The Girl Who Ran Like The Wind (Myths Retold)

by Normandie Alleman

  The centaur waved a hand in front of his face, dismissing the apology. "My apologies. Gwendolyn is fiery. I like my women like that. You?”

  Hip considered this, then answered, “I do.”

  “Good lad. Women with sass—they’ll keep you from getting bored no matter how old you get. Sellers sent you?"

  "Yes. I needed some help, and he and his colleague, Mello, seemed to think you'd be able to help me."

  "Aye. Have a seat and tell me what it is that you need." He offered Hip a seat on a spacious leather sofa.

  As Hip sat down he introduced himself and told Chiron how he'd fallen in love with the princess, Atalanta, and explained that the only way he would be able to win her heart was to beat her in a palace-sanctioned foot race.

  "And you think this girl can beat you, eh?" The centaur frowned.

  "No one has ever beaten her. No human anyway. The only thing on record to have won over her was her pet cheetah. And that was close."

  Chiron stroked his beard. "I see your problem."

  They sat silent for a while.

  Hip tried to be patient, for Chiron looked pensive, but he was so anxious to find a solution to his problem that he finally burst out, "So can you help me? Please."

  This jolted Chiron from his thoughts.

  "Oh yes. Yes! What you need, my boy, is some magic. Let me see what I've got."

  The centaur's hooves clomped around the room as he rustled through cabinets and drawers, tossing papers and random things aside.

  A ball of twine hit Hip in the head when Chiron threw it over his shoulder.

  "Sorry!" he called out, throwing a box over his other shoulder. "I've got them here somewhere..."

  After searching through practically everything in the room, Chiron clomped over to the sofa where Hip sat and said, "Would you mind getting up?"

  "Not at all." Hip hopped up, and Chiron lifted the couch with one arm. He was quite strong for an older guy.

  "There they are!" He held up a wooden box triumphantly.

  Hip didn't see anything about the plain brown box to get excited about, but he smiled, trying to reflect the centaur's enthusiasm.

  "What's in the box?"

  "Three apples."

  "Apples?" Hip began to question the old centaur's sanity. Perhaps he'd been out in the pasture too long.

  "Not just any apples. These apples are magic." Chiron lifted the lid to show Hip.

  The first thing he noticed was that they were gold and shinier than any jewels he'd ever seen. "Magic? What kind of magic?"

  "Here's what you do. Take these apples with you to the race. Put them in your pockets. They will help you prevail."

  "I don't understand."

  "You will."

  "If you say so." Hip was skeptical.

  Then Chiron explained how the magic could work and gave him explicit instructions that would give him an advantage over Atalanta.

  Hip considered this new information for a moment and felt a ray of hope. "I appreciate your help, Chiron," he said. “How can I pay you?"

  Chiron laughed. "If it's Sellers who sent you, I'll be collecting from him."

  "I'm sorry I don't have money to pay you." The situation made Hip feel about two inches tall. He wanted desperately to settle his debt. Whether it be with Chiron or Mello and Sellers, he hated owing anybody anything.

  "Nothing is free. I'm sure Sellers and his crew have something in mind or they wouldn't have sent you to me."

  Hip's temples throbbed. He was afraid those thugs were planning to blackmail him. They were counting on him becoming king, and then they would make his life hell in perpetuity by requiring him to pay them back for putting him there.

  But it couldn't be helped.

  There was no other way.

  "Thank you," Hip said, shaking Chiron's hand.

  "If you have any trouble getting out of here, tell them you're a friend of old Chiron."

  "You think I'll run into trouble?"

  Chiron shrugged. "There are a lot of shady characters around here, and you don't exactly fit in."

  Hip nodded and turned to go.

  "Good luck. And if you marry the princess, I'll dance at your wedding."

  Their wedding. Suddenly, his quest became more real than ever.

  At first, he'd merely wanted the opportunity to see Atalanta again, but the only way to do that was to win her hand. And that meant getting married, which was something he wouldn't normally consider with a woman he hardly knew.

  In the meantime, he had a bigger problem—smuggling the magic apples safely out of the underworld and back to Xenapolis.

  He hadn't taken three steps outside the bar before a dark figure zipped past him, snatching the wooden box of apples from his hands.

  Cursing under his breath, Hip ran after the thief.

  "Stop! Those belong to Chiron," he yelled, and the figure slowed slightly.

  Thanks to all his training, Hip was able to overtake the thief after a few blocks. It was nice to see he'd gotten something from all his hard work.

  "Hey!" He reached out, grabbed the shoulders of the bandit, and tossed him against a wall.

  The hood that had been hiding the person's face slid back, revealing an impish-looking creature with big red eyes and bad teeth—a Vesper. Bottom feeders that were despised by society, but the creatures were left alone in the underworld because they provided the valuable service of keeping the trash from piling too high. It was the Vespers that recycled metals, glass, bodies, and anything else that accumulated.

  The Vesper held out the box. "Take it!"

  Hip leaned in, startling the creature. He took the box and lifted the lid to be certain the apples were still intact. "You're lucky you stopped when you did."

  The creature put his hands in front of his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't know they were Chiron's."

