The Boy Who Flew Too Close to the Sun

On the island of Crete, in the shadow of King Minos's palace at Knossos, there stood a labyrinth so cunning that even its architect could barely find his way out of it. That architect was Daedalus, a master craftsman of Athens, and the maze was his own creation, built to imprison the Minotaur, a monster born of Minos's wife and the Cretan bull.

When Theseus, prince of Athens and Minos's enemy, escaped the labyrinth and slew the Minotaur, Minos suspected treachery. He believed Daedalus had given his daughter Ariadne the thread that let Theseus find his way through the maze. As punishment, Minos imprisoned Daedalus and his son Icarus, born to Daedalus and his wife Naucrate, either in a tower overlooking the sea or within the labyrinth itself.

Escape by land or sea was watched and guarded, so Daedalus turned to the sky. He gathered feathers molted from birds, threads pulled from blankets, leather straps cut from sandals, and beeswax, and from these he built two pairs of wings, one for himself and one for his son.

Before they leapt from their prison, Daedalus gave Icarus a warning that would outlive them both: fly neither too low, where the sea's dampness would weigh down the feathers, nor too high, where the sun's heat would melt the wax holding them together. A narrow path through the sky was the only safe one.

At first, the plan worked. Father and son rose above Crete and set out over open water, free at last. But flight is its own kind of drink, and Icarus, dizzy with the joy of it, forgot the path his father had drawn. He climbed higher, and higher still, chasing the sky itself.