Starfall by Michael Cadnum Page B

[an] intense psychological drama.” — Publishers Weekly , starred review
    â€œMuch more frightening than a generic horror tale.” — Booklist , starred review
    â€œA painful subject, mercilessly explored.” — Kirkus Reviews

Starfall
    Phaeton and the Chariot of the Sun
    Michael Cadnum

for Sherina,
    with thanks to Iris
    ONE DEER-PRINT
    BESIDE
    THE SHIVERlNG POOL

ONE

ONE
    The two cousins hurried out under the bright late-morning blue, joining the shepherds. Frightened sheep parted around all of them as they dodged the terror from above. Phaeton seized a rock, took aim, and hurled it as hard as he could.
    The stone spun upward, and barely missed its target. The griffin banked, still clinging to a bleating lamb. The monster stretched its feathered wings and lashed at the air with its lionlike claws, its dark eyes seeking the source of this fresh attack.
    Phaeton heaved another, larger rock – just grazing the griffin’s head.
    The hairy claws released the lamb, and sent it kicking, sprawling to earth, breathless and gouged but still very much alive. The predator let the afternoon sunlight play along its bronze-bright feathers as it took its time, angling a deliberate circuit around Phaeton. The young man dodged, afraid for his life as the creature dived, its shadow huge and growing larger.
    Phaeton fell and rolled, barely escaping the claws.
    â€œPhaeton, let’s try for the orchard,” piped Cycnus, and the already fleeing shepherds joined in, urging Phaeton to save himself.
    â€œ Run, run ,” mocked the monster.
    The youth tumbled again as the talons whistled through the air. The outstretched claws snagged the cloth of Phaeton’s chiton – his woolen tunic. And held him, straining the fabric, tugging the young man off the ground.
    Phaeton struggled, his legs wheeling in midair.
    Off-balance, the raptor tried to circle higher, carrying the youth for a few sweeping strokes of its powerful wings – but the fabric tore.
    Phaeton tumbled to the ground. When he found his feet again he gave a burst of speed, zigzagging across the meadow. Cycnus and the shepherds scurried ahead, until the thickly blossomed orchard sheltered all of them.
    The griffin gave a roar of frustration, and seized the topmost branches, twigs and petals raining, trying to work his way downward, to reach his human prey.
    Phaeton did not linger long with the shepherds, crouching under the trees.
    His sandaled feet and his bare legs were a blur, his tunic flowing, apple branches catching at his sleeves.
    His lungs began to burn, his vision swam, but fifteen-year-old Phaeton used the power he had been born with, the speed that was his from earliest boyhood. He raced all the way through the orchard, sprinting down into the village of shepherd huts, toward the handsome villa at the center of the settlement, Phaeton’s home.
    Cycnus ran, too, trailing his long-legged cousin, but soon the youth had to break his stride.
    Cycnus gazed after the path Phaeton had taken, blossoms still shivering where he had brushed past.
    Cycnus was an orphan, the son of Phaeton’s maternal uncle, and he was as close as a younger brother to his active cousin. Cycnus thought of himself as blessed by the fates to have such a safe and happy home. At times like this, however, he knew that it would always lie beyond his power to keep up with Phaeton, whose very name meant Shining One .
    Phaeton had just enough breath to call a warning as he flung open the gates, startling the servants.
    His mother Clymene rose from the shade near the fountain.
    â€œOur flock is being attacked!” he panted.
    The house servants gaped, wide-eyed. A soft-voiced, prayerful lot, they knew nothing of rough life under the sky.
    Phaeton steadied his voice and spoke formally now, as was proper in the presence of servants. Bad tidings had to be expressed in a careful way, the words chosen deliberately, and the youth steadied his