The Winged Horse Race

by Kallie George

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with—’ began Pippa, shame causing her cheeks to blush.

  ‘Disgusting,’ spat Khrys.

  ‘Disgusting,’ echoed Perikles, who was standing beside him.

  ‘No wonder the gods won’t let us in,’ continued Khrys, ‘with the likes of you among us. Foundlings have no place in the Winged Horse Race.’

  Before Pippa could reply, Sophia said, ‘She’s a rider, same as you. And if she wins—’

  ‘Wins? With that pony?’ Khrys spat.

  ‘Zeph has as much chance as any horse,’ Pippa retorted, finding her voice. But the confidence she had felt earlier had disappeared.

  ‘He’s as scrawny and pathetic as you. Runts like him don’t belong in the race. And neither do girls.’

  Sophia replied, furious, ‘Calista. Elena. Damaris … their names are carved in the statue too.’

  ‘Pure luck,’ said Khrys.

  Sophia snorted. ‘I don’t know why I bother to speak to you.’ She crossed her arms and turned away.

  Khrys stared at Pippa. ‘Why are you still here?’ He pushed her away, and Pippa stumbled, falling down several steps.

  ‘Hey,’ called Dion. ‘Watch it!’ He hurried up towards Pippa. ‘Are you OK?’

  Pippa nodded. She didn’t turn to look back at Khrys. She dared not. Her eyes felt damp.

  ‘Good,’ said Dion, his face crinkled with true concern.

  ‘I saw the impressive show you put on today in the sky,’ he said. ‘Riding so soon, without any training. Well done.’

  A blush of pride replaced Pippa’s blush of shame.

  ‘If you’re worried about the feast, don’t be,’ he added. ‘There’ll be food back at your quarters. Zeus won’t want you to go hungry.’

  Dion smiled and gave her a wink.

  There was magic in his eyes. Of course there was. He was a winner – he got to stay with the winged horses forever.

  A door slammed and Bellerophon emerged, looking furious, and ordered everyone back on the chariot. The feast had been cancelled.

  Khrys grumbled and made a show of sitting as far away from Pippa as he could. Bas avoided her too, but didn’t say anything. Even Sophia, who had been nice, seemed distracted, disappointed perhaps.

  But Pippa didn’t care. She watched Dion and Archippos direct the horses back up into the air and down from the mountaintop. She didn’t want to be with the gods anyway. Not really. She wanted to be with the horses.

  She didn’t mind if she was different. Dion thought she was talented, and that mattered more than what Khrys or any of the other children thought. Besides, the one thing she did share with them was the most important thing of all.

  She wanted to win.

  SEVEN

  Late that night, Pippa lay in a bed far grander than any she’d ever slept in. But, as the Fates would have it, she couldn’t sleep. The bed was too soft and the room too quiet. The mosaic across from her glittered, even in the dark. She was used to sleeping in stables with rough hay for her mattress, the snorting snores of horses and the soft lullaby of their swishing tails.

  I must sleep so I’ll be ready to work extra hard in the morning, thought Pippa, rubbing her coin between her fingers, trying to quiet her mind.

  But she was too excited – and worried. If she won, she knew what would happen. But if she lost? She had overheard some of the children talking on the way back. Those who did not win returned home and were honoured by their families for having ridden. But even if her parents were alive, they wouldn’t know she had been chosen. She would return to nothing. Would anyone believe she’d been here at all?

  She flipped the coin over and over, thinking of her parents. She had imagined every scenario. But even if they were too poor to feed her, how could they have abandoned their own child like that? Unless they had died. But who left her by the well then? It was all a mystery. She rubbed the wings on the coin and gazed back up at the mosaic.

  The tiles glittered so much it looked as if the wings were actually beating. Like Zeph’s wings. Although she could not sense her parents – whether they were dead or alive – she could feel Zeph now, in her heart, waiting for it to be morning, waiting for her …

  Sleep came only when the sun began to soften the sky, and, all too soon, it was time to get up.

  Breakfast took place in the courtyard, which had been transformed into a dining area. Wooden stools with feet carved in the shape of wings surrounded the space, and there were tables laden with food set in front of them. It was more food than Pippa had ever seen. Barley cakes, thick yogurt, spiced eggs and all manner of fruits, fresh and dried, including pomegranates and soft figs. Although last night there had been a plate of food waiting for her back in her room as Dion had said, Pippa was ravenous now. Everyone was. She didn’t pay attention to Khrys or any of the other riders, as she piled her plate. She didn’t care what he had to say about her eating habits.

