The Mark of Athena

Page 30

“Uh…and that is?” Annabeth ventured.
“Why, have tea and chat, obviously. Come with me!”
Aphrodite knew how to do tea.
She led them to the central pavilion in the gardens—a white-pillared gazebo, where a table was set with silverware, china cups, and of course a steaming pot of tea, the fragrance shifting as easily as Aphrodite’s appearance—sometimes cinnamon, or jasmine, or mint. There were plates of scones, cookies, and muffins, fresh butter and jam—all of which, Annabeth figured, were incredibly fattening; unless, of course, you were the immortal goddess of love.
Aphrodite sat—or held court, rather—in a wicker peacock chair. She poured tea and served cakes without getting a speck on her clothes, her posture always perfect, her smile dazzling.
Annabeth hated her more and more the longer they sat.
“Oh, my sweet girls,” the goddess said. “I do love Charleston! The weddings I’ve attended in this gazebo—they bring tears to my eyes. And the elegant balls in the days of the Old South. Ah, they were lovely. Many of these mansions still have statues of me in their gardens, though they called me Venus.”
“Which are you?” Annabeth asked. “Venus or Aphrodite?”
The goddess sipped her tea. Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Annabeth Chase, you’ve grown into quite a beautiful young lady. You really should do something with your hair, though. And, Hazel Levesque, your clothes—”
“My clothes?” Hazel looked down at her rumpled denim, not self-consciously, but baffled, as if she couldn’t imagine what was wrong with them.
“Mother!” Piper said. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“Well, I don’t see why,” the goddess said. “Just because you don’t appreciate my fashion tips, Piper, doesn’t mean the others won’t. I could do a quick makeover for Annabeth and Hazel, perhaps silk ball gowns like mine—”
“Mother!”
“Fine,” Aphrodite sighed. “To answer your question, Annabeth, I am both Aphrodite and Venus. Unlike many of my fellow Olympians, I changed hardly at all from one age to the other. In fact, I like to think I haven’t aged a bit!” Her fingers fluttered around her face appreciatively. “Love is love, after all, whether you’re Greek or Roman. This civil war won’t affect me as much as it will the others.”
Wonderful, Annabeth thought. Her own mother, the most levelheaded Olympian, was reduced to a raving, vicious scatterbrain in a subway station. And of all the gods who might help them, the only ones not affected by the Greek–Roman schism seemed to be Aphrodite, Nemesis, and Dionysus. Love, revenge, wine. Very helpful.
Hazel nibbled a sugar cookie. “We’re not in a war yet, my lady.”
“Oh, dear Hazel.” Aphrodite folded her fan. “Such optimism, yet you have heartrending days ahead of you. Of course war is coming. Love and war always go together. They are the peaks of human emotion! Evil and good, beauty and ugliness.”
She smiled at Annabeth as if she knew what Annabeth had been thinking earlier about the Old South.
Hazel set down her sugar cookie. She had a few crumbs on her chin, and Annabeth liked the fact that Hazel either didn’t know or didn’t care.
“What do you mean,” Hazel asked, “heartrending days?”
The goddess laughed as if Hazel were a cute puppy. “Well, Annabeth could give you some idea. I once promised to make her love life interesting. And didn’t I?”
Annabeth almost snapped the handle off her teacup. For years, her heart had been torn. First there was Luke Castellan, her first crush, who had seen her only as a little sister; then he’d turned evil and decided he liked her—right before he died. Next came Percy, who was infuriating but sweet, yet he had seemed to be falling for another girl named Rachel, and then he almost died, several times. Finally Annabeth had gotten Percy to herself, only to have him vanish for six months and lose his memory.
“Interesting,” Annabeth said, “is a mild way of putting it.”
“Well, I can’t take credit for all your troubles,” the goddess said. “But I do love twists and turns in a love story. Oh, all of you are such excellent stories—I mean, girls. You do me proud!”
“Mother,” Piper said, “is there a reason you’re here?”
“Hmm? Oh, you mean besides the tea? I often come here. I love the view, the food, the atmosphere—you can just smell the romance and heartbreak in the air, can’t you? Centuries of it.”
She pointed to a nearby mansion. “Do you see that rooftop balcony? We had a party there the night the American Civil War began. The shelling of Fort Sumter.”
“That’s it,” Annabeth remembered. “The island in the harbor. That’s where the first fighting of the Civil War happened. The Confederates shelled the Union troops and took the fort.”
“Oh, such a party!” Aphrodite said. “A string quartet, and all the men in their elegant new officers’ uniforms. The women’s dresses—you should’ve seen them! I danced with Ares—or was he Mars? I’m afraid I was a little giddy. And the beautiful bursts of light across the harbor, the roar of the cannons giving the men an excuse to put their arms around their frightened sweethearts!”
Annabeth’s tea was cold. She hadn’t eaten anything, but she felt like she wanted to throw up. “You’re talking about the beginning of the bloodiest war in U.S. history. Over six hundred thousand people died—more Americans than in World War One and World War Two combined.”
