Chariot of the Sun

Friday Flash Fiction by Sabrina Rosen

Apollo could not quite believe he was sleeping in his stable.

It was a thoroughly undignified thing for the Sun God to be doing. Utterly out of character for him.

But somehow right. He could hear the soft breath of the horses as they dozed.

He never did things because they felt right. He did things because it was right. Because it was necessary.

Every single day he rose and climbed in his chariot and pulled the sun across the sky. Whether he felt like it or not.

People depended on him. That was his life.

Until a few days ago, and Persephone’s damned prank. And her cursed phoenix.

Now he knew the truth. He was not needed. The horses alone could pull the sun across the sky. For the last two days, he had lied to himself, mounting the chariot as he always had. And in between, he had gone to visit Pan for some of his special elixir. It had at least given him a bit of insight.

And now he was here to... just let them go. As they had the morning after he had been fooled.

And then... what?

Apollo had no idea. His sense of order was thrown into chaos, he had no plan, no path to follow once he released what had been his life… his law. He knew the gesture was symbolic, but it felt right.

He rested his head on the straw. Other than being scratchy, it was not so uncomfortable. He closed his eyes. Become a paid subscriber to read short stories and novellas.

And was very startled when a hand shook him. He hadn’t expected to sleep. “What!"

Hermes stood in front of him, dark eyes shining, his winged helmet and boots fluttering and flipping as if they were being groomed by an invisible bird beak.

Did he know Apollos' plan?

Of course not. The Sun God had told no one. Not even Pan who had inspired it.

"You look like... well, not yourself,” Hermes replied.

Apollo ran a hand through his short hair. “What do you want?"

“Pan sent me. He was concerned.” Hermes smiled. “he seemed to be enjoying your company but said you were acting strangely. That he was even concerned got my attention.” Hermes rubbed his chin. “That’s strange all by itself.”

Which was rather sweet all things considered, "so why did he not come himself?"

“He was in the middle of something, and it wasn’t making wine. But he thought you would listen to me better anyway."

Hermes was the messenger after all. When he wasn’t supporting trade and being a trickster.

Apollo could hear his servants harnessing the horses.

"Fine. You can witness."

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He expected Hermes to say, ‘witness what?’ But the slender God just nodded.

The sun would soon emerge from a tunnel that opened into the courtyard. That was how it rolled back into place from the west every night. Torches made flickering shadows as his horses and chariot were led forward and into place before the opening.

For a moment the shadows became something else. Apollo imagined he saw the horizon, a sea bordered with mountain peaks. Then he stepped toward the chariot, standing beside it. Not getting in.

Hermes stood relaxed. No doubt it would never occur to him that there might be something different afoot.

Picking up the reins from where he stood, Apollo prepared to slap them on the horse's backs, their signal to leap forward.

The fiery ball rolled out of its tunnel.

Before he could move, Hermes had stepped to his side, ripping the reins loose from Apollo’s surprised fingers.

The horses tensed, haunches bunching, ready for the signal.

But Hermes leaned back, holding the animals in place.

Only a God could hold back the horses of the sun.

What was he doing?

As the horses fought, heads tossing, feet beating a rhythm on the ground, the sun lifted itself into the sky.

The world around Apollo shifted, the courtyard gone, the tunnel gone, and the sun resting on a far horizon. On mountains.

The Sun God gaped, watching the flaming orb rise with no help either from him or the horses. The golden animals now stood quietly.

Had he been mortal, he might have fainted.

"It moves,” he whispered.

"Not exactly," Hermes answered.

Apollo turned to him, a rage boiling up, a solar flare preparing to blast the messenger and maybe some others. "Did everyone know how useless I am? That I've been wasting my time for millennia? Eons?"

Hermes shook his head. "Just me. And some of the ancient Gods. But they don't talk much, and don't care."

"How?"

"I know an illusion when I see one.”

"Why didn't you tell me it was all an illusion? How long have you known?"

Hermes shrugged. "I've always known. But why tell you? There was no need."

Apollo could not believe what he was hearing. No need? Opening his mouth he started to object, but Hermes said, "how was it a bad thing? Getting up every day to ride a chariot across the sky?"

Apollo stopped, closing his mouth. Then he said, "but what do I do now?"

"What you've always done: be an example of light, reason, and self-control. You don't need a chariot for that. And you'll have more time to be hands-on with the mortals. Things are getting busy and populations grow. Many need your help. Far more than when you started riding in front of the sun."

Stroking the lead horse's neck Apollo considered.

"Can I still..."

"They are your horses, take them out as you please."

The solar flare died. Maybe this was better. But it would take getting used to. If he could be busier, help more mortals, that could be… good.

He might need a secretary to help with his new schedule.

This story is part of a collection. You can buy a paper copy here.

Writing fiction is fun and compelling because I get to make worlds and characters that do what I want. It’s the only place I successfully get to be the control freak. Certainly, my cats don’t let me do that, although sometimes they humor me.