  After they were done, they bridled the horses at the stables and Bellerophon led them beyond, towards the flags. Pippa had snuck a fig for Zeph but was now regretting it, as he kept stopping and nibbling her chiton, trying to find it.

  It wasn’t long before they all came to a halt, and Pippa slipped Zeph the fig. They were still within sight of the stables, but in the middle of massive marshy meadows, standing by a tall pole with a sparkling golden flag at the top. The start of the training course. In the far distance, another two poles were stationed, each bearing flags that glimmered like stars.

  ‘Circle all three flags,’ announced Bellerophon, ‘and you’ve gone half the distance of the mountaintop, where the race will take place. You must not go up there, however, for the course is not marked yet. Nor may you fly below the mountain. Winged horses cannot exist in the mortal realm, not since my days on Pegasus long ago. Not since a rider tried to steal a winged horse from the stables.’

  ‘Steal a horse?’ Khrys laughed. ‘What a fool!’

  ‘Fool indeed,’ said Bellerophon stiffly. ‘And for it, he suffered. You must be careful not to anger the gods and goddesses. Another time, three children got lost in the fog during a race and weren’t located until weeks later, down the mountainside, living in the trees with a group of dryads. Their patrons were so upset they cursed them to roam the mountainside forever, neither dead nor alive. Taraxippoi. Not even the horses will go near them …’

  There was a long shivery silence. The whites of the horses’ eyes gleamed. Zeph’s nostrils flared. Pippa placed her warm palm on his neck. What rider would break the gods’ rules?

  ‘The gods and goddesses do not care what happens to you. Which horse wins is all that matters. You are expendable. If you trouble them or sabotage their chances, you’ll most likely be sent home, shamed forever, or be made to pay with your life.’

  ‘Most likely?’ asked Sophia. ‘Is it not certain?’

  ‘Ha!’ Bellerophon said, punctuating his words with a thump of his cane. ‘Nothing is certain here. Follow the rules and you shall have the best chance of avoiding wrath or whims.’

  ‘So this is the only place we can train?’ Pippa asked, ignoring Zeph, who was back to nosing for more figs.

  ‘It is the safest, due to the marshy ground. If you fall you shall not be injured – much. You may explore anywhere else. Just be cautious, do not get lost, and do not disturb the gods. Training used to take place further up the mountain, over much more dangerous territory. This is safer, but still, you don’t want to fall. And you should not, as long as you heed my rules: no harming each others’ steeds; no riding without a bridle; And,’ he added, looking sharply at Pippa, ‘no treats during my lessons.’

  Pippa blushed.

  ‘Now, I’d like to watch you go once around this course,’ Bellerophon said. ‘This is not a race, mind. Merely practice. There is nothing to prove.’

  ‘Except who is best,’ Khrys murmured, too low for Bellerophon to hear. Pippa saw Perikles – Artemis’s rider – nudge Khrys in agreement. She rubbed Zeph’s neck, knowing that she too had s
omething to prove.

  Once everyone had mounted, Bellerophon sounded his birdlike whistle for them to begin. With a magnificent whoosh, the horses raised their wings.

  Pippa was surrounded by feathery walls, trembling and soft, delicate and powerful. Zeph did not take flight.

  None of the horses did, except for Kerauno. He surged into the air, Bas clinging on desperately. Ajax, Sophia’s steed, began to gallop towards the flag, refusing to flap his wings. Khrys’s horse backed into Timon’s horse, and it looked like the thin boy might fall. Timon steadied himself quickly though, and, with a flick of the reins, urged Skotos into the air. They catapulted up as though the horse was lifting papyrus, not a person. Khrys followed, Khruse’s golden tail whipping out like a windswept flame. Soon the others were airborne too.

  Pippa watched it all – because Zeph wouldn’t budge.

  His muzzle was lifted, his ears pricked, as though content to watch the other horses’ antics.

  ‘Come on,’ urged Pippa. ‘Come on.’ She pressed her legs into his sides, and at last he took her cue and began to trot … in a circle. ‘No,’ said Pippa. ‘Up, Zeph, like you did yesterday.’

