Starfall (4 page)

Night was already rising all around, stars just beginning to prick the first-dark.

As darkness was nearly complete, footsteps came from behind.

A breathless voice called his name.

EIGHT

Cycnus hurried through the cropland in the light of the setting sun, and fell wordlessly to one knee. He held out a woven grass basket.

Phaeton parted the cleverly-knit parcel, and brought forth a shining, beautifully wrought amulet.

“Brave Cycnus!” said Phaeton, touched deeply. “Thank you, cousin – but I cannot accept this!”

It was a magical amulet featuring the face of the legendary Gorgon – her tongue distended, her hair a mass of writhing snakes. Many people wore such amulets to ward off evil. This was an especially valuable image, an heirloom of heavy silver, a gift to Cycnus from his dying father.

“If it brings you safely back again, Phaeton,” said the youthful cousin, “I will part with it gladly.”

Phaeton was surprised at the feeling that stirred in him now, one that even made him take a faltering step back toward home. He had hoped, only half-aware of the impulse, that Cycnus had arrived to tell Phaeton that Clymene had relented, and that a general outcry demanded Phaeton's immediate return.

“I might lose this honored treasure, cousin,” Phaeton was saying.

“Then take me with you,” said Cycnus hopefully, “to keep it and you both entirely safe.”

Phaeton returned the precious amulet to his cousin's hands with a regretful smile.

“Never laugh at any of Epaphus's jokes,” cautioned Phaeton with a mock frown, “until I come home again.”

“I would sooner a pair of ass's ears sprouted from my head,” said Cycnus.

“And let Ino wear this amulet,” Phaeton added, “if she walks out to the sheep meadow.” It was believed that griffins bred for life, like wild geese. A mournful griffin might well seek revenge against the villagers.

“Tell her,” added Phaeton, “that I'm about to do something wonderful.”

“Oh, Phaeton,” asked Cycnus excitedly, “tell me – what will it be?”

TWO

NINE

What will it be?

Cycnus's question echoed in Phaeton's mind as daylight entirely ebbed, and the young man traveled eastward along the path alone.

Already the road was less worn, with fewer hoofprints and wheel ruts.

The dark sky was growing rich with stars, this wealth of light forming the shapes of animals in the heavens. Aries the ram sparkled in the vault of darkness, along with Taurus the bull, and the crab and the lion. Far to the south coiled the likeness of a scorpion.

Some said that these points of light were all that was visible of actual, gigantic beings, able to stir and strike. Phaeton did not quite believe that this was true – but he did not know for certain.

Moving cautiously in the dark wood, he bedded by a spring, the pool welling from the earth and flowing through thick grasses.

In his weariness, and with the homesickness that already nagged him, he did not feel much anxiety about lying down in this unfamiliar forest.

No human outlaws haunted such bramble-thick wild woods, he believed. Certainly no youthful wayfarer would have dared, either – except this one particular seeker hoping that lordly Apollo and the divine Mercury themselves had already blessed his journey.

Phaeton's sleep was fitful.

Many times he woke during the night to wonder at the sound of wind in the trees, or splashing in the spring waters, and even the sound of stealthy whispering nearby. He took his stout staff into his hand.

I'll stay awake – no matter what
.

But he only sat up blinking later in the night, shaking off sleep once again, aware that someone – or some uncanny creature – had said something in his ear.

His sleep was broken by birdsong, too, the low-voiced owl and the liquid trill of the
aedon
– the nightingale.

In the first gray dawn, Phaeton abandoned all hope of getting rest and crept to the living waters of the spring. He knelt and drank from his cupped hands.

He started and sprang to his feet.

A hand had reached up from the depths to touch his lips – and then darted quickly, back into the shallows.

Phaeton would have fled at that moment, through the tangle of saplings, and out to the footpath.

What kept him there, though, was the knowledge of nymph-lore he had heard from his earliest childhood, stories of magical creatures of surpassing beauty. Phaeton knew the danger – Old Aristander was rumored to have spent a night wandering half-mad years ago as a result of a single kiss from a
dryad
– a wood nymph.

