Icarus

Apollo hummed softly to himself as he walked through the divine stables of Olympus. It wasn’t his day to drive the sun, but he had a feeling Helios wouldn’t be up to it. 

Apollo had a deal with Helios: Apollo let Helios drive the sun two days a week, as long as he still had followers. Helios could pick any two days he wanted, and Apollo would step aside. It was a tedious deal, but Apollo didn’t want any trouble. Besides, Helios was getting weaker, and he was cashing in on less and less of those days. 

A few days before, one of Helios’s temples had decided Helios was just another name for Apollo, and had started using Apollo’s name instead of Helios’s in rituals. Helios didn’t say it aloud, but it was clear the change had affected him. 

Apollo entered the room of the sun and saw that Helios had already yoked the four horses that pulled the golden chariot. 

As Helios approached the chariot of the sun, he stopped, coughing into his fist. He’d been prone to coughing fits for a while now. When he pulled his hand away, a thin splatter of golden ichor lay in his hand. His eyes widened. 

Apollo looked away, pretending he hadn’t seen it, but Helios knew he had. He sighed and turned away. The sun was too important to play games with. Humans depended on it, and they depended on humans. 

“I’ll drive tomorrow,” He rasped out. 

Apollo nodded and started, “If you need anything,-” 

Helios walked out of the chamber before he could finish the sentence. 

Apollo couldn’t imagine what it would be like to die. To know you were dying, and to know you could do nothing to stop it, was undoubtedly a special kind of torture. Not to mention being replaced by a god with far more domains than Helios could have dreamed of having. 

Apollo shook his head, as though to bring himself back to the present, and approached the chariot. He stepped onto the back, taking the worn, leather reins in his hands, and clicked his tongue. 

The horses stepped onto the air in front of them as though it were a platform and started their daily path. 

The job was, on the premise, boring, but Apollo had found ways to have fun. He liked to watch the humans down below as he flew over them. Through the centuries he’d had many favorites. Hyacinth, Agnodice, Hippocrates, they had all been fun to watch. He’d been able to interact with all of them on his off-days. 

Recently, he’d been unable to speak to his favorite, since Helios was ill. He had watched the boy run around in the orchards of Heraklion for months now. He seemed carefree, despite the clear misery of his father. Apollo wasn’t sure if the boy had noticed, but his father clearly wanted to leave the city. 

As Apollo flew over the city, he noticed that the boy wasn’t in his usual spot. Every morning, he would climb the vines creeping up the walls to the highest point in Knossos, the palace, where he would sit and stare out at the city. Apollo scanned the skyline. 

On the edge of his vision, he caught sight of a sun bleached head of hair poking out of the window of a tall tower. The tower was a newer addition to the town, although not as new as the labyrinth that twisted and twitched below the palace. It was a replacement for the last bird-tower, which had collapsed in an earthquake. The building was incredibly noisy, from all the birds in it, but it was a clever way to collect all the mail to one place. 

Apollo clicked his tongue and the horses sped up slightly, allowing him to approach the tower. 

The blonde boy in the window was indeed the one he’d been looking for. He slouched and rested his head on his arms as he stared out at the sea. The deep blue was reflected in his eyes, giving them a beautiful depth. 

“Icarus,” Apollo heard from inside the tower, “Come here.” 

The boy sat up and glanced back, asking, “Did you do it?” 

Apollo caught sight of the boy’s father in the window behind him. The man was older, his dark hair streaked with silver, but he had spryness near equal to that of his son. He held a basket full of feathers in his hands. “Not yet. I need you to collect as many feathers as you can.” 

Icarus nodded and took the basket, retreating from the window, and Apollo lost sight of him. The conversation inside stopped, and Apollo was left wondering what the plan was. 

With any luck, they’d be delayed. 

The rest of his route was boring, but Icarus and his father’s plan stuck in his mind, distracting him. What were they doing? 

...