  Hip picked the creature up and gave it a small shove in the opposite direction from where he was going. "Get on your way unless you want me to go get Chiron."

  Those red eyes doubled in size. "No! I'm going, I'm going."

  The creature hurried down the street until he slipped into a pile of trash and disappeared.

  His heart racing, Hip raised his shirt and pressed the box holding the precious apples against his skin then covered them back up. Crossing his arms over his chest, he traveled quickly to the teleport location, the whole time thinking it really was good to know Chiron the centaur.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It had been weeks since anyone had requested to race Atalanta.

  Her parents had just about given up hope of her finding a husband.

  One night at dinner her father broached the subject with her.

  "Now that you've beaten all the men vying for your hand, how do you suggest we find you a husband, Atalanta?" His voice carried down the long, elaborately set table.

  "I don't think that all the possibilities have been exhausted yet, Father." She had actually expected her plan to allow her to stay single for at least a decade. As it stood, she'd only managed to put her parents off for a couple years. She thought more men would come and challenge her, but perhaps by winning all the races so decisively she miscalculated.

  She'd intimidated potential suitors by making them believe they had no way of winning. Maybe she should have made some of the races appear more competitive, allowed some of the challengers to believe they had a chance. Instead, she let her vanity get the best of her, and she'd blown out her competition by a mile.

  She was kicking herself under the table at her mistake when her mother piped up. "Darling, I believe there's another challenger. Another man who wants to race for Atalanta's hand."

  "There is?" Her father frowned.

  "There is?" Atalanta brightened.

  "Yes. Celia informed me today." Her mother dabbed her napkin primly at the corner of her mouth.

  "A straggler, eh? We can't be expected to put on another full-scale spectacle for one lousy suitor. All this has cost a bunch of money, and what do we ha
ve to show for it? Nada." Her father glared at Atalanta.

  "Well, we have to give him a chance, Father." Atalanta made sure to look as innocent as she possibly could. "It wouldn't be fair to change the policy after he challenged me. It might upset the people."

  "Fine," he grumbled. "He can have his chance. But no major hoopla. We'll invite only a small number of people. It can be held at the old Smitherman field so that there will be witnesses that we gave the poor man his opportunity."

  Rolling his eyes, he added, "A lot of good that will do him."

  The queen reached over and patted her husband's hand. "There, there, dear. It may come out all right. Maybe Atalanta will turn her ankle or something. It's bound to happen one day."

  "Mother!" Atalanta threw her shoulders back indignantly and let her fork clank onto her plate. "How could you wish such a thing?"

  It was her mother's turn to feign innocence. "I didn't wish it. I simply have a most fervent desire for grandchildren."

  Even though she had not been excused, Atalanta pushed her chair back from the table and stood up, sending her napkin floating to the floor. She sneered, "You never know, Mother. Maybe this man is faster than Desdemona."

  "That would be lovely, dear," her mother said nonchalantly, then went back to eating her dinner.

  Atalanta turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving the napkin on the ground behind her.

  She was going to have to make the race with this new challenger look very, very close.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  On the morning of the race, Hip's stomach was tied in knots from the moment he woke up.

  This would be his first day to see Atalanta since the day they'd met and she'd taken him into the woods. Seduced him, really.

  How would she react to seeing him again?

  He hoped she'd be excited. In his wildest fantasies, she ran straight into his arms, climbing him and hooking her legs around his waist as she held him tight. He could imagine her sweet kisses tasting like strawberries as he devoured her.

  He thought as he shaved the stubble off his face and studied himself in the mirror, but he didn't expect it would actually go down like that.

  No. A girl with her resources, if she'd wanted to find him, ever wanted to see him again, she'd have tracked him down. He had to assume that her intention had been to love him and leave him. And from what he'd heard about her relationships with men, that was her pattern.

  But he was going to change all that. Because he was going to capture her, put her in that cage called marriage, and then he intended to win her heart. Or die trying.

  He dressed in his running gear and left his small apartment for the palace. As he closed the door behind him, he hoped he wouldn't be back until he was engaged.

  When he arrived at the palace, he was greeted by Carl, the same guard he'd seen the last time he'd been there looking for the princess.

  "You again?" the guard asked, annoyed.

  "I'm here to run against Princess Atalanta for her hand."

  "Running for her hand, are you?" Carl studied him over skeptically. "Well, all right. I knew there was going to be a race today, but nobody told me it was going to be you."

  "Well, it is, and I intend to win, so you might want to let me through."

  The guard made a face. "Uppity, ain't ya?"

  Hip didn't respond, but waited patiently.

  "All right, all right. I've got to say one thing for ya. You're a persistent bugger."

  The guard proceeded to give Hip directions to the old Smitherman field which was located about a half mile behind the palace.

  Apparently, he was to go there on foot. He wondered if that was intended to tire him out a bit before the race. Then he laughed. The walk was just a warm-up, and he was being paranoid.

  When he arrived at the field, he stopped a harried-looking young woman and asked her where he should check in.

  She seemed relieved to see him. "We've been looking all over for you! I'm Celia, and I'm the co-coordinator for this event."

