by Rick Riordan
“So anyway,” Hercules said, “what’s your quest?”
“Giants,” Jason said. “We’re off to Greece to stop them from awakening Gaea.”
“Giants,” Hercules muttered. “I hate those guys. Back when I was a demigod hero…ah, but never mind. So which god put you up to this—Dad? Athena? Maybe Aphrodite?” He raised an eyebrow at Piper. “As pretty as you are, I’m guessing that’s your mom.”
Piper should’ve been thinking faster, but Hercules had unsettled her. Too late, she realized the conversation had become a minefield.
“Hera sent us,” Jason said. “She brought us together to—”
“Hera.” Suddenly Hercules’s expression was like the cliffs of Gibraltar—a solid, unforgiving sheet of stone.
“We hate her too,” Piper said quickly. Gods, why hadn’t it occurred to her? Hera had been Hercules’s mortal enemy. “We didn’t want to help her. She didn’t give us much choice, but—”
“But here you are,” Hercules said, all friendliness gone. “Sorry, you two. I don’t care how worthy your quest is. I don’t do anything that Hera wants. Ever.”
Jason looked mystified. “But I thought you made up with her when you became a god.”
“Like I said,” Hercules grumbled, “don’t believe everything you hear. If you want to pass into the Mediterranean, I’m afraid I’ve got to give you an extra-hard quest.”
“But we’re like brothers,” Jason protested. “Hera’s messed with my life, too. I understand—”
“You understand nothing,” Hercules said coldly. “My first family: dead. My life wasted on ridiculous quests. My second wife dead, after being tricked into poisoning me and leaving me to a painful demise. And my compensation? I got to become a minor god. Immortal, so I can never forget my pain. Stuck here as a gatekeeper, a doorman, a…a butler for the Olympians. No, you don’t understand. The only god who understands me even a little bit is Dionysus. And at least he invented something useful. I have nothing to show except bad film adaptations of my life.”
Piper turned on the charmspeak. “That’s horribly sad, Lord Hercules. But please go easy on us. We’re not bad people.”
She thought she’d succeeded. Hercules hesitated. Then his jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “On the opposite side of this island, over those hills, you’ll find a river. In the middle of that river lives the old god Achelous.”
Hercules waited, as if this information should send them running in terror.
“And… ?” Jason asked.
“And,” Hercules said, “I want you to break off his other horn and bring it to me.”
“He has horns,” Jason said. “Wait…his other horn? What—?”
“Figure it out,” the god snapped. “Here, this should help.”
He said the word help like it meant hurt. From under his robes, Hercules took a small book and tossed it to Piper. She barely caught it.
The book’s glossy cover showed a photographic montage of Greek temples and smiling monsters. The Minotaur was giving the thumbs-up. The title read: The Hercules Guide to the Mare Nostrum.
“Bring me that horn by sundown,” Hercules said. “Just the two of you. No contacting your friends. Your ship will remain where it is. If you succeed, you may pass into the Mediterranean.”
“And if we don’t?” Piper asked, pretty sure she didn’t want the answer.
“Well, Achelous will kill you, obviously,” Hercules said. “And I will break your ship in half with my bare hands and send your friends to an early grave.”
Jason shifted his feet. “Couldn’t we just sing a funny song?”
“I’d get going,” Hercules said coldly. “Sundown. Or your friends are dead.”
T HE H ERCULES G UIDE TO THE M ARE N OSTRUM didn’t help much with snakes and mosquitoes.
“If this is a magic island,” Piper grumbled, “why couldn’t it be a nice magic island?”
They tromped up a hill and down into a heavily wooded valley, careful to avoid the black-and-red-striped snakes sunning themselves on the rocks. Mosquitoes swarmed over stagnant ponds in the lowest areas. The trees were mostly stunted olives, cypress, and pines. The chirring of the cicadas and the oppressive heat reminded Piper of the rez in Oklahoma during the summer.
So far they hadn’t found any river.
“We could fly,” Jason suggested again.
“We might miss something,” Piper said. “Besides, I’m not sure I want to drop in on an unfriendly god. What was his name? Etch-a-Sketch?”
