by Rick Riordan
None of the other gods tried to stop him. Maybe they were worried that their own thrones would explode, or their seats would sprout Vitamix blender blades.
Hephaestus journeyed down to the mortal world and set up shop in one of the Greek cities. There he made horseshoes, nails, and other simple stuff that wouldn’t require much thought. He had hoped his revenge would make him feel better, but it hadn’t. He felt even emptier and angrier than before.
Meanwhile in Olympus, the other gods got tired of listening to Hera whimper. They tried everything to free her—bolt cutters, lightning, bacon grease, WD-40. Nothing worked.
Finally Zeus said, “Enough is enough. Ares, go find your brother Hephaestus and convince him to release your mother.”
Ares smiled cruelly. “Oh, I’ll convince him, all right.”
Ares readied his war chariot. He donned his burning golden armor, got his bloody spear, and his shield that dripped gore. His sons Phobos and Deimos hitched up the fire-breathing horses, and off they went.
They rode through the city of mortals, causing panic, trampling everyone in their path. They burst into the courtyard of Hephaestus’s blacksmith shop, where the crippled god was repairing a teapot.
The horses reared and breathed fire. Phobos and Deimos unleashed waves of pure terror that caused sixty-five heart attacks in the surrounding neighborhood.
Ares leveled his spear at Hephaestus. “YOU WILL FREE HERA!”
Hephaestus glanced up. “Go away, Ares.” He kept hammering on his teapot.
Phobos and Deimos exchanged confused looks.
Ares’s spear wavered. He’d been expecting a different reaction.
He tried again. “FREE HERA OR FACE MY WRATH!”
His horses blew fire all over Hephaestus, but the flames only tickled him.
The blacksmith god sighed. “Ares, first of all, I don’t respond well to threats. Secondly, do you think you’re strong because you fight a lot? Try working in a forge all day. Threaten me again, and I’ll show you strong.” Hephaestus flexed his arms and chest, which rippled with muscles.
“Thirdly,” he continued, “I’m the god of fire. I have to be, since I melt metal for a living. I’ve forged iron and bronze weapons in the heart of underwater volcanoes, so don’t try to scare me with your little ponies.”
Hephaestus waved toward Ares like he was shooing away a fly. A wall of fire roared from the ground and washed over the war god’s chariot. When the flames died, the horses’ manes were seared off. The chariot’s wheels had flattened into ovals. Phobos’s and Deimos’s helmets were melted onto their heads like fried eggs, and their skin was covered in a fine layer of charcoal.
Ares’s armor steamed. The beautiful crest of his war helmet was smoldering.
“Last chance,” Hephaestus said. “Go away.”
Ares turned and fled, his chariot ka-chunk ka-chunking on its lopsided wheels, leaving a definite smell of charbroiled war god in the air.
The Olympians tried different tactics to convince Hephaestus to free his mother. They sent different ambassadors.
Hephaestus would not be persuaded.
Up on Olympus, Zeus spread his hands and sighed. “Well, I guess Hera will have to stay on that cursed throne forever.”
“Mrpphh!” said Hera, her face flushing gold with ichor.
Then the most unlikely hero stepped forward—Dionysus, the god of wine. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I can handle Hephaestus.”
The other gods looked at him.
“You?” Ares demanded. “What will you do? Threaten Hephaestus with a nice Chardonnay?”
Dionysus smiled. “You’ll see.”
Dionysus flew down to the earth. He started hanging around the blacksmith shop. He didn’t make any demands on Hephaestus. He didn’t threaten or lay on any guilt trips. He just chatted, told funny stories, and acted friendly.
Now, my experience with Mr. D has been pretty different, but apparently he could be pretty charming when he wanted to be. He had once been a mortal guy and had only recently become a god, so he wasn’t high and mighty like some of the other Olympians. He didn’t mind slumming with humans and ugly blacksmiths. He got along with Hephaestus just fine.
After weeks hanging out together, Dionysus said, “Man, you are working too hard. You need a break!”
“I like work,” Hephaestus muttered.
The truth was, blacksmithing took his mind off his pain. Despite his successful revenge against Hera, Hephaestus couldn’t get rid of his anger and bitterness. He was still an outcast god, no happier than he’d been before.
