Percy Jackson's Greek Gods (Percy Jackson and the Olympians companion #5.5) - Rick Riordan Page 0,28
right? Zeus and Demeter weren’t even together. Still, when Zeus saw a mortal hero making time with “his” girl, he blew his top.
The nice thing about getting mad at mortals—they are mortal. Which means you can kill them.
Demeter was giving Iasion a big kiss when the sky rumbled. The clouds tore open, and lightning flashed. KER-ZAP! Suddenly Demeter was alone in the wheat field, her clothes smoldering. A pile of hero ashes lay at her feet.
She wailed and screamed curses at Zeus, but there was nothing she could do. She sulked off to her private apartment on Mount Olympus and stayed there for months. When she finally came out, she was holding the last child she would ever bear—a boy named Pluotos. (Not Pluto. That’s another different guy). You don’t hear much about Pluotos in the old myths either, but he became a minor god of agricultural wealth. He wandered around Greece, looking for successful farmers and rewarding them for their hard work with bags of cash—kind of like the Old MacDonald Prize Patrol.
At this point, Demeter decided enough was enough. She still had the occasional date, but she never got married, never had another kid, and her relationships with the male gods were always strained.
Her experiences also kind of soured that sweet personality of hers. You might not think a grain goddess could be scary, but dang. You should’ve seen what she did to this one dude, Erisikhthon.
I know. Stupidest name ever. I think it’s pronounced Err-ISS-ick-thon, but heck, I’m just guessing. Anyway, this guy was a local prince who thought he was the coolest thing since bronze. He wanted to build himself a huge mansion with lumber from the nearby forests.
The problem? The biggest and nicest trees—the only ones he thought were good enough for his mansion—were in a grove that was sacred to Demeter. These massive oaks and poplars soared over a hundred feet tall, and each one had a nature spirit, a dryad, watching over it. The dryads would dance around, singing songs about Demeter and making flower necklaces, or whatever dryads do in their spare time.
Everybody in the whole country knew the grove was sacred to Demeter, but Eric Whatever-his-name-was—he didn’t care. (You know, I think I’ll just call him Eric.) So Eric got like fifty of his biggest, strongest friends together. He gave them sharp bronze axes, and they headed off to the grove.
As soon as the dryads saw them coming, they shrieked in alarm and called on Demeter to protect them.
They must’ve had the goddess on speed dial, because she was there in a flash.
Demeter took the form of a human maiden and appeared in the road, right in front of Eric and his army of ax-wielding goons.
“Oh, my!” she said. “Such big strong men! Where are you going?”
“Out of the way, girl,” Eric grumbled. “We have some chopping to do.”
“But why are you attacking these poor defenseless trees?”
“I need the lumber!” Eric bellowed. “I’m going to make the greatest mansion in the world!”
His friends cheered and waved their axes menacingly.
“You should choose other trees,” Demeter said, trying to keep her cool. “This grove is sacred to Demeter.”
“Bah!” Eric said. “These are the tallest trees in the land. I need tall trees for my great hall. My friends and I intend to feast there every night. We will have such excellent feasts, I will be famous throughout Greece!”
His friends shouted, “Yum!” and made lip-smacking noises.
“But this is the home of many innocent dryads,” Demeter persisted.
“If the dryads try to stop me,” Eric said, “I will cut them down too!”
Demeter clenched her jaw. “And if Demeter tries to stop you?”
Eric laughed. “Let her try. I’m not afraid of a silly crop goddess. Now, stand aside, or I’ll chop you up as well, girl.”
He shouldered the goddess aside and marched toward the largest tree—a huge white poplar. As he swung his ax, a blast of hot wind knocked him on his butt.
Demeter grew to massive height—towering above the trees like Grainzilla in her green-and-black robes, her crown of corn leaves steaming in her golden hair, her scythe blade casting a shadow across the entire group of mortals.
“SO,” the giant Demeter boomed, “YOU ARE NOT AFRAID?”
Eric’s fifty goons dropped their axes and ran screaming like little girls.
Eric tried to rise, but his knees were jelly. “I, uh, I just…uh—”
“YOU WANTED TO BE FAMOUS FOR FEASTING!” Demeter roared. “AND YOU WILL FEAST, ERISIKHTHON—EVERY NIGHT, A GREAT FEAST AS YOU INTENDED! I AM THE GODDESS OF THE HARVEST,