“Achelous.” Jason was trying to read the guidebook while they walked, so he kept running into trees and stumbling over rocks. “Says here he’s a potamus.”
“He’s a hippopotamus?”
“No. Potamus. A river god. According to this, he’s the spirit of some river in Greece.”
“Since we’re not in Greece, let’s assume he’s moved,” Piper said. “Doesn’t bode well for how useful that book is going to be. Anything else?”
“Says Hercules fought him one time,” Jason offered.
“Hercules fought ninety-nine percent of everything in Ancient Greece.”
“Yeah. Let’s see. Pillars of Hercules…” Jason flipped a page. “Says here this island has no hotels, no restaurants, no transportation. Attractions: Hercules and two pillars. Huh, this is interesting. Supposedly the dollar sign—you know, the S with the two lines through it?—that came from the Spanish coat of arms, which showed the Pillars of Hercules with a banner curling between them.”
Great, Piper thought. Jason finally gets along with Annabeth, and her brainiac tendencies start rubbing off on him.
“Anything helpful?” she asked.
“Wait. Here’s a tiny reference to Achelous: This river god fought Hercules for the hand of the beautiful Deianira. During the struggle, Hercules broke off one of the river god’s horns, which became the first cornucopia.”
“Corn of what?”
“It’s that Thanksgiving decoration,” Jason said. “The horn with all the goodies spilling out? We have some in the mess hall at Camp Jupiter. I didn’t know the original one was actually some guy’s horn.”
“And we’re supposed to take his other one,” Piper said. “I’m guessing that won’t be so easy. Who was Deianira?”
“Hercules married her,” Jason said. “I think…doesn’t say here. But I think something bad happened to her.”
Piper remembered what Hercules had told them: his first family dead, his second wife dead after being tricked into poisoning him. She was liking this challenge less and less.
They trudged across a ridge between two hills, trying to stay in the shade; but Piper was already soaked with perspiration. The mosquitoes left welts on her ankles, arms, and neck, so she probably looked like a smallpox victim.
She’d finally gotten some alone time with Jason, and this was how they spent it.
She was irritated with Jason for having mentioned Hera, but she knew she shouldn’t blame him. Maybe she was just irritated with him in general. Ever since Camp Jupiter, she’d been carrying around a lot of worry and resentment.
She wondered what Hercules had wanted to tell her about the sons of Zeus. They couldn’t be trusted? They were under too much pressure? Piper tried to imagine Jason becoming a god when he died, standing on some beach guarding the gates to an ocean long after Piper and everyone else he knew in his mortal life were dead.
She wondered if Hercules had ever been as positive as Jason—more upbeat, confident, quick to comfort. It was hard to picture.
As they hiked down into the next valley, Piper wondered what was happening back on the Argo II. She was tempted to send an Iris-message, but Hercules had warned them not to contact their friends. She hoped Annabeth could guess what was going on and didn’t try to send another party ashore. Piper wasn’t sure what Hercules would do if he were bothered further. She imagined Coach Hedge getting impatient and aiming a ballista at the man in purple, or eidolons possessing the crew and forcing them to commit suicide-by-He
rcules.
Piper shuddered. She didn’t know what time it was, but the sun was already starting to sink. How had the day passed so quickly? She would have welcomed sundown for the cooler temperatures, except it was also their deadline. A cool night breeze wouldn’t mean much if they were dead. Besides, tomorrow was July 1, the Kalends of July. If their information was correct, it would be Nico di Angelo’s last day of life, and the day Rome was destroyed.
“Stop,” Jason said.
Piper wasn’t sure what was wrong. Then she realized she could hear running water up ahead. They crept through the trees and found themselves on the bank of a river. It was maybe forty feet wide but only a few inches deep, a silver sheet of water racing over a smooth bed of stones. A few yards downstream, the rapids plunged into a dark blue swimming hole.
Something about the river bothered her. The cicadas in the trees had gone quiet. No birds were chirping. It was as if the water was giving a lecture and would only allow its own voice.
