Tell Me a Story:
PHAETON'S RIDE

   The palace of Phoebus the Sun was a radiant palace, so sparkling and bright that few could bear the glow, and few mortals ever tried. One day, though, a youth named Phaeton rode toward the Sun's palace. His eyes were clear as he headed straight for the, sparkling ball, but when he arrived, he had to shield his eyes from the blazing light.

Phoebus looked kindly at the boy. "What brought you here?" he asked.

"My mother, the beautiful Clymene, told me that my father is the sun god, but when I tell the other boys, they laugh at me. No one believes me."

Phoebus lifted his crown of burning, light and hid it so that Phaeton could look at him more easily. The Sun half-closed his eyes and said gently, "Phaeton, you are my son, but since you doubt your mother's word, you may doubt mine as well. To prove that I love you, ask anything of me and it will be yours. The Styx, river of the oath of gods, will witness my promise:"

Phaeton had watched, day after day, as the Sun rode across the heavens, and he had always wished that he too could ride there. He knew at once what he would ask of his father.

"I want to take your place in the chariot," he said. "Just for one day." All the gods gasped when they heard the boy's wish, for they knew his request was the wish of fools. Phoebus realized how foolish his promise had been.

"My child," he pleaded, "ask anything but that. You are a mortal, and no mortal can drive my chariot. Do you know what dangers fill the sky? The road rises steeply."

"Guiding the horses is a god's task, my son. Their fiery spirits grow even hotter as they climb, and the Bull, the Lion, the Scorpion and the Crab among the stars will try to harm you as you pass. Look, the world is full of riches. Ask anything else and shall give it to you. Anything but that."

But Phaeton had always imagined sitting in that wonderful chariot, triumphantly guiding the steeds, and he was young. Danger meant nothing to him.

Now the gates in the east began to glow as Dawn opened her courts. Rosy light Rowed from the doors, and the stars began to fade. Even the morning star began to grow dim as the gatekeepers of Olympus stood waiting to fling open day's doors. The horses were bridled and yoked to the chariot. If Phoebus were going to keep his word, as he must, Phaeton would have to leave soon. Sun bowed his head, and Phaeton set off.

In those first moments, he was breathless with delight. He rode so quickly, he passed even the swift East Wind, and the horses dashed straight into the sky. Then Phaeton lost control. The horses could feel the difference between the touch of their master and this boy, and so they took over. They left the road and moved wherever they wished, up and down, to the right, to the left, just barely missing the Scorpion's sting, almost entangling themselves in the Crab's claws, scraping the bull's massive legs. And that was only the beginning.

The horses and the chariot soared to the top of the sky and plunged directly down, setting the world afire. Ida and Helicon, the highest mountains, exploded with flame, and so did Parnassus, where all the muses lived. Flames poured down the slopes of Olympus to the valleys and the forests.

Springs turned into steam; rivers turned to mud. Even the mighty Nile ran to hide, and parts of her remain hidden still.

Phaeton, swept up in smoke thick as a shroud; could barely breathe, and Mother Earth cried out to the gods. "Help," she cried, "I will not survive this."

The gods knew they must act quickly if they were going to save Mother Earth, and so Jove, the king of the gods, seized a thunderbolt and hurled it at Phaeton. The chariot shattered, and the mad horses rushed into the sea.

There on the banks of the Eridanus, they never moved but were turned, at last, into poplar trees to guard over their brother's grave. Cygnus, Phaeton's closest friend and son of Neptune, so grieved the loss of his dear friend that Phoebus changed him into a swan and placed him in the sky, among the constellations.

Never again did a mortal dare, to ride Phoebus the Sun's chariot, for some things are better left to the gods.