TWELVE

Phaeton still could not meet the gaze of the immortal Mercury.

The chastened centaurs were already departing, hurrying off into the woodland, eager to escape the divine presence. A covey of quail burst upward from the herd of horse-men, and the gray-bearded leader raised a hand in apology to the woodland. Such birds are beloved of Diana, goddess of the hunt and of the moon, and the centaurs appeared to be suddenly shy of any disturbance they might cause among the divine powers.

“It is not too late to go home again, Phaeton,” said Mercury with a smile.

He wore the appearance of a person younger than Phaeton, and the divine one’s eyes were those of a youth without any care. But Phaeton felt the touch of the staff even now, long moments after it had rested for an instant on his shoulder.

His shoulder tingled, and a warmth spread down from that momentary contact, filling Phaeton with strength. His hunger was gone, and so was any trace of weariness.

And yet Phaeton did not trust his voice to speak – not for the moment.

“Already, good Phaeton,” said the divine one cheerfully, “you begin to ask yourself, have I made a mistake?’ Not yet, I can advise you. Not nearly yet. Your mistake, Phaeton, is yet to come.”

Phaeton did not want to bring shame to himself, or to his mother – or, indeed, to his homeland – by uttering an awkward remark. But Mercury’s statement made the young man uneasy.

The herald seemed to read the young traveler’s thoughts.

“Is a mother always wise, Phaeton?” queried the immortal one. “Should a young man always follow a parent’s urging?”

Mercury was famous for his telling way with argument, and many philosophers and poets knelt at the crossroads, praying that the divine one might quicken their powers of speech. Phaeton knew that no young man could counter the talents of this immortal, and so he did not try.

“Undying messenger, please grace my journey,” prayed Phaeton when he could speak at last.

“Ah,” said Mercury, not a syllable so much as a breeze rising from the earth, an upwelling of sadness.

Then he gave a gentle laugh. “You can speak very handsomely, young Phaeton, when you wish to. It’s a talent that always wins my heart.”

“My divine father will thank you,” added Phaeton.

“Have you nothing more to ask me, mortal Phaeton?” asked the herald already cinching his belt and bending to tighten a strap on his gold-leather travel boots, getting ready to depart.

“Is it far to my father’s temple?”

“Oh, yes – it’s half a world away,” said Mercury lightly, as though the message could only please. “Only a divine power could speed you there,” he added, squaring his wide-brimmed hat on his head.

Disheartened by this, Phaeton all the more deeply regretted the loss of his supplies. “Why did the water nymph steal my cakes and silver?” asked Phaeton before he could stop himself.

“You owed the nymphs an offering,” said Mercury, like someone explaining what was all too clear, “in return for saving your life.”

“When did the nation of nymphs do anything for the son of Clymene?” inquired Phaeton.

Mercury gave another smile. “Did I not hear,” he said, “that a dryad kept the bees of a sacred oak from stinging an ardent youth?”

Phaeton had not considered this possibility.

“Run, Phaeton,” urged immortal Mercury with a smile, “all the way to the gates of dawn.”

Phaeton bounded ahead, but he keenly felt the plodding weight of his progress compared with the leaping strides of the divine messenger.

“Hurry, Phaeton,” cheered the youthful-looking god, “you have whole continents to put behind you.”

Phaeton lumbered forward, moving as swiftly as he could, it was true, but clumsy alongside the darting herald.

“On the wind, Phaeton,” said the messenger.

Phaeton forged ahead, a stitch in his side.

“Like this!” cried the messenger.

He touched the young man’s right heel with the tip of his staff.

The deity vanished up the road as Phaeton strode along earnestly, doing as he was told, putting one foot ahead of the other.

Very soon his progress changed.

Berry bushes became a blur.

Winging sparrows and a quick-footed weasel were left far behind. The vixen in her course, the heron in his flight, were all frozen in place, so fleet was Phaeton in his growing joy.

No mortal had ever been so swift.

Spotted deer bounded, and the wild colt, and the gazelle, but Phaeton sprang beyond them all.

He flashed past a cloven-footed satyr spying on women, innocent villagers rinsing clothes beside a river. The satyr jumped, startled as never before, but neither he nor the women glimpsed the youthful son of Apollo as he passed. They were aware only of the explosion into the sky of egrets, startled at the sudden wake that wrinkled the water behind some unseen force, powering east.

Crocodiles stirred in their shallows, and lions looked up from their hiding places, as Phaeton sped across the grassy veldt. The hippopotamus yawning in his pond, the elephant lazing in his water hole, all snorted and rose up, alarmed as the air was split for an instant by a presence approaching, and just as suddenly passed.

So fleet was Phaeton that mountain ranges fell away beneath his feet, and marshland parted.

As the long daylight hours stretched on, and as the sun’s chariot swept the high heavens and descended toward sunset, Phaeton sped, snow-splashed peak and mosquito-droning jungle both a blur past the tireless runner.

And still he ran, into the night that rose from the east.

Phaeton’s thrill at his wondrous speed was tempered, now, by the knowledge of what he approached.

What will I tell my divine father? wondered Phaeton.

How can I dare to so much as gaze upon him?

And what will I bring myself to say?

If only I could speed like this forever, thought Clymene’s son, and never achieve my destination – that would be happiness.

Stars lifted high in the vault of night, and still Phaeton made his way, empowered by Mercury’s gift, into the territories far to the east. No mortal had ever wandered into these sun-burnished ridges and heat-blanched valleys before the sun’s domain.

The young seeker approached the edge of the world.