“I’m gonna take you out tonight,” Dionysus said. “We’ll hit the taverns and I’ll introduce you to this thing I created. It’s called wine.”
Hephaestus scowled. “It is a machine?”
Dionysus’s eyes twinkled. “Well…it has its uses. You’ll see.”
Now, kids…wine is alcohol. That’s a drink for grown-ups.
Gee, Mr. Percy Jackson, you say, can’t we have some wine?
No, no, kids. Wine is dangerous. I don’t want any of you to drink alcohol until you’re at least thirty-five years old. Even then, you should get a doctor’s note and your parents’ permission, drink responsibly (like one swig a month), and never operate heavy machinery while under the influence!
Okay…I think that covers my legal bases. On with the story.
That night, Dionysus took Hephaestus out drinking. In no time, Hephaestus was crying into his cup, pouring out his life story to Dionysus.
“I—I love you, man,” Hephaestus sobbed. “Nobody else understands me. Well…except these guys.” Hephaestus pointed to his bowl of salted peanuts. “They understand me. But…but nobody else.”
“Mmm.” Dionysus nodded sympathetically. “It must have been hard, living at the bottom of the sea, cast away by your own mother.”
“You’ve got no idea. It was…” Hephaestus sniffled, searching for the right word. “It was hard.”
“Exactly,” Dionysus said. “You know what would make you feel better?”
“More wine?” Hephaestus guessed.
“Well, possibly. But also, to forgive.”
“What, now?”
“Hera can be a witch,” said Dionysus. “Believe me, I know. But we’re a family, we gods. We have to stick together.”
Hephaestus glared cross-eyed into his cup. “She threw me out like a bad spark plug.”
“I’m not sure what that is,” Dionysus said. “But still, you can’t hold a grudge forever. If you bottle it up, well…even the finest wine eventually turns to vinegar. Did your revenge make you feel any better?”
“Not really.” Hephaestus scowled. “I need more wine.”
“No,” Dionysus said firmly, which really wasn’t like him, refusing somebody a drink. “You need to go back to Olympus with me right now and let Hera go. Be the good guy. Show everyone you’re better than her.”
Hephaestus grumbled and muttered and cursed his bowl of peanuts, but he decided Dionysus was right.
He rode back to Mount Olympus on his donkey—which was really dangerous, because he could’ve been pulled over for DWI (donkey while intoxicated).
Fortunately he got there safely, Dionysus walking at his side. Hephaestus approached Hera, and the other gods gathered around.
“Mother, I forgive you,” Hephaestus said. “I will let you go, but you have to promise: no more tossing babies away. Everybody has gifts, no matter what they look like. Do you agree?”
“Mrhph,” said Hera.
Hephaestus hit the secret deactivation switch on the back of the throne, and Hera was freed.
According to some stories, Hephaestus demanded a price for letting Hera go. Supposedly Poseidon (who hated Athena) suggested that Hephaestus ask Zeus for the wisdom goddess’s hand in marriage, and that’s why Hephaestus went chasing afte
r her in the infamous handkerchief incident.
I can’t confirm that. Personally, I think Hephaestus just got tired of holding a grudge against his mom. Afterward, he and Dionysus stayed pretty good friends, and Hephaestus and Hera set aside their resentment.
In fact, the next time Hephaestus got into trouble, it was for helping his mom.
Fast-forward to when the gods rebelled against Zeus. As you might recall (or maybe not), once Zeus got free, he punished the rebel scum. Apollo and Poseidon lost their immortality for a while. Hera got tied up and hung over the abyss.
During all that, Hephaestus hadn’t taken sides. He thought the rebellion was a stupid idea, but nobody bothered to ask his opinion. As a result, Zeus didn’t punish him. Still, the blacksmith god didn’t approve of his mom getting tied up and dangled over the abyss like live bait.
Hephaestus could hear her screaming day and night. It annoyed him that Zeus could bind Hera and nobody objected, but when Hephaestus had tied her up, everybody acted like he was a horrible villain. And maybe, just maybe, Hephaestus was starting to love his mom just a little—at least enough not to want to see her hanging over the maw of Chaos.
