Icarus and the Children of the Sun

Prologue

Icarus had never seen the darkness in the Temple of the Sun until he watched Althaia die.

Before then, he had only ever seen the happiness and light that had blessed him every day. He and the rest of the children would rise early, setting out into the fields that surrounded the temple to play and train. The children would laugh as they danced under their lord Apollo's light, feet bare so the grass tickled their feet. Girls would braid ribbons in their hair that glinted in the sunlight. Boys would go out shirtless so that the Sun may warm their chests. Both would spend their days learning to create and use medicines, write poetry, play instruments, and paint the finest portraits. The older kids trained in archery and fighting techniques, for when rivals challenged them. From the temples full of vivid paintings to the fields full of frolicking children, Icarus saw the temple as Olympus itself.

The adults, their mentors, watched over them proudly. "You do the great Apollo well," they said, treating the children with dried fruits dipped in honey for their hard work. Icarus had gone to bed frequently with a full tummy and sticky face. 

At night, they bathed in the pools of water beneath Artemis's silver light. They respected her but did not worship her. Their prayers were reserved for Apollo, who they spoke to after their baths in the temple. 

"Lord Apollo," Icarus would pray, "please watch over our temple, as well as my father back home. He can get far too caught up in his work. Protect him, my lord. Protect me."

Medicine and lyre playing had always been Icarus's strongest suits. His pale fingers were nimble and quick, even when he was not strumming strings or crushing herbs. He was energetic. Getting carried away far too easily. Poetry did not come as easily to him as it did other kids, whose words flowed as softly as music from their lips. But with much practice, the words that once came out like sticky tar came out like fresh honey. 

Every 30 days, the children were tested on their skills. The mentors used this as a sign to see who was improving and who had to be let go. The child who had done the very worst would be forced to return home. Thoughts of returning home made Icarus sad. He could only imagine returning to the small shack where he and his father, Daedalus, lived. It was hardly home. The temple would always truly be his home. Even if he would have to leave, which he vowed to never do. Day by day Icarus practiced and practiced so that he may stay forever. 

On one particular test, at age 13, Icarus had done particularly well. His fellow classmates applauded him when he was announced the highest-ranked child. The mentors bowed to him, praising that he had made Apollo proud. The Sun shined on Icarus's face and he knew Apollo had seen his hard work. They placed a golden laurel atop his head before announcing who would have to leave.

"Dearest Althai, you child must return home," cried Mentor Ismena cried. Althaia, a girl only a few years younger than Icarus, began to cry. Fresh tears stained her red cheeks as she fell to her knees.

"Oh Apollo, I have failed you," Althai screamed to the sky. "Please let me live."

Mentor Ismena wrapped her arms around poor Althaia. "Don't worry my child. Lord Apollo knows you have tried." Ismena looked up at the others. "Children, please attend to your other duties."

The other children exited as Icarus stared down at the meek Althaia. She was young, about 10. Icarus remembered her when they bathed in the east pools. She often splashed around and pretended to be a neried, a water nymph. She did not look like one, with her wet brown hair and mud-colored eyes, but Icarus enjoyed watching her nonsense. He was saddened to see her cries. With a small nod in her direction, he trotted away.

Wait, he thought to himself, I want to see what they say to her.

A large statue of a sun loomed next to Icarus, which he used to conceal himself. He crouched behind the statue and peered over at Ismena cradling Althaia, as well as the other mentors who stood next to them. Ismena grabbed Althaia's arm and led her to the front of the temple. There, a large statue of lord Apollo stared down, a lyre in one hand and a Sun in the other. 

Isemna smiled at Althaia. "You served Apollo well. He will be looking forward to this."

"To what? My shame?" Althaia spat. Her face morphed from angry to sad once more. "Forgive my ugly words. I am so ashamed."

"Fear not Althaia, for you will feel shame no longer."

"Really?"

Suddenly, a glint of silver shined in the hands of a male mentor. Icarus barely registered what was happening before the dagger in the mentor's hand shot straight through Althaia's precious little heart. She had no time to scream before falling to the floor in a splatter of blood. The red soaked the ground, pooling around Ismena's sandals.

"Oh, Lord Apollo, take our sacrifice," Ismena called. "For she is no longer of service to you down here."

Icarus stifled a scream as the mentors began to sing. Althaia lay on the floor, dead, and they were singing? It was rotten. Icarus quickly made his escape while the mentors were distracted. Upon hitting the field, Icarus dropped to his knees and sobbed. He couldn't tell anyone. The mentors would find out he had been sneaking and make him suffer the same fate as Althaia. Her dark secret would be his. He practically felt it in his chest, dark and evil.

Later, when they returned for nightly prayers, the floor of the temple had been scrubbed clean. No Althaia, no blood, no dagger. But Icarus would never forget her sweet little face, cheek to the floor, murdered in one swift move.

No, he would never forget.