SIXTEEN

For a long moment Apollo wrapped himself in silence.

Then he gave a laugh, pretending an easy confidence he did not feel.

“What request was that, dear boy?” he asked, as though he could not distinctly recall every word.

“Keep your solemn vow, Father,” insisted Phaeton, in his best, most formal language, “one made under the open sky, and let me take the reins of your chariot for a day over the earth.”

The immortal shivered inwardly at the sound of this, and yet he gave another hearty laugh, disguising his growing unease.

“Come now, dearest Phaeton,” said the lord of daylight, “of all the gifts I could provide for you –”

This is the one I seek,” said Phaeton, before his father could complete his thought “I claim your word, on your love for my mother.”

The sun god kept silent now, mistrusting talk altogether. Argument was prized by mortals, with their love of gossip. The lord of daylight loathed ordinary conversation, and prized poetry and song – words with wings. Apollo realized that he had been foolish to trade speech with his offspring from the world of men.

When he spoke again it was in a new, deeply shaken tone. “Phaeton, what you have asked I cannot give.”

Phaeton took a step back, disappointment in his eyes.

“My son, you seek too much,” protested the divinity. “You have a mortal’s ability, and a young man’s skill. Even great Jupiter himself would scarcely be able to control my chariot.”

“I see now? said Phaeton, “what my mother discovered years ago – that a god may be quick to promise, but slow to keep his vows.”

The daily course of my own chariot,” said Apollo struggling to keep his habitual good temper, “nearly unmans me, Phaeton, the power of the heavenly horse-team is so great.”

“It would give my mother well-deserved joy’ said the youth, “to see you honor her memory.” And it would be proof, Phaeton thought, that your love extends to me.

Phoebus Apollo groaned. “If I could allow you to understand the truth, Phaeton, you would thank me for delivering you from a curse.”

“And to think that I have heard my mother praise you,” said Phaeton with a quiet bitterness, “telling me often that you were the most generous and bountiful of gods.”

“Come with me, my son. Stand at the edge of the earth, beyond the gate,” urged Apollo, “and look out at the riches of the hills and valleys. I can give you anything that lightens your gaze.”

Phaeton said simply, “I will hold you to your promise.”

“It will mean your death,” said Phoebus Apollo.

Phaeton gave a bitter smile. The young man was certain that his divine father was exaggerating the danger for reasons of his own. Surely, Phaeton thought, this grand presence could bless my journey with some unknown power, if he wanted to, and ensure my safe return. “So this,” said the youth at last, “this is how you honor a loving woman and her son.”

Apollo appealed silently to the host of Hours, seeking their counsel. Phoebus Apollo himself – the lord of daylight, who enabled the oracle to foretell both victory and famine – felt stripped of power. His attendants likewise stirred, alarmed but without a word to advise their master.

And then the sun god laughed.

The sound was richer than music, and it quickened the heart of Phaeton as it stilled the anxious pacing of Spring.

Phoebus Apollo was certain that he had solved the riddle of his son’s will. “I shall show you the horror you would face, Phaeton,” said the divine father, “if you happened to win your wish. The sight will shock you to your senses.”

“I’m afraid of nothing,” said Phaeton, exaggerating his self-assurance, and yet wishing it were true. He did not want to show his divine father that he was inwardly as weak as any other youth. I must, thought Phaeton, prove myself worthy of Apollo’s pride.

“Then we must be fast, Phaeton,” his immortal father was saying. “Lucifer, the morning star, begins to dim, and I hear Aurora’s footstep, hurrying from place to place, reminding me that daybreak cannot be delayed.”

“Where are you taking me, Father?”

“Come along, we have no time,” said Apollo, and the son followed across the dawn-streaked grounds of the temple.