Percy Jackson's Greek Gods (Percy Jackson and the Olympians companion #5.5) - Rick Riordan Page 0,110

that the other goddesses teased her about the way she looked when she played it, so she threw it off Olympus and swore that anyone who played it would suffer a terrible fate.

Well, poor Marsyas didn’t know that. It wasn’t like Athena had put a warning label on it. The satyr picked up the flute and began to play. Since it had been filled with the breath of a goddess, the flute sounded amazing. In no time, Marysas had mastered the fingering and was playing so beautifully, all the nature nymphs for miles around came to hear him.

Pretty soon he was signing autographs. He scored six number-one hits on Billboard. His YouTube channel attracted seven million followers, and his first album went platinum in Asia Minor.

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. But he got popular for his music. His fame spread.

Apollo didn’t like that. He only had five number-one hits on Billboard. He didn’t want some stupid satyr on the cover of Rolling Stone when it should have been him.

Apollo came down to Phrygia and floated invisibly above the crowd that had gathered to hear Marsyas play. The guy was good, no question. That made Apollo even angrier.

He waited and listened, knowing it was only a matter of time….

Soon enough, a starry-eyed nymph in the front row screamed, “Marsyas, you’re the new Apollo!”

The praise went right to Marsyas’s head. He winked at the nymph. “Thanks, babe. But seriously, whose music do you like better—Apollo’s, or mine?”

The crowd cheered wildly—until Apollo appeared on stage in a blaze of golden light. Everyone went absolutely silent.

“What a great question, Marsyas!” Apollo cried. “Was that a challenge? ’Cause it sounded like a challenge.”

“Uh…Lord Apollo…I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“A music contest, you say?” Apollo grinned ear to ear. “I accept! We’ll let the crowd choose who is better, and just to make things interesting, the winner can do whatever he wants to the loser—demand any price, inflict any punishment! How does that strike you?”

Marsyas turned pale, but the crowd cheered and hollered in approval. Funny how quickly a flute concert can turn into a public execution.

Marsyas didn’t have much choice, so he played the best he could. His flute music brought tears to the nymphs’ eyes. The satyrs in the audience cried, held torches in the air, and bleated like baby goats.

Apollo followed with a song on his lyre (which had been invented by this time—more on that later). He strummed and sang and did a blazing extended solo. The girls in the front row fainted. The audience roared enthusiastically.

It was impossible to tell who had won the contest. Both musicians were equally talented.

“Well…” Apollo scratched his head. “Tiebreaker, then. Let’s see who can do the best trick playing.”

Marsyas blinked. “Trick playing?”

“Sure, you know. Fancy moves! Showmanship! Can you do this?”

Apollo put his lyre behind his head and played a tune without even looking at the strings. The crowd went nuts. Apollo windmilled his arms. He slid across the stage on his knees while shredding sixteenth notes, then hit the reverb button on his lyre and leaped into the mosh pit, ripping out a solo as the crowd pushed him back onto the stage.

The applause died down after about an hour. Apollo grinned at Marsyas. “Can you do that?”

“With a flute?” Marsyas cried. “Of course not! That’s not fair!”

“Then I win!” Apollo said. “I have just the punishment for you. See, Marsyas, you think you’re special, but you’re a fad. I’ll be famous forever. I’m immortal. You? All glitter, no gold. Scratch the surface, and you’re just another mortal satyr—flesh and blood. I’m going to prove that to the crowd.”

Marsyas backed up. His mouth tasted like python slime. “Lord Apollo, let me apologize for—”

“I’m going to flay you alive!” Apollo said cheerfully. “I’m going remove your skin, so we can all see what’s underneath!”

Grossed out yet?

Yeah. It was pretty horrible.

Marsyas suffered a grisly death just because he dared to make music as good as Apollo’s. The satyr’s body was buried in a cave near the site of the music contest, and his blood became a river that gushed down the side of the hill.

Apollo made the cover of Rolling Stone. From his smiling face, you’d never guess the guy sewed curtains out of satyr skin.

Final thing about Apollo: he was a confirmed bachelor and a real ladies’ man. Hey, a mass-murdering psychopath who plays the lyre? It doesn’t get much more charming than that!

According to some stories, he dated each of the Nine Muses—the goddesses who oversaw different kinds