The next morning, he stood in the shadows of the divine stable and watched as Helios’s shaking hands threaded the horses’ reins through the yoke. Helios’s tired eyes trailed across the graceful curves of the chariot. Surely he wouldn’t be around for much longer. It was sad, watching him die like this. 

Perhaps today would be another day where he would give up the reins. Apollo needed them to see this plan of Icarus’s. He’d gotten in trouble with Zeus recently and been banned from leaving Olympus except on official business. 

Helios shook his head and sighed before climbing into the back of the chariot. Just as he was about to go,- 

“Wait!” 

Apollo stepped out of the shadows and met Helios’s gaze. Helios raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I know I said I would never intrude on our deal.” Apollo started. Helios’s eyes darkened. “There’s a mortal I’ve been watching. Icarus. He had a plan today, and I need to know if it succeeds. I would let you have any extra day you wanted.” 

Helios stared at him for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “You dare ask a dying man to postpone what could be his final duty?” Apollo paled, but before he could say anything, Helios continued, “You’re the god of prophecy. You can see it that way.” 

Apollo shook his head, went to explain, but Helios clicked his tongue and the horses began to walk away. 

Helios had never listened when he’d explained how his visions worked. He should know by now that Apollo didn’t get to summon them, they had to come to him. 

Apollo sighed and dragged his feet back to his house. He shared it with his twin, Artemis, but she went out at night on her own chariot journey, so they never really felt like they shared it. However, on days like these, Apollo couldn’t help but feel like it was a terrible arrangement. Artemis sat in the front garden surrounded by nymphs. The women glanced at him as he trudged past, but they didn’t pay him too much attention. He’d never been an issue for them before. 

Apollo paused as he saw the ivy on the walls of their home and glanced up at the flat roof. The home was a classic Minoan home, much like King Minos’s palace. It only reminded him of Icarus as he stared up at it. After a moment, he began climbing. 

When he sat down at the top, he could tell why Icarus liked it. It was high up, but it offered incredible views. From here, Apollo could see most of Olympus. Apollo grinned and lie down, staring up at the starry sky above. 

...

Helios grumbled as he guided the sun across the sky, spreading light across the islands of Greece. 

Apollo had been disrespecting him from the moment he’d been born. Apollo had offered him two days a week to drive the sun and dared wonder why Helios’s following was dwindling. Apollo was probably some new plan from Zeus to punish Helios for his place in the war on the titans. 

As Helios passed over Crete, he noticed two people standing in the window of the bird tower. He frowned and nudged the horses toward it. 

“Icarus,” Icarus! The name caught Helios’s attention and he realized the boy in the window must be the one Apollo had been referring to. The older man on the left said, “You need to follow my path.” 

The boy on the right nodded at him and stretched his arms out, admiring the feathers on his arms. Helios stared. Had the humans grown feathers since he’d last been here? 

Before he could ponder further, the boy said, “I know. ‘Stay above the sea and below the sun’. I heard you.” 

The man smiled and nodded. Someone behind them yelled, “Daedalus? Where are you?” 

The old man cursed and jumped from the ledge. 

He should have plummeted to the ground. 

Instead, he flapped the wings, and he flew. He was glorious, soaring through the sky, and a moment later, Icarus followed him. 

Icarus stared at the ground, wide eyed for the first minute of flight, before a shaky smile pushed onto his face. He was flying. 

There was something almost perverse about watching humans -humans, creatures designed for land- fly. What gave them the right to soar among the clouds? The sky was a place of gods, not mortals. 

As they flapped their wings, Icarus let out a laugh, and it hit Helios’s ears like nails on a chalkboard. 

Helios growled as he watched Icarus. 

If it hadn’t been appetizing to kill Icarus before now, to spite Apollo, it was even better now. As-

...

Apollo sat straight up on the roof, gasping as a vision hit him. 

Rays of burning, raging sunlight screamed toward Icarus… Icarus, who was flying on wings of wax and feathers. 

And as Helios’s rays hit him, he fell, screaming, into the sea. No one had ever taught him how to swim. 