“I mean you no harm,” the young man heard his own voice say.

An as yet shapeless vision drifted upward from the spring, paused for a long moment, and then fell away again.

“I swear by the divine Diana,” said Phaeton, even more boldly, “that I am a friend.”

The indistinct shape reappeared and continued its halting climb toward the light. And sank again. Only to rise higher within a few heartbeats, closer to the morning daylight.

At last this apparition kissed the surface of the water, sending forth a pulsing, widening circle.

And at once shrank back again.

While uneasy, Phaeton was at the same time extremely pleased. Few mortal youths could claim an encounter with such a wonder.

“Good day to you!” he said.

Perhaps he spoke too loudly. The creature vanished entirely, now, back into the abyss, but not before Phaeton had glimpsed a being of cunning beauty.

Since boyhood Phaeton had heard that these
naiads
– water nymphs – kept palaces in the deeps, and that while they were not immortal they lived for thousands of years.

Emboldened by the apparent shyness of this water-creature the young man allowed himself to offer, “I am called Phaeton.”

Against the whisper of the busy waters his name did not sound very impressive.

Perhaps this was why the young traveler did not hesitate to continue, saying, “I am known as Phaeton, the son of Phoebus on high.” He offered this in what he thought was an unboastful manner.

Without any further warning this keen-eyed being's face was at the water's edge, very close to the young man's feet – too close. Now it was Phaeton's turn to fall back in alarm.

The naiad studied him, her long dark hair streaming back from her glowing features.

Such nymphs were believed to be the daughters of Jupiter, and while not hostile to human hopes, they were felt to be beyond mortal understanding.

Phaeton spoke again. “I am on my way to visit my divine father, beyond the gates of dawn.”

At that the pale shape darted forward, seized Phaeton's satchel of fruit and wheat cakes, and vanished into the water. Phaeton called out and scrambled down to the thick grasses at the water's edge.

Too late.

He reached into the bubbling waters of the spring, but at once a grasp had him, encircling his wrist. Torn between the urge to escape, and an enduring fascination with this woodland creature, Phaeton tried to withdraw his hand – but he couldn't.

Alarmed, as he rapidly became, the youth could remember no charm or invocation that could help him, and could only flail, yelling for any divine power in this place to help free an innocent traveler.

Just as quickly as it had seized him, the unseen hand released Phaeton.

TEN

The path through the woods was a lattice of daylight and shadow.

Some people have lively blood, and feeling shows quickly in their features. Phaeton was one of these, and he blushed now as he murmured to himself, “What a blessing that Ino will never hear of this!”

He hurried along with his staff – but without his provisions. You have no food, now, and no silver, Phaeton could imagine Merops and Clymene scolding him – and it's a wonder you weren't drowned.

Or kissed – and driven mad.

The young seeker saw only one other human being that troubled morning, a man garbed in a
pellis
– a tunic of animal skins – gathering wild carrots. Such folk lived in scattered huts, making their way to villages on market day, and, being neither slaves nor servants, were often proud of their freedom.

“Tell me, friend, what creatures dwell within these woods?” Phaeton inquired politely, hoping to hear that nothing more dangerous than a woodpecker lived here.

The woodsman said nothing. He groped for his wooden-bladed shovel, holding the tool as a weapon, ready to strike. Sometimes, a magical and potentially dangerous being took on the disguise of a mortal, and no one could be too careful.

“I'd be grateful, good freedman,” added Phaeton in a tone of high courtesy, “for a bite of carrot or parsnip.”

The root gatherer took a deep breath and relaxed his grip on the shovel. Phaeton's request proved that he was most likely human. Gods fed on
ambrosia
– a sweet nourishment unknown among men, and a daemon – a spirit-being – could not be said to eat at all.

Phaeton wiped the mud from the offered carrot with a fern leaf, and chewed the sun-gold root gratefully.

“All manner of beasts, young traveler,” said the woodsman, not unkindly, “hide in these forests.”

“I am very sorry to hear it,” said the young man earnestly.

