The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo #1)(51)

“Again, I do not know.” Saying this so often offended my divine sensibilities. I decided that when I returned to Olympus, I would have to gargle the bad taste out of my mouth with Tabasco-flavored nectar. “But it seems these men have been plotting against us for a very long time. They funded Luke Castellan’s war. They supplied aid to Camp Jupiter when the Romans attacked Camp Half-Blood. And despite those two wars, the Triumvirate is still out there—still plotting. What if this company is the root cause of…well, everything?”

Chiron looked at me as if I were digging his grave. “That is a very troubling thought. Could three men be so powerful?”

I spread my hands. “You’ve lived long enough to know, my friend. Gods, monsters, Titans…these are always dangerous. But the greatest threat to demigods has always been other demigods. Whoever this Triumvirate is, we must stop them before they take control of the Oracles.”

Rachel sat up straight. “Excuse me? Oracles plural?”

“Ah…didn’t I tell you about them when I was a god?”

Her eyes regained some of their dark green intensity. I feared she was envisioning ways she might inflict pain upon me with her art supplies.

“No,” she said levelly, “you did not tell me about them.”

“Oh…well, my mortal memory has been faulty, you see. I had to read some books in order to—”

“Oracles,” she repeated. “Plural.”

I took a deep breath. I wanted to assure her that those other Oracles didn’t mean a thing to me! Rachel was special! Unfortunately, I doubted she was in a place where she could hear that right now. I decided it was best to speak plainly.

“In ancient times,” I said, “there were many Oracles. Of course Delphi was the most famous, but there were four others of comparable power.”

Chiron shook his head. “But those were destroyed ages ago.”

“So I thought,” I agreed. “Now I am not so sure. I believe Triumvirate Holdings wants to control all the ancient Oracles. And I believe the most ancient Oracle of all, the Grove of Dodona, is right here at Camp Half-Blood.”





Up in my business

Always burning Oracles

Romans gonna hate

I WAS A DRAMATIC GOD.

I thought my last statement was a great line. I expected gasps, perhaps some organ music in the background. Maybe the lights would go out just before I could say more. Moments later, I would be found dead with a knife in my back. That would be exciting!

Wait. I’m mortal. Murder would kill me. Never mind.

At any rate, none of that happened. My three companions just stared at me.

“Four other Oracles,” Rachel said. “You mean you have four other Pythias—”

“No, my dear. There is only one Pythia—you. Delphi is absolutely unique.”

Rachel still looked like she wanted to jam a number ten bristle paintbrush up my nose. “So these other four non-unique Oracles…”

“Well, one was the Sybil of Cumae.” I wiped the sweat off my palms. (Why did mortal palms sweat?) “You know, she wrote the Sibylline Books—those prophecies that Ella the harpy memorized.”

Meg looked back and forth between us. “A harpy…like those chicken ladies who clean up after lunch?”

Chiron smiled. “Ella is a very special harpy, Meg. Years ago, she somehow came across a copy of the prophetic books, which we thought were burned before the Fall of Rome. Right now, our friends at Camp Jupiter are trying to reconstruct them based on Ella’s recollections.”

Rachel crossed her arms. “And the other three Oracles? I’m sure none of them was a beautiful young priestess whom you praised for her…what was it?…‘scintillating conversation’?”

“Ah…” I wasn’t sure why, but it felt like my acne was turning into live insects and crawling across my face. “Well, according to my extensive research—”

“Some books he flipped through last night,” Meg clarified.

“Ahem! There was an Oracle at Erythaea, and another at the Cave of Trophonius.”

“Goodness,” Chiron said. “I’d forgotten about those two.”

I shrugged. I remembered almost nothing about them either. They had been some of my less successful prophetic franchises.

“And the fifth,” I said, “was the Grove of Dodona.”

“A grove,” Meg said. “Like trees.”

“Yes, Meg, like trees. Groves are typically composed of trees, rather than, say, Fudgsicles. Dodona was a stand of sacred oaks planted by the Mother Goddess in the first days of the world. They were ancient even when the Olympians were born.”

“The Mother Goddess?” Rachel shivered in her patina jacket. “Please tell me you don’t mean Gaea.”

“No, thankfully. I mean Rhea, Queen of the Titans, the mother of the first generation of Olympian gods. Her sacred trees could actually speak. Sometimes they issued prophecies.”

“The voices in the woods,” Meg guessed.

“Exactly. I believe the Grove of Dodona has regrown itself here in the woods at camp. In my dreams, I saw a crowned woman imploring me to find her Oracle. I believe it was Rhea, though I still don’t understand why she was wearing a peace symbol or using the term dig it.”