Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Chalice of the Gods

“Oh, no,” Iris said. “Those days are well behind me. But in ancient times, I used my staff to create wonderful rainbows as I flew through the sky, traveling from place to place. I miss that. . . .” She sighed. “I would like you to give the staff a proper cleaning. Bring it back to its former glory. I admit, I should’ve done this a while ago, but I suppose . . . Well, I was bitter about losing that job to Hermes.”

I thought about what she’d said before . . . that she hadn’t held it against Ganymede when she lost the cupbearer’s job. But losing the messenger gig had left her bitter. It made me wonder how much we could trust this friendly rainbow grandma.

“I’m guessing we can’t just use Windex,” I said. “Or take the staff to a dry cleaner?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “It can only be washed in the River Elisson.”

Annabeth blinked. “I don’t know that one.”

“I do,” Grover said. He didn’t look happy about it. “Back in the day, the Elisson was known for its crystal-clear magical water. Supposedly it could clean anything, no matter how polluted. And . . . certain creatures took advantage.”

“That’s true,” Iris agreed. “The Furies sometimes bathe there. The River Elisson is the only thing that can get the stench of the Underworld off them when they have to move among mortals.”

I shuddered, thinking about my former math teacher Mrs. Dodds, aka the Fury Alecto. I did not like the image of her bathing in a river prior to teaching us pre-algebra.

“Other monsters, too,” Grover said, glancing at the staff’s snaky headpiece. “Like horned serpents.”

“Yes, very good, young satyr,” Iris said. “In fact, you must cleanse my staff in the very river where the serpents bathe.”

“And these serpents are super friendly,” I guessed.

Iris gasped. “Oh, no. They will try to kill you.” Like Hebe, she was apparently immune to sarcasm. “But be careful: you must not harm the serpents.”

“Because they’re sacred to you?”

“Not at all. However, I want this quest to be cruelty-free. You must find a way to accomplish my task without harming any creatures at the river. Good luck, demigods! Now I must return to my duties.”

A gaggle of customers descended on Iris’s booth and started oohing and ahhing over her crystals. We were dismissed. I grabbed my rainbow staff of grunge, which did not conveniently turn into a smaller form. As I walked through the market, I felt like a low-rent wizard.

“Cruelty-free,” Annabeth grumbled. “I guess that doesn’t include cruelty to demigods.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Grover said, surprisingly cheerful again. “I’ve always wanted to see the River Elisson. There’s only one problem.”

“Aside from the monsters we can’t kill?” I asked.

He waved that away. “I mean the actual River Elisson in Greece no longer exists. The mythical river could be anywhere. I heard that the god of the river got so disgusted with all the monsters bathing in his waters, he hid the river so it’s almost impossible to find. And Iris didn’t tell us where it is.”

“I suppose she’d say we have to find it on our own,” I guessed. “Because knowledge is valuable, blah, blah.”

Annabeth poked me in the ribs. “What we need is an upper-level water spirit to give us directions. Those Nereids and naiads all know each other. I wonder where we could find a Nereid to ask. . . .” She looked at me pointedly.

I ground my teeth some more. “Fine. I’ll wait until Monday and ask my guidance counselor. I just hope she doesn’t flush me again.”





Reader, she flushed me.

I waited until seventh period to visit the counselor’s office, so I wouldn’t miss much school if she ejected me into the Atlantic again. At first, though, I was hopeful Eudora and I could just have a nice, calm conversation.

“Welcome, Percy Jackson!”

She seemed genuinely pleased to see me as she ushered me inside and waved me toward a new blue plastic chair. I wondered if she had a stack of them in the closet so she could grab a new one every time she flushed somebody through the floor.

She smiled at me over her jar of Jolly Ranchers. Her eyes floated behind her bottle-glass spectacles. Her scalloped hair glistened like she’d just had it permed with jellyfish goo. “So! How is everything going?”

“I got my first quest,” I said. “For Ganymede.”

She squealed. “That’s wonderful! What exactly is involved?”

I gave her the details, but her gaze was so distracting I mostly kept my eyes on the purple painting of Sicky Frog. It stared at me miserably with its thermometer in its mouth and didn’t judge.

I was working my way up to asking Eudora a favor—the location of the River Elisson—when she stopped me. “Just a moment. Hebe was involved. And now Iris. Did you apply for dual credit?”

“I— What?”

“Oh, dear. If multiple gods are involved, you could have applied for dual credit. Hebe and Iris might have written you recommendation letters as well.”

“You mean . . . I could’ve gotten all three rec letters from this one quest?”

Eudora nudged her Jolly Rancher jar so it made a protective barrier between us. “Well, yes, but—”

“How about I apply for the dual-credit thingy now? I could go back to Hebe. . . .” I mentally slapped myself. “Okay, maybe not Hebe, but I could go back to Iris—”

“Ah, but you have to apply for the dual credit in advance. I’m afraid it’s too late.”

I glared at Sicky Frog. I felt like punching it in the face, but since it was painted on a brick wall, I figured that might hurt me more than it did the frog.

“Can’t we make an exception?” I asked. “I mean, I did the work. I’m doing the work.”

“Um . . .” Eudora rummaged through her brochures and pulled out the one for New Rome University. “No . . . you see? Right here. It says dual credit cannot be applied for after the fact.”

“Is that a general rule? I thought I was the only one who had to do these rec letters.”

“You are. See?”

She handed me the brochure. At the bottom of a tiny paragraph about dual credit (which I’m pretty sure hadn’t been there before), an asterisk led me to an even tinier disclaimer that read This applies to Percy Jackson.

“Okay, that’s messed up. I didn’t know!”

Eudora sighed. “Well, at least it sounds as if the quest is going well. What’s next?”

Next, I thought, is punching your frog in the face.

But I didn’t say that. I forced myself to exhale. “Next,” I said, “I need some guidance.”

“Oh!” Eudora sat forward excitedly. “That’s what I do!”

I told her about Iris’s staff, which was presently taking up space in my bedroom closet. “I’m supposed to clean it, so I need to find the River Elisson.”

Eudora didn’t stop smiling. (I wasn’t sure she was physically capable of that.) But her lips stretched into a grimace as if somebody were tugging her shell-do. “The Elisson. Ah.” She shuffled her brochures and shoved them back in her drawer. “Snakes bathe there, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Monsters of all kinds. Not recommended.”

“Except I don’t have a choice. I need that letter of recommendation. Like you told me.”

She winced, probably caught between her job description and her personal feelings. “Yes, but . . . Elisson is touchy. He doesn’t like people taking advantage of his clean waters.”

“He? You mean the god of the river?”

I’d met a few river gods in my time. They tended to be cranky and unfriendly, and they thought of demigods as just another form of pollution, like old tires or cigarette butts.

“If he finds out I gave you directions,” Eudora muttered, almost to herself, “he’ll never let me into his yoga class again.”

“His yoga . . . ? Actually, never mind,” I said. “You’re telling me you know where I can find him?”

Eudora looked at her watch. “Almost the end of the school day. I suppose if you were to simply wind up at the Elisson’s headwaters by accident, that wouldn’t be my fault.”

The tiles started to bubble and leak around my chair.

“No,” I said.

“Good luck, Percy!”

And she flushed me right through the floor.