Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

There was a lullaby Philipp remembered his mother singing—back before his father had gone away. He couldn’t remember if there had been words, but the notes were still there—like bubbles in his head. Solid for a second and then gone.

He opened his eyes to the blue around him. There was a girl staring him back in the face. Her skin was the color of seashells. Her hair trailed upward—and danced—free of gravity. Her face was small—two luminous eyes filled it. In one smooth movement, her lips pulled apart—and she leaned in for a kiss.

A rough jerk came at his neck, and he rushed upward. Breaking the surface, the boy spluttered for a moment and wiped the water from his confused face.

Hermes was standing the pool beside him—striking at it with his winged cap. “Back, back, I say! That’s quite enough out of you! You, too! And you, you should be ashamed of yourself!”

Philipp gazed blankly ahead. “What was that?”

“That—was almost the end of you,” the god said angrily—slamming his sopping hat back down upon his head.

“She was…she was…beautiful…”

“Don’t get all poetic on me,” he said sarcastically. “Of course, she was beautiful. She’s a naiad.”

Philipp stared dumbly at the shallow water. “A nymph?” Once again, the eyes appeared there—in between the ripples.

“That’s it!” Hermes yelled. “Show yourselves!”

Silence spread itself over the pool.

“It’s enough to drive a god mad, Sheepboy!” Hermes shouted at the emptiness around him. “These dumb nymphs love to play games—and there comes a point, where you just can’t take it anymore!”

“Maybe if you asked nicely,” the boy suggested softly.

“Nymphs. Hmph. No, no, I’m fine. Just finished saving your life, that’s all,” came a familiar voice from the shore. Philipp turned to see the ram sitting dejectedly on the bank. “Don’t worry a bit about me.” He had seen better days. A portion of his fleece had been burnt clean off, and grey skin showed through beneath. What golden fluff was left was sufficiently soaked to prevent further burning.

“A bit of a close call for the ram,” said Hermes.

“Close call?” Colchi’s voice began to raise to its normal level of shrillness. “Half of my body is nearly seared off, and you call it a close call?”

“Did I stutter?” Hermes retorted angrily.

Philipp interrupted. “How long was I down there?” He pointed to where the face had been.

“Long enough for hothead to give up the chase,” the god replied. “He has his bits of impulsiveness, but when it comes right down to it, he dares not stay away from his course too long. The entire world is counting on him, you know.”

“All those things he was saying up there—about his son…”

Hermes sighed. “Unfortunately, most of them are true. I did cause him some eternal pain and suffering. But it was his dumb son’s idea to drive the chariot in the first place.” The god paused, waiting to see if this explanation were sufficient.

When the boy continued to stare at him expectantly, he continued. “Helios never knew that he had a mortal son until Phaethon looked him up one day. You see, Phaethon wanted to impress all his mortal friends and prove once and for all that the sun was, in fact, his father. And Helios, feeling the guilt of years of neglect, agreed to give him anything that he asked for. Bad idea. He even swore on the Styx. That’s asking for trouble for any god.”

“What did he ask for?”

“Well, what do you think? What’s the surefire way to wow all your friends down on the earth? Drive the chariot of the sun, of course. And Helios had to agree. He’d promised. A god can’t go back on his Styx-word. I’ve seen it happen before. It isn’t pretty.”

“I suppose he died trying to drive it,” Philipp said.

“He would have. He was doing an awful job of it—things were going earthward quickly, if you know what I mean. At first he got too high and seared the top of the heavens, then he got too low and wiped out a couple of forests…”

“Where do you come in?”

“I was getting there. Innocently enough, I happened to be using my staff to reappear at that moment, and, well…wrong place at the wrong time. Phaethon disappeared—right into one of my little timeholes.”

“He disappeared! Forever!”

“Save our ambrosia, no! Not forever. He got caught in a loop. Every night, he reappears—falling toward the earth, a flaming mess for all to see…but right before he hits, he gets sucked back in. Night after night this happens.”

“A falling star! We thought that was a falling star!”

“Stars can’t fall!” said the god irritably. “Who educated you anyway? It’s Phaethon—falling to his not-quite death.”

Colchi returned to the conversation. “See why he might be a little angry now, boy?”

“Yes.”

Hermes shrugged. “Not much I can do about it though.” He surveyed the pool and wood around them for a second. “it looks like we’re going to have to travel the low-road for a while and steer clear of Mr. Sunshine.”

“Why don’t we just fly at night?”

The ram and the god looked blankly at the boy a split-second before dissolving into quick laughter.

“Fly? At night? If you think the sun’s a nasty customer, wait until you meet the moon. She doesn’t meet many people being out when she is, and when she happens upon someone she takes a fancy to—she has a bad habit of putting him to sleep…”

“That doesn’t sound so awful.”

“Forever.”

“Oh,” said Philipp. He began to make his way toward the bank. “Walking isn’t so bad. It’s the only way I ever got around until I met you.”

The god arched an eyebrow. “It’s the worst. It kills my feet.”

“You’re one to gripe!” cried Colchi. “Everyone acts like they don’t know what all this means for me! Now that you’re done with dear old Colchi and his magical flying powers, it’s time to give him the old gizzard-split!”

“Hmmmm…” said Hermes absentmindedly. “Thanks for reminding me.” He pulled a dripping knife out from under his cloak.

“Wait. But…” Philipp said helplessly.

“Hazard of the job, boy. See you on the other side.” The ram sighed, flopped over onto his back, and looked up the god crossly. “Make it quick.”