Apollo and the Battle of the Birds by Joan Holub

Author:Joan Holub
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin

CHAPTER SEVEN

A New Olympian

Don’t you remember me?” Apollo asked. “It has been a long time. That old Titan Iapetos captured you, me, and my sister, Artemis, when we were just little kids. Artemis and I finally escaped, but you didn’t.”

The others looked at Apollo in surprise.

“How come you never told us this story before?” Hera asked.

He shrugged. “You never asked.”

Poseidon shook his head. “Dude, really? You spend two weeks on the road singing every song you can think up, but you couldn’t tell us something so important?”

Apollo brightened. “Good idea! I should write a song about it.”

“Is there anything else you haven’t told us?” asked Hera.

“I don’t think so,” Apollo said, beginning to strum his lyre. “Now let me see.” Then he started to sing, “The evil Titan Iapetos . . . What rhymes with Iapetos?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ares burst out. “Iapetos is my father!”

“If he told you he’s your father, then he’s a liar,” Apollo said. He swept his hand toward the group. “You’re an Olympian, just like all of us.”

Ares’s face turned bright red. His eyes started to glow like they were on fire, and his hands clenched into fists. “You’re the liar!” he yelled.

Zeus stepped between them. “You know, for a Titan you’re kind of small,” he pointed out to Ares. “Titans are giants, but you’re more our size—Olympian-size.”

“You look kind of like us too, even if you do have weird eyes,” Poseidon added.

Zeus shot him a warning look. Something—maybe that spear—reminded him that this Ares was not somebody you wanted to get riled up unnecessarily. Especially since he had a bunch of attack birds under his control.

“I can prove my story,” Apollo offered. “If I didn’t know you when you were three, then I wouldn’t know about that birthmark on your back. The one shaped like a dog.”

The anger in Ares’s face started to fade. “How do you know about that?” He quickly looked over his shoulder, to make sure the mark wasn’t showing.

“I told you, we grew up together,” Apollo said. “A birthmark like that isn’t easy to forget.”

“It really looks like a dog?” Hera asked.

Ares ignored her. He leaned back against a tree, dazed. “I just don’t know about this. . . . Why don’t I remember you?”

“Maybe you’ll remember this. I wrote my first song for us,” Apollo told him. He began to sing in a sweet, magical voice. It sounded like tinkling bells and chirping sparrows and gave you goose bumps when you listened to it.

“Good night, good night, good night,

The stars are in the sky.

Good night, good night, good night,

The owls are going to fly—”

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