by Joan Holub
Apollo grinned and hopped up, tucking his lyre under one arm. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Guess I’d better head out too. I’m up next.”
With that, they both left the skene, separating as Apollo went down to the stage and Calliope went to rejoin her sisters in the audience. She kept an eye out for Homer along the way, but fortunately he was nowhere in sight.
She took her seat again as others in the crowd did the same. Down on the circular stage the herald, Marsyas, and Apollo were huddled together, discussing something. Finally they broke apart, seeming to reach some kind of decision.
The herald stepped to the center of the round stage and pinged his lyre to get the audience’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen. Mortals, immortals, and creatures,” he called out. “Before we start today’s mighty musical battle, our two fantabulous contestants will each choose three members of the audience. If you are selected, you will become part of a panel of six judges to determine the ultimate winner.”
A murmur swept through the crowd. “What if there’s a tie?” someone from the audience shouted out.
The herald puffed out his chest. “In the event of a tie, the contestants have asked me to cast the deciding vote.” He was obviously proud that both Marsyas and Apollo trusted him to make that decision.
“What’s the prize?” someone else called out.
“Winner gets a forfeit from the loser,” Marsyas called back confidently. “Which means Apollo—uh, I mean, the loser has to fork over whatever the winner wants. No complaints.”
At this, Apollo paled a little. Why? Calliope wondered. Deep in his immortal heart, he had to know he was a shoo-in for the win, right?
The herald took charge again. “Judges, when you are called, please come up to the side of the stage and be seated.” He swept an arm toward six chairs that were now being set up.
Marsyas chose first. Hoofing it over to the herald’s side, he patted his prized goat-hair vest, then smoothed it down with both hands as he surveyed the crowd for judges.
“Pick me! Pick me!” a few voices called out, until the herald gestured for quiet.
Marsyas made his first two choices immediately. “Echo and Daphne.” With twin squeals the two nymphs jumped up from their seats and bounded down to the stage. They were best friends, and, more important, they were also Marsyas’s friends. It was Echo, of course, who had designed Marsyas’s vest.
“And Pan,” Marsyas added, pointing at the top tier of seats. A fellow satyr who was also half-boy, half-goat, Pan was an excellent musician as well. He played the panpipes, an instrument of his own devising made from reeds. Bleating happily, Pan trotted down the nearest aisle to sit by the two nymphs onstage.
Then it was Apollo’s turn to select judges. He stepped up to the herald’s other side, opposite Marsyas. As he glanced out over the crowd, his gaze caught Calliope’s. “I choose Calliope,” he said with a smile. “And two of her sister Muses,” he added. “She can decide which two.”
Calliope’s eyes widened in surprise. She would have predicted that he’d pick his crush, the princess Cassandra. And maybe his sister Artemis and his roommate Dionysus. She wondered if Apollo had only chosen her because he felt sorry for her after hearing about her doomed performance.
Regardless of the reason, this was a real honor! And she planned to take her job as a judge seriously—as befitted a responsible goddessgirl, one who was definitely no longer anyone’s baby sister!
Her sisters were all looking at her, awaiting her decision. “I wish I could choose all of you,” she said sincerely. “But since I can’t, I pick Urania and Terpsichore.”
Quickly she and her two sisters joined the other three judges at the side of the stage. Now the herald flipped a coin to decide which musician would play first. “Heads,” Apollo called out, as Marsyas called “Tails” at the same time.
Apollo won the toss and walked across the stage floor to pick up his lyre, which was just a short distance away. The lyre was U-shaped, with a hollow turtle-shell body at the bottom curve of the U and a bar across the open top of the U. Its seven strings were of equal length but of varying thicknesses, and stretched from the crossbar at the top of the lyre to a fixed tailpiece. A smaller crossbar—called a bridge—was positioned on the turtle shell to lift the strings away. This would allow them to vibrate and produce sound.
A chair was brought out for Apollo, and he sat down. Before beginning to play, however, he took a few seconds to adjust the bronze tuning pegs along the top crossbar of his lyre, tightening or loosening the strings to change their pitch.