Apollo reached out, trying to catch him, and his arms grasped at empty air. The vision drifted away and he was reminded that he was here, now, and that was in the future. 

However, as Apollo stood and allowed himself to change forms, a bolt of lightning struck beside him. 

“You shall not leave Olympus.” His father’s voice boomed. 

Apollo stared up at the sky. There was no reasoning with Zeus, and there was no fighting him. He was a mountain, standing between Apollo and Icarus. 

Woefully, Apollo realized what would happen. 

...

-As Icarus flew higher and higher, he approached the sun. Helios smiled as the boy sealed his own doom. He was close enough for Helios to notice what his wings were made of. They were wax. 

The wind snatched Icarus’s laughs away, never letting Daedalus hear them. 

Maybe if he’d heard them he would have glanced back. 

Maybe he would have noticed that Icarus wasn’t there. 

Maybe he would have been able to save Icarus. 

But he didn’t, so Icarus grinned at the warmth on his skin, forgetting his worries and warnings. 

Icarus closed his eyes. 

It was as though he were being embraced by the sun and wrapped in its warmth. It cradled him, coating his skin, running down his back and hands, with a sticky kind of heat. 

When Icarus opened his eyes, he could feel, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was burning, but he didn’t really notice. Instead, he stared at the god in front of him, whose might was raining down on his wings, and whispered, “Apollo.” 

If Helios had cursed him, he would not have heard. His mind was spinning in circles, floating and crashing and soaring up, much like he himself was, as he plummeted towards the clear, blue sea below him. 

...

Helios had never really enjoyed killing mortals, but he understood its necessity at times. When Odysseus and his men had killed his sacred cattle, he had to prove his might; he needed to show everyone that he was still a force to be reckoned with. 

Killing Icarus was the only way he could attack Apollo and win, especially in his weakened state. 

As Helios watched the crisp, white waves crash over the boy’s form, he felt satisfaction take over. For the first time in ages, he was at peace. He was in control. This petty feud was his to win. 

And just like that, the moment was over, and he was hit with a coughing fit. He clawed the edge of the chariot as though it were his final tether to life as he hacked up ichor. Golden splatter hit the inside of the chariot walls. 

When the fit passed, Helios glanced down at the sea. Icarus had vanished beneath the waves, leaving nothing behind but a few feathers floating on the water that were quickly drowned by the waves. 

Helios, satisfied, urged the horses onward. 

His route finished quickly after that. The victory had left a hint of a smile on his face, which grew when he noticed Apollo stalking toward him at the edge of Olympus. 

When he noticed Apollo’s glowing eyes and hands, his smile fell. 

“You killed him,” Apollo snarled, “You killed Icarus.” 

Helios’s eyebrows rose. “He flew too close to the chariot.” He sighed and added, “Must have melted his wi-” 

Apollo slammed a flaming fist into his stomach. 

Helios crumpled, staggering back before falling. He barked out a laugh and said, “He called me Apollo as he fell. He thinks it was you who killed him.” 

Rage flickered across Apollo’s face and he froze. “You… no…” 

Helios giggled strangely. 

The sound seemed to ground Apollo again and he yelled something Helios didn’t catch before being punched in the face. Apollo’s fists burned with the power of the sun. It was agony under the heat. He could feel skin burning with every hit and the agony of true pain for the first time. 

Gods weren’t supposed to be able to feel pain like this. 

Then again, they weren’t supposed to die either. 

Was this what Icarus had felt?

As Helios’s eyes shut, he heard someone yell, “Wait!” 

Apollo’s fist landed again, and Helios’s last thought was the realization that he’d been born from a star. 

And then, he exploded, and stardust and ichor radiated outward. 

...

A young girl ran into the orchards of Crete, stola waving behind her. 

Before she got far, her mother grabbed her hand and pushed a wet skin into it. 

“Careful, dear, the oracle saw a heatwave this morning. She said something about a star erupting.”