But the more Piper listened, the more inviting the river seemed. She wanted to take a drink. Maybe she should take off her shoes. Her feet could really use a soak. And that swimming hole…it would be so nice to jump in with Jason and relax in the shade of the trees, floating in the nice cool water. So romantic.
Piper shook herself. These thoughts weren’t hers. Something was wrong. It almost felt like the river was charmspeaking.
Jason sat on a rock and started taking off his shoes. He grinned at the swimming hole like he couldn’t wait to get in.
“Cut it out!” Piper yelled at the river.
Jason looked startled. “Cut what out?”
“Not you,” Piper said. “Him.”
She felt silly pointing at the water, but she was certain it was working some sort of magic, swaying their feelings.
Just when she thought she had lost it and Jason would tell her so, the river spoke: Forgive me. Singing is one of the few pleasures I have left.
A figure emerged from the swimming hole as if rising on an elevator.
Piper’s shoulders tensed. It was the creature she’d seen in her knife blade, the bull with the human face. His skin was as blue as the water. His hooves levitated on the river’s surface. At the top of his bovine neck was the head of a man with short curly black hair, a beard done in ringlets Ancient Greek style, deep, mournful eyes behind bifocal glasses, and a mouth that seemed set in a permanent pout. Sprouting from the left side of his head was a single bull’s horn—a curved black-and-white one like warriors might turn into drinking cups. The imbalance made his head tilt to the left, so that he looked like he was trying to get water out of his ear.
“Hello,” he said sadly. “Come to kill me, I suppose.”
Jason put his shoes back on and stood slowly. “Um, well—”
“No!” Piper intervened. “I’m sorry. This is embarrassing. We didn’t want to bother you, but Hercules sent us.”
“Hercules!” The bull-man sighed. His hooves pawed the water as if ready to charge. “To me, he’ll always be Heracles. That’s his Greek name, you know: the glory of Hera.”
“Funny name,” Jason said. “Since he hates her.”
“Indeed,” the bull-man said. “Perhaps that’s why he didn’t protest when the Romans renamed him Hercules. Of course, that’s the name most people know him by…his brand, if you will. Hercules is nothing if not image-conscious.”
The bull-man spoke with bitterness but familiarity, as if Hercules was an old friend who had lost his way.
“You’re Achelous?” Piper asked.
The bull-man bent his front legs and lowered his head in a bow, which Piper found both sweet and a little sad. “At your service. River god extraordinaire. Once the spirit of the mightiest river in Greece. Now sentenced to dwell here, on the opposite side of the island from my old enemy. Oh, the gods are cruel! But whether they put us so close together to punish me or Hercules, I have never been sure.”
Piper wasn’t sure what he meant, but the background noise of the river was invading her mind again—reminding her how hot and thirsty she felt, how pleasant a nice swim would be. She tried to focus.
“I’m Piper,” she said. “This is Jason. We don’t want to fight. It’s just that Heracles—Hercules—whoever he is, got mad at us and sent us here.”
She explained about their quest to the ancient lands to stop the giants from waking Gaea. She described how their team of Greeks and Romans had come together, and how Hercules had thrown a temper tantrum when he found out Hera was behind it.
Achelous kept tipping his head to the left, so Piper wasn’t sure if he was dozing off or dealing with one-horn fatigue.
When she was done, Achelous regarded her as if she were developing a regrettable skin rash. “Ah, my dear…the legends are true, you know. The spirits, the water cannibals.”
Piper had to fight back a whimper. She hadn’t told Achelous anything about that. “H-how—?”
“River gods know many things,” he said. “Alas, you are focusing on the wrong story. If you had made it to Rome, the story of the flood would have served you better.”
“Piper?” Jason asked. “What’s he talking about?”
Her thoughts were suddenly as jumbled as kaleidoscope glass. The story of the flood…If you had made it to Rome.
“I—I’m not sure,” she said, though the mention of a flood story rang a distant bell. “Achelous, I don’t understand—”
“No, you don’t,” the river god sympathized. “Poor thing. Another girl stuck with a son of Zeus.”
“Wait a minute,” Jason said. “It’s Jupiter, actually. And how does that make her a poor thing?”
