Daedalus and Icarus

No one could fly into the sky. Since ancient times, everyone had been sure of it, as sure as the ground underfoot, as sure as water that only runs downhill and never flows back up. And yet one gifted craftsman, held prisoner on an island in the middle of the sea, decided to do exactly what no one had ever done. He would take his young son with him, and they would fly together.

In ancient Greek legend, the father was Daedalus, the most gifted craftsman of his time. With his own hands he had built a strange structure for King Minos on the island of Crete. It was a building with countless winding passages, twisting and turning like the Maeander River, which loops back on itself again and again without end. Anyone who walked inside was easily lost and could never find the way out alone. People called it the Labyrinth.

Yet for reasons no one knows, King Minos turned against the very man who had built that splendid work for him. Daedalus lost all the king's favor and was locked in a tall tower on Crete. All around the tower stretched the open sea. The king's guards searched every ship that came to the island or left it, one by one, and not a single ship slipped past them.

Escaping the tower was not hard for Daedalus, but escaping the whole island was another matter. He stood looking at the sea for a long time, and then a thought came to him that no one before him had ever had. King Minos could guard every road on land and every ship on the sea. But there was one path the king could never guard, and that was the sky. If he could not cross by land and could not cross by sea, Daedalus told himself, he would fly across.

He began to make wings, not only for himself but also for his young son, Icarus. He gathered feather after feather and laid them out in order, small ones first and larger ones after. Each one followed the next to form a curved surface that grew wider and wider, just like the wing of a real bird. The large feathers he tied fast with strong thread. The smaller ones he joined with warm, soft beeswax, smoothing it until they sat close and even. Beside him, the boy kept running back and forth, busy chasing the feathers the wind had blown away. Then he would sit down again and roll little lumps of beeswax between his hands. Sometimes he got in the way of his father's hands, and his father had to stop and laugh with him.

When both pairs of wings were finished, Daedalus put his own on his shoulders first and gave them a gentle flap. His whole body suddenly felt light. It lifted off the ground and tilted in the air, as if it had never had any weight at all. He came back down, smiling, and fitted the second pair on Icarus. It was smaller, made just right for the boy's narrow shoulders. He taught his son how to flap and how to glide, as patient as a lead bird coaxing a fledgling out of the nest for the first time.

Before they took off, Daedalus knelt down and held his son firmly by the shoulders. Again and again he told him to fly only at a moderate height. He must never fly low near the sea, because the damp would soak into the feathers and make the wings heavy. Nor must he ever fly high near the sun, because the heat would melt the beeswax. "Just fly in the middle," Daedalus said, his voice trembling a little. "Stay close to me, and you will always be safe." As he tied the straps of the boy's wings one last time, his hands shook and his eyes blurred with tears, though he still tried to smile. He bent down and kissed his son on the forehead, never knowing it would be the last kiss.

Father and son rose into the air together, leaving behind the island that had held them prisoner for so long. Daedalus flew in front, glancing back now and then to watch his son's wings, still clumsy with every beat. Below them, a farmer plowing his field stopped his work and lifted his face to look. A shepherd leaned on his staff, staring in wonder at the two figures cutting through the clouds. He thought he had just seen two gods flying across the sky.

They flew past the island of Samos, past Delos on one side and Lebynthos on the other, leaving the island that had been their prison far behind. Icarus was lost in watching the white clouds slide by beneath his feet, lost in the feel of the wind rushing through every feather. The joy of flying carried him farther and higher. He forgot his father's warning, and he forgot to stay close to his father. He beat his wings harder and aimed straight for the highest part of the sky, where the sun was waiting.

The higher he went, the fiercer the heat. Drop by drop, the beeswax began to soften and trickle away. The feathers came loose one at a time and drifted through the air like a gentle rain of plumes. Icarus swung his arms with all his strength, but the wings could no longer hold the wind. He called out loudly to his father, and the cry had barely sounded before it was swallowed by the deep blue water below. The sea took him in gently, as softly as an embrace. From that day on, people called that stretch of sea by the boy's own name.

Daedalus looked back and could no longer see his son anywhere. He called his son's name, called it again and again across the empty sky, and only the wind answered. When at last he looked down at the sea, he saw only a few white feathers drifting slowly on the waves. He came down, lifted his son from the water, and buried him with great care on a piece of land nearby. He named that land Icaria, so that it would carry his son's name forever.

Daedalus forced himself to his feet and flew on alone, until at last he reached the island of Sicily safely. There he built a small temple to the god Apollo. There, before he even rested, he took off the beeswax wings that had carried him across the sea and hung them on the temple wall, an offering to the god. The wings stayed there forever, and never again rested on his shoulders.