When all was ready, he began to pluck and strum a melody using the fingers of both hands, as one plays a harp. Notes rose and fell, at times fast and at times slow, always in perfect harmony. The audience listened, entranced. And when Apollo finished the tune, the theater broke into cheers and enthusiastic applause. Ares and Poseidon hooted the loudest. Calliope and her two sisters cheered right along with them.
Apollo, with his lyre in one hand and his chair in the other, moved to stand at the back of the stage. Then Marsyas clip-clopped to front and center, holding his double-reeded aulos. The pair of pipes were made of cane and had holes cut along their length. When he covered the holes with his fingers and blew through the mouthpieces, the pipes would produce different tones. Marsyas grinned at the audience and raised the instrument’s twin mouthpieces to his lips.
Puffing out his cheeks and blowing mightily, he began to play a sprightly tune. His fingers zipped up and down over the holes. The rhythmical and penetrating sounds he produced were so exciting that they were practically as electric as the sparks that flew from Principal Zeus’s fingertips!
Calliope traded looks of alarm with her sisters. She was sure that none of them wanted to decide the contest in favor of Marsyas, but it was beginning to seem like they might have no choice.
When Marsyas finished playing, the audience exploded in applause and cheers. Some even stomped their feet! The satyr grinned triumphantly at Apollo.
He knows he’s won, Calliope thought.
But before she and the other five judges could officially vote on the winner, Marsyas, buoyed by the response of the crowd, couldn’t resist pumping his fists in the air. “I am the greatest musician in the world!” he boasted. Turning toward Apollo, he added in a cocky voice loud enough for the audience to hear, “Tell you what. Because I’m so certain of my talent, I’m going to give you one more chance to beat me.”
His eyes gleamed as he patted his good-luck goat-hair vest. “So what do you say, Apollo?” he asked with a wicked grin. “Want to give it another try?”
Apollo hesitated, looking uncertain. His gaze swept over the judges and then came to rest on Calliope. Seeing a glint of desperation in his eyes, she gave him an encouraging smile. Something seemed to come over him then. His look of desperation changed to one of hope, even confidence.
His shoulders straightened as he eyed Marsyas. “I accept your offer,” he declared. “I just hope you won’t regret having made it.” He grinned a mysterious grin and sent a meaningful glance at the vest. “Because,” he explained, “I intend to nail your hairy hide to the wall.”
Marsyas only laughed. “Whatever, god dude. But one more thing,” he said, his eyes wild with glee. “If I win, I’ll expect a lot for giving you this second chance. You’ll have to leave Mount Olympus Academy and serve me in my woodland forest for the rest of my days.”
The audience gasped. But Apollo just shrugged, surprisingly self-assured all of a sudden. “Fair enough.”
Once again Apollo took center stage with his instrument. Standing to play, instead of sitting this time, he raised his lyre. Then he began to pluck and strum the very same lively song Marsyas had just played on his aulos. Only, Apollo played it twice as fast. And as if that weren’t impressive enough, he suddenly flipped his lyre around so that the top crossbar was on the bottom. Holding the instrument over his head, he played the song upside down! Then he held the lyre behind his back and played
it. And then he played it with his teeth. All without missing a single note.
When Apollo finished the song, he did air splits and threw his lyre into the crowd. His friend and roommate, Dionysus, caught it. “You rocked it, Apollo! I’ll have this waiting for you when you want it back!” Dionysus called to him.
The amazed crowd roared their appreciation and approval. They applauded and stomped thunderously, and shouted “Bravo!”
Marsyas scowled, looking a little nervous for the first time.
Apollo glanced over at Calliope. Catching her eye, he mouthed the words, Thanks, upside down and backward.
Huh? Why was he thanking her, and in that odd way? She hadn’t done anything to help him. Hmm. All at once she remembered what she’d said to him just before he’d gone onstage, about how he didn’t need any luck because he could play his lyre upside down and backward. Her words must have inspired him to really try playing his lyre that way. Like most creative types, he’d taken her inspiration and built on it, until it had become something all his own. Something amazing!