Achelous ignored him. “My girl, do you know the cause of my fight with Hercules?”
“It was over a woman,” Piper recalled. “Deianira?”
“Yes.” Achelous heaved a sigh. “And do you know what happened to her?”
“Uh…” Piper glanced at Jason.
He took out his guidebook and began flipping through pages. “It doesn’t really—”
Achelous snorted indignantly. “What is that?”
Jason blinked. “Just…The Hercules Guide to Mare Nostrum. He gave us the guidebook so—”
“That is not a book,” Achelous insisted. “He gave you that just to get under my skin, didn’t he? He knows I hate those things.”
“You hate…books?” Piper asked.
“Bah!” Achelous’s face flushed, turning his blue skin eggplant purple. “That’s not a book.”
He pawed the water. A scroll shot from the river like a miniature rocket and landed in front of him. He nudged it open with his hooves. The weathered yellow parchment unfurled, covered with faded Latin script and elaborate hand-drawn pictures.
“This is a book!” Achelous said. “Oh, the smell of sheepskin! The elegant feel of the scroll unrolling beneath my hooves. You simply can’t duplicate it in something like that.”
He nodded indignantly at the guidebook in Jason’s hand. “You young folks today and your newfangled gadgets. Bound pages. Little compact squares of text that are not hoof-friendly. That’s a bound book, a b-book, if you must. But it’s not a traditional book. It’ll never replace the good old-fashioned scroll!”
“Um, I’ll just put this away now.” Jason slipped the guidebook in his back pocket the way he might holster a dangerous weapon.
Achelous seemed to calm down a little, which was a relief to Piper. She didn’t need to get run over by a one-horned bull with a scroll obsession.
“Now,” Achelous said, tapping a picture on his scroll. “This is Deianira.”
Piper knelt down to look. The hand-painted portrait was small, but she could tell the woman had been very beautiful, with long dark hair, dark eyes, and a playful smile that probably drove guys crazy.
“Princess of Calydon,” the river god said mournfully. “She was promised to me, until Hercules butted in. He insisted on combat.”
“And he broke off your horn?” Jason guessed.
“A man-headed bull,” Piper said, “who lives in a river.”
“Exactly,” Achelous agreed. “It seems impossible she would refuse, eh? Instead, she went off with Hercules. She picked the handsome, flashy hero over the good, faithful husband who would have treated her well. What happened next? Well, she should have known. Hercules was much too wrapped up in his own problems to be a good husband. He had already murdered one wife, you know. Hera cursed him, so he flew into a rage and killed his entire family. Horrible business. That’s why he had to do those twelve labors as penance.”
Piper felt appalled. “Wait…Hera made him crazy, and Hercules had to do the penance?”
Achelous shrugged. “The Olympians never seem to pay for their crimes. And Hera has always hated the sons of Zeus…or Jupiter.” He glanced distrustfully at Jason. “At any rate, my poor Deianira had a tragic end. She became jealous of Hercules’s many affairs. He gallivanted all over the world, you see, just like his father Zeus, flirting with every woman he met. Finally Deianira got so desperate she listened to bad advice. A crafty centaur named Nessus told her that if she wanted Hercules to be faithful forever, she should spread some centaur blood on the inside of Hercules’s favorite shirt. Unfortunately Nessus was lying because he wanted revenge on Hercules. Deianira followed his instructions, but instead of making Hercules a faithful husband—”
“Centaur blood is like acid,” Jason said.
“Yes,” Achelous said. “Hercules died a painful death. When Deianira realized what she’d done, she…” The river god drew a line across his neck.
“That’s awful,” Piper said.
“And the moral, my dear?” Achelous said. “Beware the sons of Zeus.”
Piper couldn’t look at her boyfriend. She wasn’t sure she could mask the uneasiness in her eyes. Jason would never be like Hercules. But the story played into all her fears. Hera had manipulated their relationship, just as she had manipulated Hercules. Piper wanted to believe that Jason could never go into a murderous frenzy like Hercules had. Then again, only four days ago he had been controlled by an eidolon and almost killed Percy Jackson.
