at Heracles, who nodded. Hades went silent for a moment, as if deep in thought. Then he said to Heracles, “If I did let you borrow Cerberus—”
“Yes?” said Heracles eagerly.
“He’d have to agree to it. I mean, you’d have to take him without force.”
“Sure, okay,” said Heracles.
“And as a sign of good faith,” Hades continued, “you’d have to leave your club with me until you returned Cerberus to the Underworld.”
“Impossible!” Heracles roared. He hugged his club to his chest.
“Ye gods,” Athena said. “You’re as attached to that club as Eurystheus is to his vase!”
A wounded look came into Heracles’ eyes. “It’s not the same thing.”
Athena stared at him. “Isn’t it?”
Heracles looked down at his club. “Well, all right,” he said with a sigh. “If I have to.” Cradling it like a baby, he placed it in Hades’ arms.
“Whoa!” exclaimed Hades. He staggered forward, almost losing his balance as his arms dropped with their heavy load. “Not exactly light, is it?”
Heracles fixed him with a solemn gaze. “Do you promise to watch over my club and keep it safe?”
To his credit Hades didn’t laugh. “Cross my heart and hope to die,” he said soberly. Since Hades was immortal, this wasn’t much of an oath, but Heracles accepted it.
Still, Cerberus didn’t seem too eager to leave the Underworld, especially not with someone who had tried to stick horns on his heads. He snarled and snapped when Heracles tried to pick him up.
“Try these,” said Hades, pulling a handful of dog treats out of his pocket. With the help of the treats, Heracles was finally able to coax Cerberus into going with him. Persephone and Athena accompanied them onto Charon’s boat, but Hades stayed on the bank by the river to wait for Cerberus’s return. As they shoved off, Heracles stared longingly at his club, which Hades still held. “Maybe I could just—”
“Forget it,” Athena interrupted. “The club stays in the Underworld. Be glad Hades made the deal at all.”
Heracles pouted a little, but she held firm. When they reached the other side, he and Cerberus bounded off for his cousin’s house.
By the time the girls arrived back at MOA, they’d missed their morning classes as well as lunch. “See you later,” Athena called to Persephone. Then she hurried off to Revenge-ology.
Heracles eventually showed up toward the end of class, without Cerberus, and with his club. “Sorry I’m late,” he told Ms. Nemesis. She only nodded and asked him to take his seat. Athena wondered why she let him off so lightly, especially since he hadn’t been in class for a whole week, but then she realized that if all the students knew about Heracles’ labors by now, the teachers must know too. Probably Zeus had told them to excuse his absences.
Heracles gave Athena a thumbs-up before he sat down. Smiling big, he pointed to his club. They didn’t have a chance to talk, however, until class was over. “Thanks
for your help with Cerberus,” he said as they left the room together.
“Everything went okay?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Did Eurystheus hide in his vase?”
Heracles laughed. “He was more terrified of Cerberus than of all the other creatures put together! You should’ve seen how proud Hades looked when I told him. I think Cerberus was happy about it too.”
“So,” said Athena, “only one more labor to go. That ninth one.”
Heracles glanced at her uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other. “Yes.”
“It must really be hard since you put it off till the end,” she said as they drew near the lockers.
He sighed. “It is. Very hard. Very, very hard. Very very very—”
“Okay, I get it. But maybe I can help.”
Gesturing toward a bench across the way, Heracles said, “Could we sit for a sec?”
Athena nodded, and after they sat down, she leaned toward him. “I’ll do everything I can to help you succeed. You know that, right?”
Hope sparked in his eyes. “You promise?”
“Of course,” said Athena. “Just tell me what the task is.”
Not quite looking at her, he opened his mouth and then closed it and then tried again. Eventually, he shook his head. “I—I can’t say it. I’ve just got to do it.”
“Okay!” said Athena. What could possibly be harder than poop, bulls, killer birds, and everything else he’d already done, she wondered?
“You’ll help me?” he said with a strange, determined glint in his eye. Was it her imagination, or had he moved closer to her along the bench?
She nodded. “I said I would. So—”
“Thanks,” he interrupted. And before she could say another word, he closed his eyes, puckered his lips, and swooped toward her.
Startled, she turned her head. His kiss landed on her cheek. Athena jumped up from the bench. Her face felt like it was on fire. “Ye gods. W-why did you do that?” she demanded. But before he could say a word, she burst into tears. She wasn’t sure why. His kiss was just . . . so unexpected!
He jumped to his feet, looking upset. “Athena, I’m—”
Athena the Wise Page 9