The herald had taken center stage again. Apollo and Marsyas stood on either side of him as he looked over at Calliope and the other five judges. “So give us the verdict!” he called out to them. “When I place my hand over the head of each contestant, give a thumbs-up if you think he’s the winner.” He placed a hand above Apollo’s head first.
Calliope, Urania, and Terpsichore thrust their thumbs into the air. Giving Marsyas apologetic looks, Pan, Echo, and Daphne did too.
“The decision is unanimous!” the herald announced to nobody’s surprise. “Apollo wins!”
Shouts of approval rang out. “Woo-hoo!” “Awesome!” “That lyre was on fire!” After the audience’s cheers finally died down, the herald asked Apollo, “What do you choose for your prize?”
Apollo grinned over at Marsyas. “Like I told you, I intend to nail your hairy hide to the wall, or at least just tack it there.” He jerked his thumb toward the satyr’s goat-hair vest. “Take it off, dude. That hide vest is going up on the wall of my dorm room as a trophy!”
Marsyas nodded sheepishly as the audience laughed and clapped. Then he shrugged off his hairy vest and handed it over to Apollo. “Take care of it. It’s my pride and joy,” he said.
“Don’t worry,” Apollo told him. “You can always grow another one.”
“Yeah, in about ten years,” grumped Marsyas. It sounded like he was hoping Apollo would take pity on him and let him keep the vest. But Calliope doubted that Marsyas would’ve done that for Apollo, and she didn’t feel too sorry for him. He’d brought this on himself by challenging Apollo to a contest in the first place. And not being satisfied with humiliating Apollo once, Marsyas had tried to do it a second time. Not smart. Not smart at all.
Though more groups were scheduled to play or sing after a second intermission and the festival would go on till afternoon, Calliope and her sisters had stuff to do. After giving up their seats to new arrivals, they headed out of the theater.
“Calliope!” She turned to see that Homer had caught up to her at last. “Can I talk to you?” he asked.
Though still embarrassed about her flawed performance, she returned his smile with a bright one of her own. “Sure,” she said.
“Alone?” he added, sounding a little uncertain.
Whoa! He had something private to tell her? A little thrill of happy anticipation zipped through her. Maybe he wasn’t going to lecture her after all. Maybe he was going to ask her to go to the Supernatural Market to sip nectar shakes or something like that. She stepped a few feet away from her sisters to talk with him.
Just then she noticed that he was holding a bag in one hand and cradling a notescroll in his other hand. She eyed the scroll. What was written on it? Could it be an ode to a sweetheart? Was he going to give it to her? Thump-thump went her heart.
“Here,” Homer told her. But instead of handing her the scroll, he handed her the bag.
“Can you put this in the Hero-ology classroom?” he asked. “I found it under my seat in the theater. I tried to give it to you earlier during the intermission to take to MOA. I don’t want to entrust it to just anyone.”
Calliope gave him a quizzical look as she took the bag.
“I imagine Mr. Cyclops will be glad to have what’s in it back,” Homer said. “I think they’re the game pieces from the Hero-ology game board. I heard they were missing, and I remembered them from when I visited his classroom.”
“What?” Calliope said in surprise. She peered into the bag, which was indeed full of three-inch heroes, and then she looked back at him. “These were stolen! Hero-ology classes have had to use shells to play the map game ever since they went missing. How weird that the thief left them here!” She glanced around in bemusement.
“Yeah, it’s a mystery,” Homer said lightly. “I wonder if Principal Zeus or Mr. Cyclops have any suspects in mind.” After a slight pause he added, “Not that it matters, since the pieces are back now, I guess.”
Quickly he changed the subject, nodding in the direction of the empty stage, where she and her sisters had sung. “Amazing performance up there earlier, right? Despite a few glitches.”
“Amazing? Really?” So he didn’t think she’d messed up that badly? If he’d thought she had, he’d have said so. Or was this his way of trying to be sweet? She smiled at him. And glanced at the notescroll still in his hand.
She was disappointed when he tucked the notescroll under his arm. There probably wasn’t an ode written on it after all, she realized. Just research notes for whatever piece of writing he was doing now.