One night he couldn’t stand it anymore. He got out of bed, grabbed his tool kit, and went to save his mom. With the help of some grappling hooks, a safety harness, a tree trimmer, some rope, and of course some duct tape, he managed to cut her down and haul her to safety.
Hera was incredibly grateful. She sobbed and hugged Hephaestus and promised never to call him ugly or disgusting again.
Zeus was less than pleased. When he found out what had happened, he marched into Hephaestus’s room with electricity crackling around him and his face as dark as a thundercloud.
“WITHOUT MY PERMISSION?!” Zeus bellowed. “You will learn to respect my authority!”
Most dads would just yell a lot, or ground you, or take away your Xbox. Zeus grabbed Hephaestus by the ankle, yanked him off his feet, and dragged him to the nearest window.
Now, Hephaestus was strong, but his legs were weak. Once he was off-balance, he couldn’t defend himself very well.
Also, Zeus was swole. He did like six hours of upper-body stuff in the gym every week.
He yelled, “Sayonara, Tool Guy!” and flung Hephaestus right off the mountain—again.
It took Hephaestus an entire day to fall, which gave him plenty of time to contemplate why he’d ended up with such horrible parents. Finally he hit the earth on the island of Lemnos with a huge ka-blam! The impact didn’t do much for his deformed body or his crippled legs or his ugly face. He broke every bone in his immortal body and lay there for a long time, unable to do anything but experience blinding, burning, mind-searing pain.
Eventually he was discovered by a tribe called the Sintians, some non-Greek folks who made a living as pirates along the Aegean coast. They had a bad reputation among the Greeks, but they were kind to Hephaestus. They carried him to their village and cared for him as best they could. Because of that, Hephaestus became their patron god. He set up a new workshop on Lemnos, which became his main headquarters. For centuries afterward, Greeks visited Lemnos to see the spot where Hephaestus fell to earth the second time. They believed that the soil from the crash site had amazing healing properties, maybe because of all the godly ichor that had soaked into the ground. A little Lemnos mud on your skin, and your bruises would fade. Your wounds would heal. The soil was even supposed to cure snake poison.
So next time you’re bitten by a cobra, don’t worry! Just book a flight to Lemnos and eat a bunch of dirt. You’ll be fine.
Hephaestus healed. Eventually he made his way back to Olympus. After that, Zeus and he were wary of each other, but they both pretended the Sayonara, Tool Guy incident never happened. I guess Zeus was sorry he had overreacted, and Hephaestus didn’t want to push his luck. He was getting really tired of being thrown off the mountain.
Hephaestus spent most of his time at his various workshops on Lemnos, or under the ocean, or on other islands dotted across the Mediterranean. Wherever you saw a volcano bubbling and smoking and spewing lava, there was a good chance Hephaestus was in residence, heating up his forges.
Because he used volcanoes to power his workshops, Hephaestus was the god of volcanoes. In fact, the word volcano comes from his Roman name, Vulcanus, or Vulcan. And, no, he’s not one of those pointy-eared dudes from Star Wars. Or is it Star Trek? I can’t keep that stuff straight.
His sacred animal was the donkey, of course, but he also liked dogs. His favorite bird was the crane, probably because it had weird skinny legs that didn’t match the rest of its body, kind of like a certain blacksmith.
Mostly, Hephaestus was known for his craftsmanship. Read those old Greek writers and they go on and on for pages about every shield or piece of armor Hephaestus made, describing every color and decoration, what size grommets he used, how many nails and zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Sorry. I fell asleep just thinking about it.
I’ll just give you the basics, but Hephaestus did do nice work. He made thrones for all the gods, and most of them weren’t even booby-trapped! He made a fleet of magical tripods—three-legged tables that had wheels on their feet and raced around Mount Olympus, bringing people drinks and hors d’oeuvres and whatever. If you were staying in Mount Olympus and said, “Now, where did I put my iPhone?” pretty soon one of the tripods would come puttering up to you, open its drawer, and there would be your phone. Kind of handy, those little guys.
