Free Starfall by Michael Cadnum

sunlight just as quickly began to fade. Shadows swelled again as the daylight began a flight to the north. Birds poured from the sky, seeking refuge in brush and wood, some of them smoking, too late to hide, already singed and heat-stunned.
    Just as suddenly the sun careened away from the north. Clymene hurried to the fountain and stood on her tiptoes, straining to see the morning light over walls of the villa. And then she could observe it easily, the familiar orb of the divine chariot as it wheeled across heaven.
    Only to lose its way again, and tumble southward – or was it falling to earth? Far off a human being let out a wail, and another wind – hotter than Vulcan’s fire – emptied over the land.
    If such a thing were possible, thought Clymene.
    If such a thing could happen, she thought, half-guessing and sickened at her private fear.
    Pigs screamed in distant farmyards, a sound like human terror.
    But such a calamity was not possible, Phaeton’s mother reminded herself. Her knees were weak, and her speech failed, but she repeated this certainty to herself: this could not be what it seemed.
    She hurried down the hall, past the busts of Merops’s ancestors, followed by the rapid footsteps of her husband, his chiton thrown on quickly, hanging unevenly as he ran, joining his wife in the village street. His entire household shielded their eyes against the errant, staggering sunlight.
    A bull broke from its pen and ran, lowing in panic through the village. The street was crowded with half-clad villagers, smiths and clerks, plowwrights and slaves, all wild-eyed and disheveled.
    Epaphus arrived in the street clinging to his bow, the young hunter leading white-haired Aristander by one arm. The old veteran had fallen, momentarily blinded by the sunlight – and now the wooden roof of his smithy was alight.
    â€œWhat have we done,” cried Aristander, “to offend the gods?”
    Epaphus could say nothing, frightened and wide-eyed, but others joined the veteran in an outcry directed at the sky, toward the divine ones.
    Ino and her mother joined the throng, baffled and afraid.
    â€œHurry, everyone – come into my house,” called Merops, pulling in his neighbors, pushing them into the security of his stout-walled home.
    But Clymene did not follow.
    At that moment blond-haired Cycnus joined her, squinting, one hand blocking the ever-shifting sun.
    Shielding her eyes against the errant, blinding source of light she called for Phoebus Apollo.
    When the sky seemed deaf except for the shrieks of a few surviving birds, fuming and in flames as they plummeted from the sky, Clymene raised her voice, calling for cloud-gathering Jupiter himself to come to the aid of earth.
    And to save her son.

TWENTY-THREE
    The chariot glowed white-hot beneath Phaetons feet.
    The youth held on to the edge of the carriage, the reins streaming uncontrollably around and over him.
    He made no further attempt to master the fiery team as the soles of his leather travel boots burned and his flesh blistered. In his despair he remembered the passions and hopes of a young man scalded by taunts, questioning his loving mother, leaving behind a caring stepfather. In his mind Phaeton could see the image of a youth, who spared too little time for lively Cycnus, loyal cousin and friend.
    The winged team of coursers swept upward, to the heaven’s summit, where the air was thin and Phaeton’s breath came in painful gasps. The horses climbed, only to dive downward again, fiery manes flowing, as meadows burst into flame at the chariot’s approach.
    Wild bison stampeded, their hides smoldering, and the silver-feathered owl, blinded by all-consuming day, caught fire in flight. The alder trees burst into leaves of flame, and sacred springs began to simmer and boil dry.
    Fear-sick, Phaeton could not shape a further prayer. He clung hard to keep from tumbling from the chariot as he thought he heard the anguish of farmers and