“The last Olympic event is kickstone,” Themis announced. “If the score is tied at the end of the game, we will go into a sudden-death overtime. The first one to score wins the game. Okay, team captains to the field.”

Hera jogged out to where Themis stood. Atlas, the biggest Titan of them all, did the same. Standing between the two Titans, Hera looked very small.

“We’ll flip to see which team kicks off,” said Themis. “Atlas, call it.” She flipped a gold coin into the air.

“Gold coin!” called Atlas.

“She means call heads or tails,” Hera said.

Themis flipped the coin again.

“Heads or tails!” Atlas called.

“Uh . . .” said Themis. “Atlas, your side can kick off.”

I groaned. Themis was so unfair!

Both teams ran onto the field. I took up my defense position close to our goal. Themis put the stone down on the fifty-dekameter line. Our team backed up and got ready to receive the kick. Dad was kicking off for the Titans. He had a sneaky look on his face. What was he up to now?

Themis gave a whistle, and the game began.

Hermes and Pan were too small to play kickstone, but they found ways to help. Pan kept score. And Hermes borrowed Hera’s megaphone and set himself up as the announcer.

“The Titans are running for the stone, mortals,” said Hermes. “Cronus kicks off! Ooh! The stone just missed the gods’ goal. Now Dionysus picks it up. He kicks it to Aphrodite. She boots it to Apollo. Will you look at that god dribble? He’s taking the stone deep into Titan territory. Now Cronus is—holy cow! He’s pulled a sword out from under his robe! The other Titans are pulling out swords, too!”

So this is what Dad meant when he said I’d pay for winning the long jump! This wasn’t kickstone. This was war!

“Cronus takes a swing at Apollo!” Hermes cried. “Apollo jumps back—he’s safe! But the Titans have taken possession of the stone!”

Every time we got close to that stone, the Titans tried to whack us.

“Themis!” cried Zeus. “They’re cheating! Call a foul! Do something!”

But Themis only shrugged. Titan Justice was no justice at all for the gods.

The score at the end of the first quarter was Titans: IX, Gods: I.

But luckily we had a smart coach, and we were fast learners. The next quarter, Zeus brought his sword onto the field too. Apollo figured out how to duck under the Titan swords and keep dribbling. Aphrodite sharpened her aim. She knocked the sword out of many a Titan hand with a well-placed kick of the stone. Those of us on defense body-blocked dozens of near goals.

By the end of the third quarter, we were only three points behind. And when the clock ran out on the game, the score was Titans: XXIV, Gods: XXIV. A tie!

Now the game went into sudden-death overtime. The first team to score would get to live on Mount Olympus—forever!

We gods redoubled our efforts. So did the Titans. We played all day. But we couldn’t score on them, and they couldn’t score on us.

At last the sun sank low in the sky, and it got too dark to see the stone. Themis whistled and declared the game over for the day.

“Report to the field tomorrow morning to finish the game,” Themis said.

But the next day, neither team scored the final point. There was no score the following day either. Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months, and still no one scored a point.

Mortals stopped coming to the stadium. You could pick up a GODS RULE demi-robe for next to nothing. And without the mortals there watching, the Titans played ugly. They started chopping down trees and flinging them at us. Whole forests quickly disappeared. When that didn’t stop us, the Titans hacked boulders out of mountains and threw them at us. They ripped up the earth as the game raged on. But we gods gritted our teeth and kept playing. We didn’t let them score.

Every evening, we retreated to our cave, bruised and ichoring. But every morning, we showed up at the stadium again. And so did the Titans. The game dragged on for ten long years.

Then one morning, Hera shouted the usual through her megaphone: “Up and at ’em, gods! We’ve got a game to win!”

And I knew I couldn’t take another day of the kickstone war. I slipped out of the cave. I took off down the road. I didn’t know where I was headed, but I kept walking for miles. The sun was blazing, and when I came to a stream, I sat down to cool my feet in the water.

I was so wrapped up in trying to think of some way to end the endless game that I never heard footsteps. The first I knew that I had company was when someone sat down next to me and put his feet into the stream. Big feet. Titanic.

I looked up and saw a Titan with blond hair and a blond beard. A pair of very cool blue sunglasses rested on top of his head.

“Howdy,” he said.

“What?” I said.

“Say, you’re one of those little gods, aren’t you?” the Titan said. “The ones who gave ol’ Cronus such a bad time.”

I nodded, hoping he wasn’t big on revenge. “Who are you?”

