the_blood_of_olympus_-_rick_riordan

‘Argghh!’ The goddess clutched the side of her head. Her horses reared, causing Arion to do the
same.
The goddess shuddered and split into two separate images, which reminded Leo – ridiculously – of
when he used to lie on the floor in his apartment as a kid and play with the coiled doorstop on the
skirting board. He would pull it back and let it fly: sproing! The stopper would shudder back and
forth so fast it looked like it was splitting into two separate coils.
That’s what Nike looked like: a divine doorstop, splitting in two.
On the left was the first version: glittery sleeveless dress, dark hair circled with laurels, golden
wings folded behind her. On the right was a different version, dressed for war in a Roman breastplate
and greaves. Short auburn hair peeked out from the rim of a tall helmet. Her wings were feathery
white, her dress purple, and the shaft of her spear was fixed with a plate-sized Roman insignia – a
golden SPQR in a laurel wreath.
‘I am Nike!’ cried the image on the left.
‘I am Victoria!’ cried the one on the right.
For the first time, Leo understood the old saying his abuelo used to use: talking out of the side of
your mouth. This goddess was literally saying two different things at once. She kept shuddering and
splitting, making Leo dizzy. He was tempted to get out his tools and adjust the idle on her carburettor,
because that much vibration would make her engine fly apart.
‘I am the decider of victory!’ Nike screamed. ‘Once I stood here at the corner of Zeus’s temple,
venerated by all! I oversaw the games of Olympia. Offerings from every city-state were piled at my
feet!’
‘Games are irrelevant!’ yelled Victoria. ‘I am the goddess of success in battle! Roman generals
worshipped me! Augustus himself erected my altar in the Senate House!’
‘Ahhhh!’ both voices screamed in agony. ‘We must decide! We must have victory!’
Arion bucked so violently that Hazel had to slide off his back to avoid getting thrown. Before she
could calm him down, the horse disappeared, leaving a vapour trail through the ruins.
‘Nike,’ Hazel said, stepping forward slowly, ‘you’re confused, like all the gods. The Greeks and
Romans are on the verge of war. It’s causing your two aspects to clash.’
‘I know that!’ The goddess shook her spear, the tip rubber-banding into two points. ‘I cannot abide
unresolved conflict! Who is stronger? Who is the winner?’
‘Lady, nobody’s the winner,’ Leo said. ‘If that war happens, everybody loses.’
‘No winner?’ Nike looked so shocked, Leo was pretty sure his nose must be on fire. ‘There is
always a winner! One winner. Everyone else is a loser! Otherwise victory is meaningless. I suppose
you want me to give certificates to all the contestants? Little plastic trophies to every single athlete or
soldier for participation? Should we all line up and shake hands and tell each other, Good game?
No! Victory must be real. It must be earned. That means it must be rare and difficult, against steep
odds, and defeat must be the other possibility.’
The goddess’s two horses nipped at each other, as if getting into the spirit.
‘Uh … okay,’ Leo said. ‘I can tell you’ve got strong feelings about that. But the real war is against
Gaia.’