  He was at least a half-hour earlier than the time he'd been told to report and told her so.

  "Well, you're here now. That's what counts." She handed him a number he was to affix to the front of his shirt.

  "Though I don't know if they'll really make you wear it. You're the only one running against her today." The woman threw up her hands.

  "I'm the only one?"

  The woman lifted a brow. "No one can beat her. Word's gotten out."

  Then she whispered behind her hand. "The whole thing's kinda a sham."

  He feigned shock. "Really?"

  "That's what I think, but good luck to you. Dressing room's over there. Go wait in there until somebody comes for you." She pointed at a small building next to the track.

  "All right. Thank you," he said, and headed in that direction.

  He was so focused on getting to the dressing room that he almost didn't see her.

  At the place where the signs noting "men" and "women" converged, he glanced over at a woman who was bent down tying her shoe. Something about her looked familiar.

  She lifted her head as she stood up, and his jaw dropped.

  It was her.

  She looked different with her hair held back in two braids, but it was definitely her. Her beauty stabbed at his heart, and he was filled with longing for her.

  Her mouth formed a little "o" of surprise.

  "It's you," was all she said.

  "It is."

  She crossed her arms and gave him a look that told him she expected an explanation for his presence.

  "You look beautiful." He wasn't sure what to say, but he knew a compliment was usually a good opening.

  "Thanks." Her tone was cursory. "What are you doing here?"

  He smiled. "I've come to win your hand, Princess."

  Her eyes flashed. "You've what? You mean you're the one who is challenging me today?"

  "Yes, I am."

  She raised her chin. "You've wasted your time then. I'll not marry you."

  "But if I beat you, I believe you're required to."

  Then he added, "By law."

  "Well, you will never beat me so you might as well go home."

  "Give me my chance. I promise you won't regret it."

  She furrowed her brow and appeared to consider his words.

  "Fine," she huffed and stormed into the dressing room marked "Women."

  He let out a deep breath and pushed open the door marked "Men."

  Once inside, he slid his hands into his pockets wrapping his fingers around the golden apples. He wished Atalanta had been more welcoming, but her cold reaction to him had done nothing to dampen his spirits. In fact, he was more excited than ever to win the race.

  He sat down on a bench to make sure his shoelaces were secure.

  The door opened, and in slinked Mello with Sellers skulking along behind him.

  "Hey, look at our boy here."

  Mello clapped him on the back.

  "Hey. What are you guys doing here?" Hip asked, annoyed. These guys may have helped him get to Chiron and the apples, but he wished they'd operate more behind the scenes. He didn't want the royal family getting a whiff of his involvement with them. Not that he could say anything without sounding ungrateful.

  "You got the-uh, the thing?" Mello asked.

  Hip gave the little man a blank look. He didn't want to discuss the matter in the dressing room. Everything they said and did was probably under surveillance.

  "You know, the thing, from Chiron," Mello persisted.

  "Everything is under control," Hip assured him.

  Sellers nodded his understanding, and for the first time, Hip wondered if the quiet giant might be the brains in the operation. Mello was the mouthpiece, but it was Sellers who had the connection with the centaur.

  "Win," Sellers said, then he fist-bumped Hip and turned to go.

  "We'll be watchin'." Mello took two fingers and pointed them at his eyeballs, then at Hip, and then back
at his own. "Just make sure you get through the security check. They should be here in a few."

  Security check?

  Of course, there would be a security check. He'd already been through a scanner back at the front gate, but he hadn't counted on a body search which was sure to follow. They couldn't take any chances with the princess' safety. He knew that much from his military training.

  They'd find the apples for sure. He only prayed he could convince the security team that the apples were merely good luck charms.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  When Atalanta saw him her pulse began to race.

  What was he doing here?

  The guy from that day in the woods. She'd never gotten his name, and it had been her hope that he wouldn't figure out who she was.

  Clearly, he had.

  As annoyed as she was, because she hated surprises, she couldn't help but feel flattered that he'd gone to all the trouble of challenging her to a race.

  He would lose, of course, but it was nice to be pursued all the same.

  Celia entered her dressing room looking a fright, frantically swiping her device. That girl was a hot mess. She needed to take a breath. Or maybe a shot of something stout.

  Before Celia could launch into whatever anxiety-laced rant she'd come to spew, Atalanta asked, "Hey, what's the guy's name who is challenging me today?"

  "Um..." Celia searched her device. "Hippomenes."

  "Wow. That's a mouthful."

  "Yeah. I think he goes by Hip."

  That was kinda cute.

  Celia started to speak, giving Atalanta the same instructions she'd heard a dozen times before.

  With a yawn, Atalanta's mind wandered to the afternoon she came across Hip and took him into the woods to have her way with him.

  He'd been something of a revelation. Different from her other playmates. She recalled how he'd been interested in her pleasure, rather than just his own. It had been a refreshing change of pace. She had let him dominate her, and it had been one of the best sexual experiences of her life.

  When he'd spoken with her a few minutes ago, she'd gotten a whiff of his woodsy scent, and it sent a shiver of desire down her spine as she remembered their interlude in the meadow...