“Speaking of glitches,” he said with a frown. “What happened to you up there?”
“Huh? I thought you just said my performance was amazing,” she replied.
“No, I meant Apollo’s playing was amazing. The second time around, anyway. Marsyas made a huge mistake, letting him play again.”
“Oh,” said Calliope. “That’s true, but I was hoping you were going to say . . .” She broke off, waiting for him to offer her some kind words of consolation about her botched performance. Really, though, she should have known better than to hope for such a thing.
“You know, you really should have practiced more,” he informed her.
Duh! Obviously she knew that! And, anyway, if she hadn’t spent so much time helping him with his Iliad and Odyssey, she probably could’ve learned a zillion songs by now. Did he ever think about that? No, that was an unfair thought, she decided. Her part in inspiring both of those scrollbooks had happened long before she’d needed to learn the song she’d mangled today.
She was so stung by his unfeeling manner, however, that she started to hand him back his bag. How dare he ask her for a favor and then insult her like this. But she didn’t return the bag. Because that might’ve meant a delay in getting the game pieces back where they belonged.
Just then Urania called to her, gesturing toward some chariots parked nearby. “Hurry up, Calliope. We need to get going.” Accompanied by a half dozen festival-going students from MOA, she and her sister had traveled to the theater in one of those blue and gold Academy chariots.
Calliope turned back to Homer, who was already walking away from her. He wasn’t even going to say bye?
Hurt, she blurted, “Well, gotta run, Homer, but thanks for the oh-so-helpful advice. I mean, it was totally inspiring for me,” she said, unable to keep a snarky note from her voice. Not that it mattered. Her sarcasm was lost on him anyway.
“You’re welcome,” he said over his shoulder. For Zeus’s sake. He really did think she was grateful for his criticism! “And be careful with that.” He glanced meaningfully at the bag she held.
Before she could reply, a pretty, ponytailed mortal girl approached him clutching a scroll in her hand. It turned out to be a copy of The Odyssey.
Calliope tarried a moment longer, watching her speak to Homer, who suddenly wasn’t in such a hurry to leave. She looked about his same age, three years older tha
n Calliope.
Sounding starstruck, the girl gazed admiringly at Homer and gushed, “I can’t believe it’s really you! I love The Odyssey. I’ve read it three times!” She thrust her scrollbook at him. “Will you sign my copy?”
“Sure,” said Homer. He took a feather pen from the pocket of his tunic and expertly unrolled the scrollbook to a blank space before the actual beginning of his epic poem. Pen poised, he asked, “What would you like me to write?”
The girl batted her ridiculously long eyelashes at him. “How about ‘To Chloe, with all my love’?”
Godsamighty! thought Calliope. She was going to barf. She waited for Homer to tell this crazy girl he’d write no such thing.
But instead he only laughed while flushing to the roots of his spiky blue hair. “Um . . . sure,” he said, sounding flattered.
“Calliope!” Urania called again. “C’mon. Hurry up.”
Reluctant to leave before the ponytail girl did, Calliope waved at Urania and slowly started toward her sister. But she kept her head turned over one shoulder, her eyes glued to the drama unfolding between her crush and that dumb girl.
Chloe batted her eyelashes some more. “Your prose is, like, sooo inspired,” she cooed.
Calliope paused midstep, waiting for Homer to credit Calliope for inspiring the prose. When he did, she was going back over there to wedge herself between those two. Urania could wait.
But all Homer said was, “Yes, writing epic poetry isn’t easy. You wouldn’t believe how hard I worked on that scrollbook.”
“Ooh! I would, though,” said the girl. “It shows.”
Grr! In a total snit now, Calliope whipped her head forward and stomped off for the chariot. Homer’s bag bumped against her leg the whole way there. Couldn’t that dweeby crush of hers have acknowledged her help even a little bit? She was totally done with him. Forever.
“Everything okay?” asked Urania, looking past her toward Homer.
No, everything was not okay. Her feelings were hurt. “Mm-hm. Fine,” said Calliope.
