The Mark of Athena (The Heroes of Olympus #3)(126)

Piper thought it was a cruel joke that a hag like her would be named Hagno, but she decided not to say that.

“The nine,” Jason repeated. “The nymphs of this shrine. There were always nine niches.”

“Of course.” Hagno bared her teeth in a vicious smile. “But we are the original nine, Jason Grace, the ones who attended the birth of your father.”

Jason’s sword dipped. “You mean Jupiter? You were there when he was born?”

“Zeus, we called him then,” Hagno said. “Such a squealing whelp. We attended Rhea in her labor. When the baby arrived, we hid him so that his father, Kronos, would not eat him. Ah, he had lungs, that baby! It was all we could do to drown out the noise so Kronos could not find him. When Zeus grew up, we were promised eternal honors. But that was in the old country, in Greece.”

The other nymphs wailed and clawed at their niches. They seemed to be trapped in them, Piper realized, as if their feet were glued to the stone along with the decorative seashells.

“When Rome rose to power, we were invited here,” Hagno said. “A son of Jupiter tempted us with favors. A new home, he promised. Bigger and better! No down payment, an excellent neighborhood. Rome will last forever.”

“Forever,” the others hissed.

“We gave in to temptation,” Hagno said. “We left our simple wells and springs on Mount Lycaeus and moved here. For centuries, our lives were wonderful! Parties, sacrifices in our honor, new dresses and jewelry every week. All the demigods of Rome flirted with us and honored us.”

The nymphs wailed and sighed.

“But Rome did not last,” Hagno snarled. “The aqueducts were diverted. Our master’s villa was abandoned and torn down. We were forgotten, buried under the earth, but we could not leave. Our life sources were bound to this place. Our old master never saw fit to release us. For centuries, we have withered here in the darkness, thirsty…so thirsty.”

The others clawed at their mouths.

Piper felt her own throat closing up.

“I’m sorry for you,” she said, trying to use charmspeak. “That must have been terrible. But we are not your enemies. If we can help you—”

“Oh, such a sweet voice!” Hagno cried. “Such beautiful features. I was once young like you. My voice was as soothing as a mountain stream. But do you know what happens to a nymph’s mind when she is trapped in the dark, with nothing to feed on but hatred, nothing to drink but thoughts of violence? Yes, my dear. You can help us.”

Percy raised his hand. “Uh…I’m the son of Poseidon. Maybe I can summon a new water source.”

“Ha!” Hagno cried, and the other eight echoed, “Ha! Ha!”

“Indeed, son of Poseidon,” Hagno said. “I know your father well. Ephialtes and Otis promised you would come.”

Piper put her hand on Jason’s arm for balance.

“The giants,” she said. “You’re working for them?”

“They are our neighbors.” Hagno smiled. “Their chambers lie beyond this place, where the aqueduct’s water was diverted for the games. Once we have dealt with you…once you have helped us…the twins have promised we will never suffer again.”

Hagno turned to Jason. “You, child of Jupiter—for the horrible betrayal of your predecessor who brought us here, you shall pay. I know the sky god’s powers. I raised him as a baby! Once, we nymphs controlled the rain above our wells and springs. When I am done with you, we will have that power again. And Percy Jackson, child of the sea god…from you, we will take water, an endless supply of water.”

“Endless?” Percy’s eyes darted from one nymph to the other. “Uh…look, I don’t know about endless. But maybe I could spare a few gallons.”

“And you, Piper McLean.” Hagno’s purple eyes glistened. “So young, so lovely, so gifted with your sweet voice. From you, we will reclaim our beauty. We have saved our last life force for this day. We are very thirsty. From you three, we shall drink!”

All nine niches glowed. The nymphs disappeared, and water poured from their alcoves—sickly dark water, like oil.

Chapter 43

Piper needed a miracle, not a bedtime story. But right then, standing in shock as black water poured in around her legs, she recalled the legend Achelous had mentioned—the story of the flood.

Not the Noah story, but the Cherokee version that her father used to tell her, with the dancing ghosts and the skeleton dog.

When she was little, she would cuddle next to her dad in his big recliner. She’d gaze out the windows at the Malibu coastline, and her dad would tell her the story he’d heard from Grandpa Tom back on the rez in Oklahoma.

“This man had a dog,” her father always began.

“You can’t start a story that way!” Piper protested. “You have to say Once upon a time.”

Dad laughed. “But this is a Cherokee story. They are pretty straightforward. So, anyway, this man had a dog. Every day the man took his dog to the edge of the lake to get water, and the dog would bark furiously at the lake, like he was mad at it.”

“Was he?”

“Be patient, sweetheart. Finally the man got very annoyed with his dog for barking so much, and he scolded it. ‘Bad dog! Stop barking at the water. It’s only water!’ To his surprise, the dog looked right at him and began to talk.”