The Lost Hero (The Heroes of Olympus #1)(86)

“But you won,” Leo said.

The god grunted. “We won because the demigods of”—again he hesitated, as if he’d almost made a slip—“of Camp Half-Blood took the lead. We won because our children fought our battles for us, smarter than we did. If we’d relied on Zeus’s plan, we would’ve all gone down to Tartarus fighting the storm giant Typhon, and Kronos would’ve won. Bad enough mortals won our war for us, but then that young upstart, Percy Jackson—”

“The guy who’s missing.”

“Hmph. Yes. Him. He had the nerve to turn down our offer of immortality and tell us to pay better attention to our children. Er, no offense.”

“Oh, how could I take offense? Please, go on ignoring me.”

“Mighty understanding of you …” Hephaestus frowned, then sighed wearily. “That was sarcasm, wasn’t it? Machines don’t have sarcasm, usually. But as I was saying, the gods felt ashamed, shown up by mortals. At first, of course, we were grateful. But after a few months, those feelings turned bitter. We’re gods, after all. We need to be admired, looked up to, held in awe and admiration.”

“Even if you’re wrong?”

“Especially then! And to have Jackson refuse our gift, as if being mortal were somehow better than being a god... well, that stuck in Zeus’s craw. He decided it was high time we got back to traditional values. Gods were to be respected. Our children were to be seen and not visited. Olympus was closed. At least that was part of his reasoning. And, of course, we started hearing of bad things stirring under the earth.”

“The giants, you mean. Monsters re-forming instantly. The dead rising again. Little stuff like that?”

“Aye, boy.” Hephaestus turned a knob on his pirate broadcasting machine. Leo’s dream sharpened to full color, but the god’s face was such a riot of red welts and yellow and black bruises, Leo wished it would go back to black and white.

“Zeus thinks he can reverse the tide,” the god said, “lull the earth back to sleep as long as we stay quiet. None of us really believes that. And I don’t mind saying, we’re in no shape to fight another war. We barely survived the Titans. If we’re repeating the old pattern, what comes next is even worse.”

“The giants,” Leo said. “Hera said demigods and gods had to join forces to defeat them. Is that true?”

“Mmm. I hate to agree with my mother about anything, but yes. Those giants are tough to kill, boy. They’re a different breed.”

“Breed? You make them sound like racehorses.”

“Ha!” the god said. “More like war dogs. Back in the beginning, y’see, everything in creation came from the same parents—Gaea and Ouranos, Earth and Sky. They had their different batches of children—your Titans, your Elder Cyclopes, and so forth. Then Kronos, the head Titan—well, you’ve probably heard how he chopped up his father Ouranos with a scythe and took over the world. Then we gods came along, children of the Titans, and defeated them. But that wasn’t the end of it. The earth bore a new batch of children, except they were sired by Tartarus, the spirit of the eternal abyss—the darkest, most evil place in the Underworld. Those children, the giants, were bred for one purpose—revenge on us for the fall of the Titans. They rose up to destroy Olympus, and they came awfully close.”

Hephaestus’s beard began to smolder. He absently swatted out the flames. “What my blasted mother Hera is doing now—she’s a meddling fool playing a dangerous game, but she’s right about one thing: you demigods have to unite. That’s the only way to open Zeus’s eyes, convince the Olympians they must accept your help. And that’s the only way to defeat what’s coming. You’re a big part of that, Leo. ”

The god’s gaze seemed far away. Leo wondered if really could split himself into different parts—where else was he right now? Maybe his Greek side was fixing a car or going on a date, while his Roman side was watching a ball game and ordering pizza. Leo tried to imagine what it would feel like to have multiple personalities. He hoped it wasn’t hereditary.

“Why me?” he asked, and as soon as he said it, more questions flooded out. “Why claim me now? Why not when I was thirteen, like you’re supposed to? Or you could’ve claimed me at seven, before my mom died! Why didn’t you find me earlier? Why didn’t you warn me about this?”

Leo’s hand burst into flames.

Hephaestus regarded him sadly. “Hardest part, boy. Letting my children walk their own paths. Interfering doesn’t work. The Fates make sure of that. As for the claiming, you were a special case, boy. The timing had to be right. I can’t explain it much more, but—”

Leo’s dream went fuzzy. Just for a moment, it turned into a rerun of Wheel of Fortune. Then Hephaestus came back into focus.

“Blast,” he said. “I can’t talk much longer. Zeus is sensing an illegal dream. He is lord of the air, after all, including the airwaves. Just listen, boy: you have a role to play. Your friend Jason is right—fire is a gift, not a curse. I don’t give that blessing to just anyone. They’ll never defeat the giants without you, much less the mistress they serve. She’s worse than any god or Titan.”

“Who?” Leo demanded.

Hephaestus frowned, his image becoming fuzzier. “I told you. Yes, I’m pretty sure I told you. Just be warned: along the way, you’re going to lose some friends and some valuable tools.