“And the refreshments!” Aphrodite continued. “Ah, they were divine. General Beauregard himself made an appearance. He was such a scoundrel. He was on his second wife, then, but you should have seen the way he looked at Lisbeth Cooper—”
“Mother!” Piper tossed her scone to the pigeons.
“Yes, sorry,” the goddess said. “To make the story short, I’m here to help you, girls. I doubt you’ll be seeing Hera much. Your little quest has hardly made her welcome in the throne room. And the other gods are rather indisposed, as you know, torn between their Roman and Greek sides. Some more than others.” Aphrodite fixed her gaze on Annabeth. “I suppose you’ve told your friends about your falling-out with your mother?”
Heat rose to Annabeth’s cheeks. Hazel and Piper looked at her curiously.
“Falling-out?” Hazel asked.
“An argument,” Annabeth said. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing!” the goddess said. “Well, I don’t know about that. Athena was the most Greek of all goddesses. The patron of Athens, after all. When the Romans took over…oh, they adopted Athena after a fashion. She became Minerva, the goddess of crafts and cleverness. But the Romans had other war gods who were more to their taste, more reliably Roman—like Bellona—”
“Reyna’s mom,” Piper muttered.
“Yes, indeed,” the goddess agreed. “I had a lovely talk with Reyna a while back, right here in the park. And the Romans had Mars, of course. And later, there was Mithras—not even properly Greek or Roman, but the legionnaires were crazy about his cult. I always found him crass and terribly nouveau dieu, personally. At any rate, the Romans quite sidelined poor Athena. They took away most of her military importance. The Greeks never forgave the Romans for that insult. Neither did Athena.”
Annabeth’s ears buzzed.
“The Mark of Athena,” she said. “It leads to a statue, doesn’t it? It leads to…to the statue.”
Aphrodite smiled. “You are clever, like your mother. Understand, though, your siblings, the children of Athena, have been searching for centuries. None has succeeded in recovering the statue. In the meantime, they’ve been keeping alive the Greek feud with the Romans. Every civil war…so much bloodshed and heartbreak…has been orchestrated largely by Athena’s children.”
“That’s…” Annabeth wanted to say impossible, but she remembered Athena’s bitter words in Grand Central Station, the burning hatred in her eyes.
“Romantic?” Aphrodite offered. “Yes, I supposed it is.”
“But…” Annabeth tried to clear the fog from her brain. “The Mark of Athena, how does it work? Is it a series of clues, or a trail set by Athena—”
“Hmm.” Aphrodite looked politely bored. “I couldn’t say. I don’t believe Athena created the Mark consciously. If she knew where her statue was, she’d simply tell you where to find it. No…I’d guess the Mark is more like a spiritual trail of bread crumbs. It’s a connection between the statue and the children of the goddess. The statue wants to be found, you see, but it can only be freed by the most worthy.”
“And for thousands of years,” Annabeth said, “no one has managed.”
“Hold on,” Piper said. “What statue are we talking about?”
The goddess laughed. “Oh, I’m sure Annabeth can fill you in. At any rate, the clue you need is close by: a map of sorts, left by the children of Athena in 1861—a remembrance that will start you on your path, once you reach Rome. But as you said, Annabeth Chase, no one has ever succeeded in following the Mark of Athena to its end. There you will face your worst fear—the fear of every child of Athena. And even if you survive, how will you use your reward? For war or for peace?”
Annabeth was glad for the tablecloth, because under the table, her legs were trembling. “This map,” she said, “where is it?”
“Guys!” Hazel pointed to the sky.
Circling above the palmetto trees were two large eagles. Higher up, descending rapidly, was a flying chariot pulled by pegasi. Apparently Leo’s diversion with Buford the end table hadn’t worked—at least not for long.
Aphrodite spread butter on a muffin as if she had all the time in the world. “Oh, the map is at Fort Sumter, of course.” She pointed her butter knife toward the island across the harbor. “It looks like the Romans have arrived to cut you off. I’d get back to your ship in a hurry if I were you. Would you care for some tea cakes to go?”
Chapter 19
They didn’t make it to the ship.
Halfway across the dock, three giant eagles descended in front of them. Each deposited a Roman commando in purple and denim with glittering gold armor, sword, and shield. The eagles flew away, and the Roman in the middle, who was scrawnier than the others, raised his visor.
“Surrender to Rome!” Octavian shrieked.
Hazel drew her cavalry sword and grumbled, “Fat chance, Octavian.”
Annabeth cursed under her breath. By himself, the skinny augur wouldn’t have bothered her, but the two other guys looked like seasoned warriors—a lot bigger and stronger than Annabeth wanted to deal with, especially since Piper and she were armed only with daggers.
Piper raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Octavian, what happened at camp was a setup. We can explain.”
“Can’t hear you!” Octavian yelled. “Wax in our ears—standard procedure when battling evil sirens. Now, throw down your weapons and turn around slowly so I can bind your hands.”