The Mark of Athena

Page 16

“What does Blackjack want?” she asked.
“Donuts,” Percy said. “Always donuts. He can carry all three of us if—”
Suddenly the air turned cold. Piper’s ears popped. About fifty yards away, a miniature cyclone three stories tall tore across the tops of the sunflowers like a scene from The Wizard of Oz. It touched down on the road next to Jason and took the form of a horse—a misty steed with lightning flickering through its body.
“Tempest,” Jason said, grinning broadly. “Long time, my friend.”
The storm spirit reared and whinnied. Blackjack backed up skittishly.
“Easy, boy,” Percy said. “He’s a friend too.” He gave Jason an impressed look. “Nice ride, Grace.”
Jason shrugged. “I made friends with him during our fight at the Wolf House. He’s a free spirit, literally, but once in a while he agrees to help me.”
Percy and Jason climbed on their respective horses. Piper had never been comfortable with Tempest. Riding full gallop on a beast that could vaporize at any moment made her a bit nervous. Nevertheless, she accepted Jason’s hand and climbed on.
Tempest raced down the road with Blackjack soaring overhead. Fortunately, they didn’t pass any cars, or they might have caused a wreck. In no time, they arrived at the thirty-two-mile marker, which looked exactly as Piper had seen it in her vision.
Blackjack landed. Both horses pawed the asphalt. Neither looked pleased to have stopped so suddenly, just when they’d found their stride.
Blackjack whinnied.
“You’re right,” Percy said. “No sign of the wine dude.”
“I beg your pardon?” said a voice from the fields.
Tempest turned so quickly, Piper almost fell off.
The wheat parted, and the man from her vision stepped into view. He wore a wide-brimmed hat wreathed in grapevines, a purple short-sleeved shirt, khaki shorts, and Birkenstocks with white socks. He looked maybe thirty, with a slight potbelly, like a frat boy who hadn’t yet realized college was over.
“Did someone just call me the wine dude?” he asked in a lazy drawl. “It’s Bacchus, please. Or Mr. Bacchus. Or Lord Bacchus. Or, sometimes, Oh-My-Gods-Please-Don’t-Kill-Me, Lord Bacchus.”
Percy urged Blackjack forward, though the pegasus didn’t seem happy about it.
“You look different,” Percy told the god. “Skinnier. Your hair is longer. And your shirt isn’t so loud.”
The wine god squinted up at him. “What in blazes are you talking about? Who are you, and where is Ceres?”
“Uh…what series?”
“I think he means Ceres,” Jason said. “The goddess of agriculture. You’d call her Demeter.” He nodded respectfully to the god. “Lord Bacchus, do you remember me? I helped you with that missing leopard in Sonoma.”
Bacchus scratched his stubbly chin. “Ah…yes. John Green.”
“Jason Grace.”
“Whatever,” the god said. “Did Ceres send you, then?”
“No, Lord Bacchus,” Jason said. “Were you expecting to meet her here?”
The god snorted. “Well, I didn’t come to Kansas to party, my boy. Ceres asked me here for a council of war. What with Gaea rising, the crops are withering. Droughts are spreading. The karpoi are in revolt. Even my grapes aren’t safe. Ceres wanted a united front in the plant war.”
“The plant war,” Percy said. “You’re going to arm all the little grapes with tiny assault rifles?”
The god narrowed his eyes. “Have we met?”
“At Camp Half-Blood,” Percy said, “I know you as Mr. D—Dionysus.”
“Agh!” Bacchus winced and pressed his hands to his temples. For a moment, his image flickered. Piper saw a different person—fatter, dumpier, in a much louder, leopard-patterned shirt. Then Bacchus returned to being Bacchus. “Stop that!” he demanded. “Stop thinking about me in Greek!”
Percy blinked. “Uh, but—”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to stay focused? Splitting headaches all the time! I never know what I’m doing or where I’m going! Constantly grumpy!”
“That sounds pretty normal for you,” Percy said.
The god’s nostrils flared. One of the grape leaves on his hat burst into flame. “If we know each other from that other camp, it’s a wonder I haven’t already turned you into a dolphin.”
“It was discussed,” Percy assured him. “I think you were just too lazy to do it.”
Piper had been watching with horrified fascination, the way she might watch a car wreck in progress. Now she realized Percy was not making things better, and Annabeth wasn’t around to rein him in. Piper figured her friend would never forgive her if she brought Percy back transformed into a sea mammal.
“Lord Bacchus!” she interrupted, slipping off Tempest’s back.
“Piper, careful,” Jason said.
She shot him a warning glance: I’ve got this.
“Sorry to trouble you, my lord,” she told the god, “but actually we came here to get your advice. Please, we need your wisdom.”
She used her most agreeable tone, pouring respect into her charmspeak.