“Hyperion’s my name,” the Titan said. “And light’s my game. You know Sun, Moon, and Dawn? They’re my kids. A bright bunch, too. If only they’d take some responsibility! Most mornings, I have to drag Dawn out of bed and get her glowing. Sun always wants to stay up late. You should see what I go through to get him to set. And Moon?” he sighed. “She puts on weight, and then goes on a crash diet. Gets so thin you can hardly see her. Boy, howdy! Being in charge of light, day and night, can wear a fellow down.”

“You don’t talk like the other Titans,” I said.

Hyperion nodded. “Don’t rightly know why,” he said, “but the day I bought me that cattle herd, I just up and started talking this way.”

I didn’t think I’d seen Hyperion around Olympia Stadium, but I had to ask. “Do you ever play in the Olympic games?”

“No, sir, I don’t.” Hyperion shook his head. “Cronus and those boys are a bad bunch. I hear they ran y’all off Mount Olympus.”

I nodded. “If only we could win at kickstone, we’d get it back.”

Hyperion stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I know some fellows who just might help you beat those Titan thugs,” he said at last.

I jumped up. “Will you come with me back to our cave—er, our headquarters—and tell that to all the other gods?”

Hyperion glanced at the sky. “I can’t stay past sunset,” he said. “So if we’re going, let’s skedaddle.”

He led the way to an old flame-scarred chariot. We jumped in, and he drove us back to the cave. We got there just as the rest of the gods were dragging home from the stadium.

Hera saw us coming and shot me a nasty look for skipping the game.

I hopped out of the chariot and said, “Hera, this is Hyperion, Titan Ruler of Light. He’s Dad’s brother, but he doesn’t like Dad any more than we do. And he has an idea about how we can get some help and win the Olympics.”

“Announcement!” Hera called through her megaphone.

Everyone gathered round. Hera introduced Hyperion.

“Howdy,” Hyperion said. “I’m thinking that my little brothers might like to play on your kickstone team.”

“But you’re a Titan,” Hera said. “So your brothers are Titans too.”

“Not all of ’em,” said Hyperion.

We looked pretty blank, so Hyperion explained. “After Mama Gaia gave birth to us Titans, she had triplets called the Cyclopes. Each Cyclops had one big eye in the middle of his forehead.”

“Gross!” said Hestia.

“That’s just what Sky Daddy said,” Hyperion continued. “He thought the Cyclopes were beyond ugly. He couldn’t stand the sight of ’em. But Mama Gaia loved her Cyclopes children. She kept saying, ‘Sky Daddy, honey, they’re family!’ And Sky Daddy kept saying, ‘Mama Gaia, honey, they’re revolting.’”

“In time, Mama Gaia had another set of triplets,” Hyperion went on. “And this batch was really strange. Each one had fifty heads and one hundred arms. No kidding! Mama Gaia loved each little head, of course, but Sky Daddy? Uh-uh. He took one look at them and went, ‘Yeeech!’ He scooped them up, and the Cyclopes, too, and he flung them down into Tartarus, a deep, fiery pit in the Underworld.”

“Wasn’t Mama Gaia mad at Sky Daddy?” asked Demeter.

“You betcha.” Hyperion nodded. “She was so mad that she helped Cronus overthrow Sky Daddy, and she set him up as top Titan. After he took over, Cronus was supposed to spring the Cyclopes and the Hundred-Handed Ones from jail. He went down to Tartarus to get them, but he took one look at them and left them where they were. He was shaking-in-his-sandals scared they’d overpower him one day. So those ol’ boys have been in jail all this time, locked up and guarded by Campe, the Underworld Jail Keep. They’d be mighty grateful for a rescue.”

“But would it be fair to have them play on our team?” asked Hestia.

“Fair?” snapped Hera. “Are the Titans playing fair? I don’t think so.”

“Rescuing those boys might not be any picnic,” Hyperion added. “Campe is huge, second only in size to Typhon, the terrible donkey-headed monster. And I hear she has some ugly tricks up her sleeves. But, hey. It’s worth a try.”

Hyperion glanced up at the sun. He took his blue sunglasses from the top of his head and slid them on. “Duty calls,” he said. “Good luck!”

Apollo ran quickly over to Hyperion’s chariot and handed him the reins. It looked as if the wanna-be Sun God had found his role model. Hyperion clucked to his horses, and they galloped off toward the west.

“Okay! Let’s get organized!” Hera said. “Hermes? Take a message to the Titans. Say we call a three-week time out. Hades? You, Zeus, and Po go down to the Underworld and get the Cyclopes and Hundred-Handed Ones out of jail. The rest of us will stay here and—”

“Plant corn!” Demeter cried.

“Clean the cave!” Hestia said.

“Work on our kickstone skills,” said Hera firmly.

Not one bit sorry to be missing that, I packed up a cooler of ambrosia sandwiches and Nectar Colas for the journey, and then my brothers and I took off for the Underworld.