The Blood of Olympus (The Heroes of Olympus, #5)(111)

He noticed all of these things, and a dozen other melees in progress, but most of his attention was fixed on the enemy before him – Porphyrion, the giant king – and on the god who fought by Jason’s side: Zeus.

My father, Jason thought in disbelief.

Porphyrion didn’t give him much chance to savour the moment. The giant used his spear in a whirlwind of swipes, jabs and slashes. It was all Jason could do to stay alive.

Still … Zeus’s presence felt reassuringly familiar. Even though Jason had never met his father, he was reminded of all his happiest moments – his birthday picnic with Piper in Rome; the day Lupa showed him Camp Jupiter for the first time; his games of hide-and-seek with Thalia in their apartment when he was tiny; an afternoon on the beach when his mother had picked him up, kissed him and showed him an oncoming storm. Never be afraid of a thunderstorm, Jason. That is your father, letting you know he loves you.

Zeus smelled of rain and clean wind. He made the air burn with energy. Up close, his lightning bolt appeared as a bronze rod a metre long, pointed on both ends, with blades of energy extending from both sides to form a javelin of white electricity. He slashed across the giant’s path and Porphyrion collapsed into his makeshift throne, which crumbled under the giant’s weight.

‘No throne for you,’ Zeus growled. ‘Not here. Not ever.’

‘You cannot stop us!’ the giant yelled. ‘It is done! The Earth Mother is awake!’

In answer, Zeus blasted the throne to rubble. The giant king flew backwards out of the temple and Jason ran after him, his father at his heels.

They backed Porphyrion to the edge of the cliffs, the whole of modern Athens spread out below. Lightning had melted all the weapons in the giant’s hair. Molten Celestial bronze dripped through his dreadlocks like caramel. His skin steamed and blistered.

Porphyrion snarled and raised his spear. ‘Your cause is lost, Zeus. Even if you defeat me, the Earth Mother shall simply raise me again!’

‘Then perhaps,’ Zeus said, ‘you should not die in the embrace of Gaia. Jason, my son …’

Jason had never felt so good, so recognized, as when he father said his name. It was like last winter at Camp Half-Blood, when his erased memories had finally returned. Jason suddenly understood another layer of his existence – a part of his identity that had been cloudy before.

Now he had no doubt: he was the son of Jupiter, god of the sky. He was his father’s child.

Jason advanced.

Porphyrion lashed out wildly with his spear, but Jason cut it in half with his gladius. He charged in, jabbing his sword through the giant’s breastplate, then summoned the winds and blasted Porphyrion off the edge of the cliff.

As the giant fell, screaming, Zeus pointed his lightning bolt. An arc of pure white heat vaporized Porphyrion in midair. His ashes drifted down in a gentle cloud, dusting the tops of the olive trees on the slopes of the Acropolis.

Zeus turned to Jason. His lightning bolt flickered off, and Zeus clipped the Celestial bronze rod to his belt. The god’s eyes were stormy grey. His salt-and-pepper hair and his beard looked like stratus clouds. Jason found it strange that the lord of the universe, king of Olympus, was only a few inches taller than he was.

‘My son.’ Zeus clasped Jason’s shoulder. ‘There is so much I would like to tell you …’

The god took a heavy breath, making the air crackle and Jason’s new glasses fog up. ‘Alas, as king of the gods, I must not show favouritism to my children. When we return to the other Olympians, I will not be able to praise you as much as I would like, or give you as much credit as you deserve.’

‘I don’t want praise.’ Jason’s voice quavered. ‘Just a little time together would be nice. I mean, I don’t even know you.’

Zeus’s gaze was as far away as the ozone layer. ‘I am always with you, Jason. I have watched your progress with pride, but it will never be possible for us to be …’

He curled his fingers, as if trying to pluck the right words out of the air. Close. Normal. A true father and son. ‘From birth, you were destined to be Hera’s – to appease her wrath. Even your name, Jason, was her choice. You did not ask for this. I did not want it. But when I gave you over to her … I had no idea what a good man you would become. Your journey has shaped you, made you both kind and great. Whatever happens when we return to the Parthenon, know that I do not hold you accountable. You have proven yourself a true hero.’

Jason’s emotions were a jumble in his chest. ‘What do you mean … whatever happens?’

‘The worst is not over,’ Zeus warned. ‘And someone must take the blame for what has happened. Come.’





L


Jason


NOTHING WAS LEFT OF THE GIANTS except heaps of ash, a few spears and some burning dreadlocks.

The Argo II was still aloft, barely, moored to the top of the Parthenon. Half the ship’s oars were broken off or tangled. Smoke streamed from several large splits in the hull. The sails were peppered with burning holes.

Leo looked almost as bad. He stood in the midst of the temple with the other crewmembers, his face covered in soot, his clothes smouldering.

The gods fanned out in a semicircle as Zeus approached. None of them seemed particularly joyful about their victory.

Apollo and Artemis stood together in the shadow of a column, as if trying to hide. Hera and Poseidon were having an intense discussion with another goddess in green and gold robes – perhaps Demeter. Nike tried to put a golden laurel wreath on Hecate’s head, but the goddess of magic swatted it away. Hermes sneaked close to Athena, attempting to put his arm around her. Athena turned her aegis shield his way and Hermes scuffled off.