Wonder Stories, Carolyn Sherwin Bailey [hot novels to read TXT] 📗

stir the blue sea and the waters lay like a turquoise mirror, smooth and still. Suddenly the fishermen who were casting their nets on the shore saw a bright, rose colored cloud that trembled and then began to drop lower toward the sea until it floated lightly on the surface of the water. It was so soft and ethereal that it seemed as if a breath would blow it away, but it rose and fell like mist and seemed to almost breathe.

No one spoke, watching the wonder, and suddenly the cloud began to take form and shape. It really breathed, and it blossomed into the most beautiful woman who had ever been seen on earth or on Mount Olympus either. Her hair was as bright as sunlight and her face glowed with warm color like that of the rosy cloud from which she had come. Her flowing garments were as soft and lovely as the tinted sky at sunrise, and she stretched out her slender white arms toward the shore.

At once the four Zephyrs of the west who had not been anywhere about before came and surrounded this beauteous being, and with their help she glided toward the island of Cyprus. The four Seasons descended from Mount Olympus to meet her there, as the people of Cyprus watched and wondered at the marvel.

"Can it be possible that this heavenly being has come to remain with us?" they asked each other.

And even as they wondered the second strange thing happened.

Vulcan, the smith of Mount Olympus, had a shop on Cyprus. Here his anvil could be heard ringing every day from sunrise until sunset, for Vulcan was shaping and fitting together the parts of a gold throne for Jupiter. He was making other things with his skilful hands, weapons and armor for the gods and the heroes, and thunderbolts for Jupiter. He was a lonely smith, very much handicapped by his lameness, and seldom went about much unless it was to take his finished work home to Mount Olympus.

But this is what happened that long ago morning in spring. With amazing grace this lovely person who had been born in the foam of the sea made her way to the abode of Vulcan. She was the goddess of love, Venus, who is sometimes called Aphrodite. She had come to be the wife of Vulcan who was, in spite of his lameness, the god of fire.

Things were very different on the earth after the coming of Venus. The whole world had been looking for her and hoping for her coming although they had not really known this desire of their hearts. And one of the first matters that the goddess of love attended to was that of the wilful Atalanta who had caused so much sorrow among the heroes of Greece.

Atalanta was a princess, too boyish for a girl and too girlish for a boy. Many of the heroes had claimed her hand in marriage but she liked her own free, wild ways too much to give them up for spinning and the household arts. To any prince or hero who asked for her hand Atalanta made the same reply,

"I will be the prize of him who shall conquer me in a race; but death shall be the penalty of all who try and fail!"

It was a cruel decree. How Atalanta could run! There had never been a boy even who was able to beat her in a race. The breezes seemed to give her wings, her bright hair blew over her shoulders, and the gay fringe of her dress fluttered behind her. But as Atalanta raced, the ruddy hue of her skin seemed to fade and she became as white as marble, for her heart grew cold. All her suitors were outdistanced and they were put to death without mercy.

Then Hippomenes came and decided to risk his life in a race with Atalanta. He was a brave, bold youth and although he had been obliged to act as judge and condemn many of his friends whom Atalanta had defeated to death, he wanted to run. And he asked Venus to help him in the race.

In Venus' garden in her own island of Cyprus there was a tree with yellow leaves and yellow branches and golden fruit. Aphrodite gathered three golden apples from the tree and gave them, unseen, to Hippomenes, telling him how to use them.

The signal was given and Atalanta darted forward along the sand of the shore near Venus' temple with Hippomenes at her side. Hippomenes was a swift runner, with a tread so light that it seemed as if he might skim the water or a field of waving grain without leaving a foot print. At first he gained. Then he felt the beat of Atalanta's breath on his shoulder, and the goal was not yet in sight. At that moment Hippomenes threw down one of the golden apples.

Atalanta was so surprised that she stopped a second. She stooped and picked up the apple and as she did so Hippomenes shot on ahead. But Atalanta redoubled her speed and soon overtook him. Again he threw down a golden apple. Atalanta could not bear to leave it, and she again stopped and picked it up. Then she ran on again. Hippomenes was almost to the goal but Atalanta reached and passed him. In a minute she would have won, but Hippomenes dropped the third golden apple. It glittered and shone so that Atalanta could not resist it. A third time she hesitated and as she did so Hippomenes won the race.