  She steered him back on course with the reins and squeezed his sides again. This time his trot turned into a canter, then a gallop; his wings beat and his hooves raised off the ground. Finally, they were in the air.

  Zeph swerved and tossed his head. He was clumsy and gallant all at once, and Pippa filled with pride. But she wanted to catch up with the others and so she leaned forwards, flattening her chest to his neck, feeling the heat of him, urging him on.

  Kerauno was far ahead, zigzagging back and forth like a lightning bolt, allowing no one to pass him, though Khruse and Skotos were not far behind. Timon looked very calm, his body slightly raised above his horse’s back, whereas Khrys was shouting at his steed and flapping his elbows.

  As they passed the first flagpole, it took all of Pippa’s effort to keep Zeph from flying up to nose the flag. ‘This way,’ she coaxed, directing him away with the reins. At last, after circling the first pole several times, they were on their way to the second.

  Up ahead, Kerauno tore towards the pole. But he was much too close and – whap! – his wing struck it.

  The monstrous horse spun to the left and collided with Skotos, knocking Timon sideways, out of view. Someone shouted. Pippa gasped. Had Timon fallen off?

  She didn’t get a chance to check. Loosened by the impact of Kerauno’s wing, the flag caught a gust of wind and, with a flash, spiralled up into the sky.

  And Zeph – Zeph soared after it!

  Up, up, up the flag went, glittering and sparkling in the sun. Pippa clung to Zeph; he was flying so fast. His mane streamed out behind him, and her hair did too.

  Another burst of wind whisked the flag away and out of sight, and Zeph seemed to lose interest.

  Below, the shouts continued. Had Timon been hurt? What was going on?

  Pippa pulled at Zeph’s reins, directing him back down to the training grounds. Soon she could make out Bellerophon and others surrounding Timon, who was lying on the ground.

  They were the last to land. Pippa slipped off Zeph’s back and hurried towards the crowd.

  ‘You are lucky,’ Bellerophon was saying.

  Pippa stood on tiptoes to see over the others. Timon was slowly rising to his feet. She felt a wave of relief and didn’t even care when Khrys said to her mockingly, ‘Where’s the impressive show now?’

  ‘Impressive?’ Bellerophon bellowed, turning from Timon to face Khrys. He waved his cane in fury. ‘IMPOSSIBLE! You all have a long way to go to be ready for the race! False starts! Hitting the pole! Leaving the course! And a fall! This is one of the worst training sessions I have ever witnessed.’ The groom tugged at his hair. ‘Go! Again! But this time, listen to me when I tell you it is not a race! You will race soon enough!’

  The children climbed, chastised, back on their horses. Pippa rubbed Zeph’s muzzle. His nostrils were flared and his ears quivered. ‘It’s OK,’ she comforted.

  It wasn’t his fault. The flag had distracted him. She had been distracted too. He just needed to learn to focus – and that was the point of training, wasn’t it?

  She looked over at Timon. He was standing beside his horse now, and although he seemed calm, he looked paler than ever. He was lucky. Would the next to fall be so fortunate? She gave Zeph’s muzzle another rub.

  No more treats, she decided. At least, not during training.

  Zeph snorted as though he could read her mind, and she added for his sake, in a whisper, ‘Not until we win.’

  EIGHT

  Although Pippa was focused on training, Zeph, it seemed, had other plans. The more Pippa wanted him to practise flying around the training course as fast as he could go, the less he obeyed. The flags were still an endless source of interest, especially the new silver one that had been put up to replace the flag that had blown away. Or Zeph would catch sight of a bird or butterfly, or a rabbit on the ground below, and suddenly change course.

  Pippa and Zeph weren’t the only ones with problems. Sophia’s horse seemed inordinately slow and stubborn, and Bas was still being bucked from Kerauno. Khrys’s golden steed had taken a liking to flying as close as he could to the sun, no matter what Khrys seemed to do.

  Every day the schedule was the same, problems or not. After breakfast, Bellerophon taught the riders a new skill and then they practised what they had learned until lunchtime. In the afternoon, they trained on the track, flying lap after lap after lap, until they were racing the course in their dreams. By the time they were finished grooming and feeding the horses, it was time for a late supper and bed.

