moving metric tons

“Hi,” I said. “You must be the river god Elisson.”



“Demigod powers can be weird. Back when I was ten or eleven, things just happened, and I didn’t understand why. Fountains would come alive. Toilets would explode. Controlling water was something I did instinctively, only when I was scared or angry—kind of like the Hulk, except with plumbing. As I’ve grown older, I’ve learned to control my powers, more or less.”


But despite my better control, there are still moments when my power gets away from me. It’s kind of like if you think, Oh, I’m too mature to cry like a little kid, and then you see a movie about a cute puppy that gets lost, and you start bawling. Or you think you’ve got your temper under control, then you get a bad grade and throw a world-class tantrum, so your skateboard ends up sticking out of your bedroom wall, impaling your favorite Jimi Hendrix poster. These are purely hypothetical examples, of course.



“Anyway, that’s what happened at the bottom of Elisson’s pool. As I was tossed around, flipped, and pummeled like laundry on a heavy-duty cycle, my control crumbled. I was a scared kid again, screaming for the big bad world to leave me alone. My rage exploded.
And so did the river. It blasted away from me in every direction, putting me at ground zero of the detonation—curled up alone in a bubble of air, howling so loudly I could hear myself even over the roar of the torrent. Some part of me had reached outward . . . not just into the pool, but to the source of the river, deep down in the Underworld or maybe Yonkers, and I had pulled it up by its roots. Millions of metric tons of water roared through the cavern, flooding the pool, scouring the cliffs, surging over the riverbanks, and probably surprising a whole bunch of snakes bathing downstream.
At last, the water crashed back around me, settling into its normal flow again.

“I looked up and had one clear thought: Annabeth. If I had accidentally washed”

“her into the Atlantic, I would never forgive myself.
I shot to the surface.
I shouldn’t have worried. On the ledge above, Annabeth sat with her ankles crossed, talking calmly with a very rattled Elisson. The river god leaned against her like a shell-shocked refugee, shivering and completely coated with river silt. His man bun had come unraveled, so his hair now looked like a dying yucca plant.
“I—I had no idea,” he said, sniffling.
“There, there.” Annabeth put her arm around his shoulders. “It’s okay. He can be scary when he gets worked up.”
I floated in the pool, wondering if I had surfaced in some alternate dimension. Annabeth was comforting the dude who’d just tried to drown me, and she seemed to be calling me scary. Then she looked down and winked at me—a sign that meant, Just go with it.
“You have to admit, though,” she told Elisson, “Percy did a great job.”
A great job? I wondered. What was she talking about?
My head wound seemed to have healed itself in the water, so I probably wasn’t hallucinating.
Then I scanned the grotto. My tidal wave had swept the cliff walls right

“up to Annabeth’s feet, leaving the rock sparkling clean. Now that the sediment had resettled, the pool was even clearer than before. The air smelled fresh and crisp, with that “new river” smell restored. The current flowed stronger and colder, rushing through the cavern with a jubilant clamor like an audience”



“I had apparently given the River Elisson my super-deluxe Poseidon Wash package, complete with triple-foam conditioner, undercarriage rust protection, and extreme shine wax.”










CotG pg.134-138