The god frowned, but the purple glow faded in his eyes. “You’re well-spoken, girl. Advice, eh? Very well. I would avoid karaoke. Really, theme parties in general are out. In these austere times, people are looking for a simple, low-key affair, with locally produced organic snacks and—”
“Not about parties,” Piper interrupted. “Although that’s incredibly useful advice, Lord Bacchus. We were hoping you’d help us on our quest.”
She explained about the Argo II and their voyage to stop the giants from awakening Gaea. She told him what Nemesis had said: that in six days, Rome would be destroyed. She described the vision reflected in her knife, where Bacchus offered her a silver goblet.
“Silver goblet?” The god didn’t sound very excited. He grabbed a Diet Pepsi from nowhere and popped the top of the can.
“You drink Diet Coke,” Percy said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bacchus snapped. “As to this vision of the goblet, young lady, I have nothing for you to drink unless you want a Pepsi. Jupiter has put me under strict orders to avoid giving wine to minors. Bothersome, but there you have it. As for the giants, I know them well. I fought in the first Giant War, you know.”
“You can fight?” Percy asked.
Piper wished he hadn’t sounded so incredulous.
Dionysus snarled. His Diet Pepsi transformed into a five-foot staff wreathed in ivy, topped with a pinecone.
“A thyrsus!” Piper said, hoping to distract the god before he whacked Percy on the head. She’d seen weapons like that before in the hands of crazy nymphs, and wasn’t thrilled to see one again, but she tried to sound impressed. “Oh, what a mighty weapon!”
“Indeed,” Bacchus agreed. “I’m glad someone in your group is smart. The pinecone is a fearsome tool of destruction! I was a demigod myself in the first Giant War, you know. The son of Jupiter!”
Jason flinched. Probably he wasn’t thrilled to be reminded that the Wine Dude was technically his big brother.
Bacchus swung his staff through the air, though his potbelly almost threw him off balance. “Of course that was long before I invented wine and became an immortal. I fought side by side with the gods and some other demigod…Harry Cleese, I think.”
“Heracles?” Piper suggested politely.
“Whatever,” Bacchus said. “Anyway, I killed the giant Ephialtes and his brother Otis. Horrible boors, those two. Pinecone in the face for both of them!”
Piper held her breath. All at once, several ideas came together in her head—the visions in the knife, the lines of the prophecy they’d been discussing the night before. She felt like she used to when she was scuba diving with her father, and he would wipe her mask for her underwater. Suddenly, everything was clearer.
“Lord Bacchus,” she said, trying to control the nervousness in her voice. “Those two giants, Ephialtes and Otis…would they happen to be twins?”
“Hmm?” The god seemed distracted by his thyrsus-swinging, but he nodded. “Yes, twins. That’s right.”
Piper turned to Jason. She could tell he was following her thoughts: Twins snuff out the angel’s breath.
In the blade of Katoptris, she’d seen two giants in yellow robes, lifting a jar from a deep pit.
“That’s why we’re here,” Piper told the god. “You’re part of our quest!”
Bacchus frowned. “I’m sorry, my girl. I’m not a demigod anymore. I don’t do quests.”
“But giants can only be killed by heroes and gods working together,” she insisted. “You’re a god now, and the two giants we have to fight are Ephialtes and Otis. I think…I think they’re waiting for us in Rome. They’re going to destroy the city somehow. The silver goblet I saw in my vision—maybe it’s meant as a symbol for your help. You have to help us kill the giants!”
Bacchus glared at her, and Piper realized she’d chosen her words poorly.
“My girl,” he said coldly, “I don’t have to do anything. Besides, I only help those who give me proper tribute, which no one has managed to do in many, many centuries.”
Blackjack whinnied uneasily.
Piper couldn’t blame him. She didn’t like the sound of tribute. She remembered the maenads, the crazed followers of Bacchus, who would tear up nonbelievers with their bare hands. And that was when they were in a good mood.
Percy voiced the question that she was too scared to ask. “What kind of tribute?”
Bacchus waved his hand dismissively. “Nothing you could handle, insolent Greek. But I will give you some free advice, since this girl does have some manners. Seek out Gaea’s son, Phorcys. He always hated his mother, not that I can blame him. He didn’t have much use for his siblings the twins, either. You’ll find him in the city they named after that heroine—Atalanta.”
Piper hesitated. “You mean Atlanta?”
“That’s the one.”
“But this Phorcys,” Jason said. “Is he a giant? A Titan?”
Bacchus laughed. “Neither. Seek out the salt water.”
“Salt water…” Percy said. “In Atlanta?”
“Yes,” Bacchus said. “Are you hard of hearing? If anyone can give you insight on Gaea and the twins, it’s Phorcys. Just watch out for him.”
“What do you mean?” Jason asked.
The god glanced at the sun, which had climbed almost to high noon. “It’s unlike Ceres to be late, unless she sensed something dangerous in this area. Or…”
The god’s face suddenly went slack. “Or a trap. Well, I must be going! And if I were you, I’d do the same!”
“Lord Bacchus, wait!” Jason protested.
The god shimmered and disappeared with a sound like a soda-can top being popped.