Hephaestus also made the best armor and weapons. Sure, the Elder Cyclopes and the telkhines were good craftsmen, but nobody could touch the blacksmith god. Hercules, Achilles, all the greatest Greek heroes? They only used Hephaestus-brand equipment. I don’t even think Hephaestus paid them an endorsement fee.
He made chariots for the Olympians with better suspension, all-wheel drive, rotating blades on the wheels, and all kinds of optional upgrade packages. He designed everything from jewelry to palaces. He made this one guy, the king of Chios, an entire underground mansion like a secret bunker.
But Hephaestus’s specialty was automatons—mechanical creatures that were basically the first robots. In Hephaestus’s workshop, he had a bunch of mechanical women assistants made out of gold. He crafted four of those for Apollo’s temple, too, so they could sing Apollo’s praises in four-part harmony. For King Alcinous, Hephaestus made a pair of metal guard dogs—one gold and one silver—that were smarter and more vicious than real dogs. For King Laomedon, he made a golden vine that actually grew. For King Minos, he made a giant metal soldier named Talos, who patrolled the borders of the palace day and night. Metal horses, metal bulls, metal people. You name it. If I ever become a king, I’m totally going to ask him for an army of giant golden acid-spitting llamas.
Okay, sorry. I got distracted again.
Next I should probably tell you how Hephaestus reacted when he found out his wife, Aphrodite, was cheating on him. It’s kind of a sad story, and no llamas are involved, but Aphrodite and Ares do get badly humiliated, which is always a good thing.
Aphrodite had never wanted to marry Hephaestus. The goddess of love was all about looks, and Hephaestus didn’t have any.
Hephaestus tried to be a good husband. It didn’t matter. As soon as they were married, Aphrodite started having an affair with the war god Ares, and it seemed like Hephaestus was the only one who didn’t know about it.
Why was he so clueless? I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to believe Aphrodite could love him. Maybe he figured if he did the right thing, she would. Sure, he noticed that all the other gods were whispering and snickering behind his back, but Hephaestus was used to that.
He started to suspect something was wrong when Aphrodite had her first child. Hephaestus had been expecting the baby to be crippled like him, or at least have some of his features—the misshapen head, the warty face, perhaps a beard.
But the baby boy, Eros, was perfect—handsome
and fit. He also bore a striking resemblance to Ares.
Huh, Hephaestus thought. That’s weird.
Aphrodite’s next child was a girl named Harmonia, and again she looked absolutely nothing like Hephaestus. The blacksmith started to get uncomfortable. Every time he referred to Harmonia as “my daughter,” the other gods looked like they were trying not to laugh. And why did Aphrodite and Ares keep giving each other knowing glances?
Finally the sun Titan Helios took pity on Hephaestus. Helios saw everything from his sun chariot chick magnet up in the sky—even stuff he didn’t want to see—so of course he’d witnessed Aphrodite and Ares being way more than “just friends.”
One night he pulled Hephaestus aside and said, “Dude, there’s no easy way to tell you this. Your wife is cheating on you.”
Hephaestus felt like he’d been hit in the face with a three-pound club hammer—one of the really nice ones with the fiberglass grip and the double-faced drop-forged steel head.
“Cheating on me?” he asked. “Impossible!”
“Possible,” Helios said grimly. “I saw them myself. Not that I was looking! But, well, they were kind of hard to miss.”
The sun Titan explained that Aphrodite and Ares often sneaked into Hephaestus’s apartment while the blacksmith god was working in the forges. Right there in his own bedroom, they got extremely naughty.
Hephaestus’s heart felt like it was reforging itself. It melted with misery. It got super-heated with anger. Then it cooled and hardened into something stronger and sharper.
“Thanks for the tip,” he told Helios.
“Anything I can do? You want me to give them a nasty sunburn?”
“No, no,” Hephaestus said. “I got this.”
Hephaestus returned to his forges and made a very special net. He created gold filaments as thin as spiderwebs but as strong as bridge cables. He enchanted them so that they would stick to whatever they caught, harden more quickly than cement, and hold their prey motionless.
He hobbled to his bedroom and wove the netting over the four tall bedposts so they hung like an invisible canopy. Then he put a pressure-activated trip wire across the sheets.