The Shadow Summoner | Book Three - PJO Universe

ten

APOLLO'S STUPID POETRY MAKES MEG DISAPPEAR

The clearing opened before then like an oven door. A wall of heat billowed through the trees and washed over Ariana's face.

The scene before them had no business being in a Long Island winter. Glistening vines wreathed the tree branches.

Tropical flowers bloomed from the forest floor. A red parrot sat on a banana tree heavy with green bunches.

In the midst of the glade stood two geysers - twin holes in the ground, ringed with a figure of eight of grey mud pots. The craters bubbled and hissed, but they were not spewing at the moment.

Ariana decided to take that as a good omen.

Meg's boots squished in the mud. "Is it safe?"

"Definitely not." Apollo said. "We'll need an offering. Perhaps your packet of seeds?"

Ariana punched his arm. "Those for Meg and are magic. For life-and-death emergencies. What about your ukulele? You're not going to play it anyway."

"A man of honour never surrenders his ukulele!" The ex god perked up. "But wait. You've given me an idea. I will offer the geyser gods a poem! I can still do that. It doesn't count as music."

Ariana groaned and wanted to tell the boy that nobody liked his poetry; yet she didn't, not wanting to hurt his mortal feelings.

Meg frowned. "Uh, I don't know if -"

"Don't be envious, Meg. I will make up a poem for you later. This will surely please the geyser gods." He walked forward, spread his arms and began to improvise:

"Oh, geyser, my geyser,
Let us spew then, you and I,
Upon this midnight dreary, while we ponder
Whose woods are these?
For we have not gone gentle into this good night, But have wandered lonely as clouds.
We seek to know for whom the bell tolls,
So I hope, springs eternal,
That the time has come to talk of many things!"

Ariana glanced at Meg, her mouth hung open, aghast.

"What?" Apolll demanded. "Did you fail poetry appreciation in school? That was first-rate stuff!"

"You think that dude." Ariana whispered, it was one of the worst ones Apollo had ever told her.

Meg pointed towards the geysers. Ariana realized she was not looking at them at all.

"Well," said a raspy voice, "you got my attention."

One of the palikoi hovered over his geyser. His lower half was nothing but steam. From the waist up, he was perhaps twice the size of a human, with muscular arms the colour of caldera mud, chalk-white eyes and hair like cappuccino foam, as if he had shampooed vigorously and left it sudsy.

His massive chest was stuffed into a baby-blue polo shirt with a logo of trees embroidered on the chest pocket.

"O Great Palikos." Apollo said. "We beseech you -"

"What was that?" the spirit interrupted. "That stuff you were saying?"

"Trash?" Ariana suggested.

"Poetry!" Apollo said, glaring at Ariana. "For you."

He tapped his mud-grey chin. "No. That wasn't poetry."

"My good spirit." Apollo said. "Poetry doesn't have to rhyme, you know."

"I'm not talking about rhyming. I'm talking about getting your message across. We do a lot of market research, and that would not fly for our campaign. Now, the Oscar Meyer Weiner song - that is poetry. The ad is fifty years old and people are still singing it. Do you think you could give us some poetry like that?"