Percy Jackson's Greek Gods (Percy Jackson and the Olympians companion #5.5) - Rick Riordan Page 0,128

tried to scale the trunk of the elm, but he was a lousy climber. He fell on his butt in the leaves.

Ampelos laughed. “If it’s so important to you, I’ll get it. Leave the climbing to satyrs.”

Dionysus felt a sudden chill of dread. He didn’t want Ampelos going up there. But he also wanted the vine.

“Be careful,” he said.

Ampelos rolled his eyes. “I’ve climbed higher trees than this!”

The young satyr clambered up the trunk and was soon straddling the elm branch. “Easy peasy!” He started prying the vine from the branch, feeding the end down to Dionysus like a rope. “Got it?”

Dionysus reached up and grabbed the vine.

What happened next isn’t clear. Maybe Dionysus pulled the vine too hard. Maybe Ampelos reached down too low. Whatever the case, Ampelos lost his balance and fell, tangled in the vine.

Twenty feet isn’t so far, but it was enough. Ampelos hit his head on a rock with a sickening crack.

Dionysus wailed in horror. He embraced his friend, but the young satyr’s eyes were already dull and empty. He wasn’t breathing. Sticky blood matted his hair and stained the leaves of the vine.

Ampelos was dead.

Dionysus sobbed. If he hadn’t wanted this stupid vine, his friend would still be alive. His sadness mixed with anger. He glared at the satyr’s blood on the green leaves. He snarled, “You will pay for this, vine. You will bear the sweetest fruit to make up for this bitter loss. BEAR FRUIT!”

The vine trembled. The body of Ampelos dissolved into mist. The satyr’s blood soaked into the plant, and clusters of small fruit popped up, ripening instantly to dark red.

Dionysus had created the first grapevine.

He wiped away his tears. He had to make his friend’s death mean something. He would learn to use this new plant.

The grapes looked full of juice, so Dionysus picked several bunches. He carried them to a nearby creek bed and found two large flat stones. He crushed the grapes between the rocks, inventing the first winepress.

Dionysus collected the juice in his drinking cup, which he always kept at his belt. He held the liquid in the sunlight and worked his magic, swishing the grape juice around until it fermented into…something else. Something new.

He took a sip and his taste buds nearly exploded. “This,” he pronounced, “is good stuff.”

Dionysus called it wine. He made enough to fill his flask, then looked back wistfully one more time at the place where Ampelos had died. The grapevines were going crazy now, spreading all over the woods, blooming with a vengeance and bearing more grapes.

Dionysus nodded, satisfied. If he had his way, the whole world would be filled with grapevines in Ampelos’s honor.

He went back to the cave where he lived on Mount Nysa. He showed his discovery to one of his foster moms, a nymph named Ambrosia. (Yes, she was named after the godly food. I don’t know why. At least it’s better than Cookie or Snickerdoodle.)

Ambrosia took a sip of wine. Her eyes widened. “This is delicious! Where’s Ampelos?”

“Oh…” Dionysus hung his head. “He died, falling from a tree.”

“That’s terrible!” Ambrosia took another sip. “But this is good stuff!”

Soon she was sharing wine with all her nymph friends. The satyrs came by to see what the giggling was about. Pretty soon, the whole mountain was one giant party, with dancing and singing and tiki torches and lots of wine. Dionysus kept making the stuff and passing it around. He couldn’t keep up with demand. Finally he taught the satyrs and nymphs how to make it themselves, and by the end of the night, everybody on the mountain was an expert winemaker.

The satyrs quickly discovered that if they drank too much wine, they got drunk. They couldn’t think straight, see straight, or walk straight. For some reason, they found this hilarious. They kept on drinking.

An older satyr, Silenos, threw his arm around Dionysus’s shoulders. “You, sir, are a god! No, I mean that. The god of…what’s this stuff called again?”

“Wine,” said Dionysus.

“God of wine!” Silenos hiccupped. “Got any more?”

Now, kids, this is another good time to remind you that wine is for grown-ups! It tastes horrible and could seriously mess up your life. Don’t even be tempted until you’re at least forty years old!

Aw, but Percy, you whine (get it, whine?), it sounds like the satyrs had so much fun drinking wine!

It might sound that way, kids. But satyrs can be pretty stupid. (Again, no offense to my buddy Grover.) You also didn’t see the satyrs the