“Speak to none of them,” added the woodsman. “And see that you especially avoid that band of wandering centaurs.”

Phaeton's heart sank. “Surely there aren't many of those terrible horse-men around?”

The root-gatherer raised a finger and sniffed the air. “I can smell them,” he said, “at a thousand paces.”

Phaeton inhaled deeply, but to his senses the air was flavored only with leaf-mold and earth, and a hint of flowering myrtle.

When the young man turned to thank the woodsman he had vanished.

Spring flowers brushed the hem of the young adventurer's woolen tunic as he hurried ahead, grateful for the splashing sunlight that gleamed on the flowering berry bushes and the wings of birds. The single carrot had done little more than stir the youth's hunger.

Such hunger is a nagging misfortune, and with each step Phaeton grew all the more famished. And his hunger was not his sole concern.

A large figure shadowed Phaeton's progress, off in the nearby evergreens. This strange four-legged beast was certainly not another nymph, and surely not a man. This beast was, furthermore, too big to be a satyr – one of the goat-men who molested travelers, especially unprotected women.

It was, in truth, a hooved creature, strongly muscled, and steadily following Phaeton through the forest.

Phaeton swung the staff experimentally, wondering if it would make a stout weapon.

More hoofbeats echoed through the woods.

Phaeton bounded, faster than he had ever run before.

ELEVEN

The sound of approaching hooves crunched through the undergrowth, an easy, loping gallop, keeping pace with Phaeton's fleetest efforts.

He was aware that he was not being pursued so much as followed. The young man ran hard, the wind whistling in his ears, overhanging trees snatching at his clothes, until it seemed that he would surely succeed in leaving the centaurs behind.

But the thud of the hooves stayed close – growing closer.

Breathing hard, the young seeker came to a muddy crossroads, a weathered head of Mercury marking the site. Even here in the wild, Phaeton was grateful to see, images of the divine messenger watched over a travelers journey.

The shrine was moss-freckled, green with neglect and weather. “Wing-footed immortal,” Phaeton began praying breathlessly,
lighten my footsteps, quicken my prayer –

But in his alarm Phaeton could not finish his devotions. The sound of hooves was even louder, and as the young man hurried forward, a herd of horselike creatures, half-hidden by the woods, closed in around him.

Sometimes, in summers past, Phaeton and Cycnus had pretended to be Hercules, battling an attack of such horselike creatures, defending a wedding or a festival from the ruthless half-men. On such afternoons the boyish Phaeton had played at being such a monster, stamping and scowling.

But the young son of Clymene had never actually seen such a beast before, a centaur with a tangled beard cantering, circling the young traveler, blocking his path. The four-hooved, half-man gripped a bloody club – or was it a human limb? – in his right fist.

He's not so fierce-looking, Phaeton tried to reassure himself. He looks smaller than you'd expect – and much advanced in years, however strongly built.

Phaeton lifted a clear-voiced greeting, as good manners required, wishing the centaur the gods' blessing on such a morning.

The centaur was eating with a show of carelessness, gnawing on what now appeared to be the shank of an animal – a deer, Phaeton guessed hopefully.

At last the gray-bearded creature tossed the bloody limb off into the woods and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. His muscular haunches splashed a puddle, and the creature took a few half-steps to find solid footing, eyeing Phaeton all the while.

Several more centaurs had gathered, half-hidden by the boughs of trees until they paced into the sunlight While none of them were armed with spears or clubs, one or two carried silver drinking horns, and a bald-headed centaur to the rear of the herd picked up a branch, hefted it, and began to peel it of leaves.

Some said that these horse-men were the offspring of the primitive gods, the Titans who ruled earth before the Olympic divinities and, some believed, still sprawled sleeping among the mountains. Phaeton had heard stories about a legendary centaur called Chiron, who was king of a breed of such creatures, and wise enough to teach the children of men.

For this reason the young traveler sensed that further human speech would not be entirely wasted on them. He spoke clearly, addressing the centaurs with a wish for their good health, and adding, “I am Phaeton, the son of Apollo.”