  Bellerophon’s morning lectures didn’t seem to help Pippa with Zeph, although she liked learning the best way to hold her legs, so as not to get them in the way of the wings, and how to keep the reins hugged close to the horse’s neck, so they didn’t flap in the wind.

  ‘Riding on a stormy day can be dangerous,’ cautioned Bellerophon. ‘Since Zeus is the judge, he doesn’t participate in the race as a patron, nor does he place any bets, so playing with the weather is his only way to have fun. You must watch the skies closely.’

  Pippa did just that, trying to determine when there were the least distractions. She tried training before the lessons, only to find Eos on the horizon, pulling up the sun in her pink-gold chariot. Zeph wanted to fly after her, and Pippa couldn’t blame him. She too was enraptured by the goddess of dawn’s beauty. Pippa couldn’t help but think again about Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love. She couldn’t wait to meet her.

  And at last the day arrived. ‘Come, hurry!’ Bellerophon declared, gathering the riders in the courtyard. Pippa noticed he looked harried.

  ‘What about breakfast?’ asked Theodoros.

  Bellerophon groaned. ‘Breakfast?! I— Never mind. No breakfast today. We have to visit the gods. It’s Visiting Day.’

  Ever since the failed feast, Bellerophon had said the gods and goddesses were planning a visit, but Pippa thought that meant the gods would be visiting them this time. ‘But … I’m not dressed to see the gods,’ stammered Pippa. ‘I’m dressed for riding.’

  ‘I haven’t bathed in days,’ said another rider behind her.

  ‘No time!’ Bellerophon bellowed. ‘You have to ride. We’re not going far.’

  ‘Not to the palace?’ asked Sophia.

  ‘Palace? Not this time. No, to the glade. Dionysus helped me set it up. Not that I wanted him to …’ He sighed. ‘Come, best we get there before they do. I’ve already brought your horses down.’

  And so they trooped out of the courtyard, into the misty morning.

  ‘Do you think they will really come?’ ‘What will they want us to do?’ a few children whispered. Pippa found herself walking side by side with Bas. He was stiff and quiet, clearly as nervous as she was.

  The horses stood at the ready. Zeph looked extra excited, struggling to keep still.

  Pippa slipped on to h
is back. Bellerophon mounted a horse too. His own giant steed, with grey and white wings, that they had seen once or twice before. With a cry of ‘Follow me!’ he led them up into the morning sky.

  They soared away from the stables, and before long Bellerophon directed them down to what looked like a temple. Except instead of pillars of stone, this temple was made from trees, each intertwining with another. And instead of leaves, these trees seemed to be growing feathers, silver and soft, long as the feathers of the winged horses. In the centre of the temple a great spring bubbled up. ‘That spring was made by Pegasus’s hoof,’ explained Bellerophon.

  Pippa stared at the spring below with awe. She knew Pegasus’s hoof had power. Although her name, Hippolyta, meant lover of horses, she wasn’t given the name because of that. She was named after the Hippocrene well, where the old song-stitcher had found her as a baby. Hippos meant horse, and the well, it was said, had burst into life long ago when Pegasus pawed the ground. She didn’t know he had made other springs.

  It seemed like a sign. She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt for her coin. She was ready to find answers about her parents – whatever those answers might be.

  Bellerophon landed at the temple’s entrance and dismounted, gesturing for them to do the same. Pippa and the others did so, and he said, ‘Let the horses graze. They will not stray far.’

  The spring and the temple were beautiful. Since the feather leaves didn’t rustle in the wind, there was a quiet that was almost reverent. Even Zeph seemed to sense it and was calm beside Pippa. Not even his tail swished.

  A crow broke the silence: ‘The riders are here!’

  And with that, a flurry of gods and goddesses burst forth – some swooping from the sky, others striding from between the trees, one even transforming from a tree. Each seemed more spectacular than the last. One wore a wreath woven of grains and a dress as golden as a wheat field. Surely this was Demeter, goddess of the harvest. Another had a scraggly beard tangled with bits of metal that glinted in the sun. Undoubtedly Hephaestus, god of blacksmiths. And it had to be Poseidon who jumped from the spring itself, splashing some of the other gods and goddesses and making them cry out in annoyance. Among these was Ares, in his silver helmet. He pointed his spear threateningly at Poseidon.