Percy Jackson's Greek Gods (Percy Jackson and the Olympians companion #5.5) - Rick Riordan Page 0,74
wide meadow, where he couldn’t possibly be missed, and started playing his panpipes.
Pretty soon the sky darkened. The ground shook. The air smelled like acid and poison, and the trees began to smolder. Aegipan kept playing his sweet melodies.
The dark form of Typhoeus appeared on the horizon, like King Kong, Godzilla, and one of those evil Transformer dudes all rolled into one. He bellowed his victory cry as he approached Mount Olympus. The whole earth shuddered.
Aegipan kept playing. His melodies were like sunlight in the morning and a cool stream trickling through the woods and the smell of your girlfriend’s freshly shampooed hair….
Sorry. I got distracted. What was I saying?
Right…the satyr god. His music evoked everything good and beautiful. When Typhoeus got close, he heard the sweet song floating in the air, and he stopped in utter confusion.
“That doesn’t sound like screaming,” the giant muttered to himself. “It’s not an explosion, either. What is that?”
Safe to say that they didn’t have a lot of music in Tartarus, and if they did, it was more along the lines of funeral dirges and death metal.
Typhoeus finally spotted the satyr god kicking back in the meadow, playing his pipes. Typhoeus could’ve stomped him flat, obviously, but Aegipan looked completely unconcerned.
Typhoeus was baffled. He knelt down to take a closer look at the satyr. For a few moments, the world was silent except for the burning wake of destruction behind the giant, and the sweet music of the panpipes.
The storm giant had never heard anything so beautiful. It certainly was better than his she-monster wife’s nagging voice and the crying of his monstrous children.
Without even meaning to, Typhoeus heaved a deep contented sigh, which was so powerful, it parted Aegipan’s hair and disturbed his song.
The satyr god finally looked up, but he didn’t seem scared.
(In fact, Aegipan was terrified, but he hid it well, possibly because he knew Hermes was standing by, ready for a quick extraction if things went bad.)
“Oh, hello,” said Aegipan. “I didn’t notice you.”
Typhoeus tilted his massive head. “I am as tall as the sky, shrouded in darkness, and I have been destroying the world. How did you not notice me?”
“I guess I was busy with my music.” Aegipan started playing again. Immediately Typhoeus felt his massive heart lift with joy that was almost better than when he contemplated destroying the gods.
“I like your music,” Typhoeus decided. “I may not kill you.”
“Thank you,” Aegipan said calmly, and went back to playing.
“When I destroy the gods, I will take over Mount Olympus. I will make you my court musician so you can perform for me.”
Aegipan just kept playing his soft happy song.
“I will need good music,” Typhoeus decided. “You can write a great ballad about me—a song of how I conquered the world!”
Aegipan stopped and suddenly looked sad. “Hmm…if only…no. No, it’s impossible.”
“What?” Typhoeus boomed.
It was really hard for Aegipan to remember the plan and stay calm with a massive storm giant looming over him, the hundreds of snake-head fingers dripping poison and glaring at him with red eyes.
Hermes is nearby, Aegipan reminded himself. I can do this.
“Well, I would love to write a song about you,” Aegipan said. “But such a majestic tune shouldn’t be played on panpipes. I would need a harp.”
“You can have any harp in the world,” Typhoeus promised.
“Very gracious, my lord,” Aegipan said, “but it would need strings made from some incredibly tough sinew…much stronger than cow or horse guts. Otherwise, the strings would burst when I tried to play a song about your power and majesty. No mortal instrument could withstand such a song!”
This made perfect sense to Typhoeus. Then he had a thought.
“I know just the thing!” Typhoeus set his pack on the ground and dug out Zeus’s tendons. “You may use these to make your harp.”
“Oh, that’s perfect!” Aegipan said, though he really wanted to scream, That’s disgusting! “As soon as you conquer the universe, I will make a harp worthy of your song.” Aegipan lifted his panpipes and played a few notes of a soft sleepy lullaby. “But that must be incredibly hard work, conquering the world, even for an incomparable being such as yourself.”
Aegipan played a little more, invoking a lazy afternoon, the cool shade of a tree by a brook, the gentle swinging of a comfortable hammock. Typhoeus’s eyes began to get heavy.
“Yes…tiring work,” Typhoeus agreed. “Nobody appreciates how I labor!” He sat down, shaking the mountains. “Destroying cities. Poisoning oceans. Fighting with the moon. It’s exhausting!”