The two were very happy, Hippomenes in his success and Atalanta in her precious fruit. She at once wanted a house in which to keep it, and when Hippomenes built her one Atalanta began to spin and weave and take great pride in making her home beautiful and comfortable. Venus had been quite sure that this would happen. She had known that it would be better for Atalanta to forget her cruel races, so she gave her these golden apples to show her the prizes love brings.

The goddess of love had other work to do on earth. She was particularly fond of her garden in Cyprus and she busied herself for a long time tending and coaxing a new bush to live and blossom. It was different from any shoot that had been seen there before, tough, and dry, and covered with sharp thorns that pricked whoever touched them and drew blood like spear points. But Venus handled and trimmed the stalks without fear until the bush spread and sent out branches that stretched up and covered the wall of her temple like a vine. It was noticed that the new shoots and leaves pushed their way up from underneath some of the thorns, which dried up at once and dropped off. Then flower buds appeared where there had been sharp thorns which opened, when summer decked Cyprus, into the loveliest blossoms the earth had ever seen. Their fragrance filled the island and their color was like that of the cloud from which Aphrodite had come.

It was the rose, Venus' own flower, and destined to be always the most loved flower of earth.

Venus watched over everything that was beautiful on earth. That is why she was sorry that Pygmalion, the King of Greece, was so hardhearted. Pygmalion was a sculptor as well as a king, and so skilled with clay and marble that he was able to mould likenesses of the beings of Mount Olympus, even. But he closed his heart to men and he felt that there was no woman living who was worthy to share his kingdom.

One spring Pygmalion decided to make a statue of ivory, and when it was finished it was so exquisite that there had never before been seen such beauty save that of Venus. Pygmalion was proud of his work and as he admired it Venus put a better feeling into his heart. Pygmalion laid his hand upon his statue to see if it were living or not. He began to wish that it was not ivory, and he named it Galatea.

Pygmalion gave Galatea the presents that a young girl of Greece loved, bright shells and polished stones, birds in golden cages, flowers of many colors, beads, and amber. He dressed her in silk and put jewels on her fingers and a necklace about her neck. She wore ear rings and many strings of pearls. When he had done all this Venus rewarded him. Pygmalion, returning to his home one day, touched his statue and the ivory felt soft and yielded to his fingers as if it had been wax. Its pallor changed to the color of life, and Galatea opened her eyes and smiled at Pygmalion.

After that all Cyprus was changed for this king who had been selfish and hardhearted. He was able to hear the silvery song of his fountain that he had never noticed before. He began to love the forests, and flowers, and people, for Venus had given him Galatea to share his kingdom.

Venus and Vulcan began to spend about as much time with the gods as they did on the earth, for Mount Olympus was their real home. Venus carried her roses there to deck her hand-maidens, the Graces, who presided over the banquets, the dances, and the arts of the gods. She was watchful of mortals, though, for she knew that they would always have need of her.

WHERE THE LABYRINTH LED

Daedalous stood in the shadows at the entrance of the Labyrinth and watched one of the heroes enter the dark passageway. It was a strange, secret edifice that Daedalous, an artist of the gods, had built with his mighty skill. Numberless winding passageways and turnings opened one into the other in a confusing maze that seemed to have no beginning or end. There was a river in Greece, the Maeander, that had never been traced to its source, for it flowed forward and backward, always returning and Daedalous had planned the Labyrinth like the course of the river Maeander.

There was hardly anything that Daedalous was not able to do with his hands, for he had been given great gifts by the gods. But he liked trickery more than honesty and had spent years and used his clever brain in inventing this maze.

As he peered into the dark alleys of the Labyrinth he saw the hero disappear. He would never return, Daedalous knew, for no one yet had ever been able to retrace his steps through its turnings. Like many secret things, the Labyrinth caught and destroyed even the brave.

It was a pity that anything so dreadful should have happened on such a day as that. The olive trees of Crete were in full leaf, and Daedalous could hear a nightingale singing in the forest nearby. He was deaf to the music of birds, though, for he was listening for another sound. It was May of the year, and the day when Athens sent a tribute of seven of the strongest lads and seven of the fairest daughters of Greece to be driven into the the Labyrinth, a tribute to King Minos of Crete. The Minotaur, a raging beast half man and half bull, waited in its secret passageways to devour them. Daedalous had built the Labyrinth and confined the Minotaur in it to commend himself to King Minos. The sound he listened for was the crying of these youths and maidens on their way to the sacrifice.

The road was strangely quiet, although Daedalous could see the white garments of the children as they made their way toward him through the aisles of flowering trees. Their eyes were bright with courage, and a youth