“Of . . . of course,” replied Hero, though his eyes never left Tazo’s wings.
“Well, my winged horse and I had better get going,” said Pippa. “Good luck.”
She tugged Tazo away, though Tazo seemed reluctant to come, still too interested in Hero.
“Wait!” said Hero. “Where are you going?”
“Up the mountain of course.”
“Well, so am I. I can take you,” declared Hero.
“Thank you, but I don’t need your help.”
Hero shook his head. “You’re wrong. The gods and goddesses are mad. Didn’t you see the storm? That’s why I’m heading up Mount Olympus. I want to find out what’s happening and make sure there are no more storms. I’m going to save everyone. You’d better come with me. I can look out for you.”
“I’m fine on my own,” said Pippa stoutly.
But too late. Hero had already taken the lead, with Tazo trotting happily behind. The rope in Pippa’s hand grew taut, and she had no choice but to follow.
Seven
Pippa had never been very talkative. She preferred the silence of horses and the shimmer of stars at night. In her lonely life as a foundling, the constellations had been her only constant companions.
Bas was also quiet, no doubt a result of living with seven sisters.
But not Hero.
“I have always had a good sense of direction,” he babbled, walking in the completely wrong direction. “Why, when I was only three, I walked all the way from the market to our oikos by myself.”
Pippa took a different route, and Hero added, “Ah, yes, that way. I knew it was that way. I was going to suggest we turn up ahead. But we can turn now, if you’d rather.”
“I’d rather,” said Pippa shortly.
“I’m an excellent hunter too,” Hero went on. “I trained with Orion’s sword. Orion, the great hunter—the one honored in the sky as a constellation. And my father said Artemis herself, goddess of the hunt, watched over me when I was still a baby. I suppose your father brags similarly of you. It’s what parents do, right?” Hero said, almost questioningly.
Pippa felt a pang. Of course she didn’t know. Before she could explain, Hero went on.
“I even fought off two snakes in my cradle, just like Hercules.”
“Really?” said Pippa doubtfully. “So you’ll be able to catch us some supper?”
Hero paused, then laughed. “On the mountain? You can’t hunt on the mountain. I wouldn’t want to make the gods angry. Not when they already are.”
“Right,” said Pippa, unconvinced.
She needed to get rid of him. But what if he really did have some connection with the gods? That might help her. He did seem to have a connection to Tazo, or at least, Tazo had connected to him. Tazo was trotting right beside him. It didn’t make any sense to Pippa, but sometimes you just couldn’t explain the actions of horses. Except Zeph. He and Pippa understood each other so well.
She missed Zeph and touched his feather. The feather was longer than Tazo’s, but—glancing over at the colt—surprisingly not by much.
Tazo’s wings and feathers were truly remarkable. Did it have something to do with his being born of a regular and a winged horse? She wasn’t sure. Although it had only been a night and a day, his wing looked like it was already healing well. His bandage had fallen off during their escape and it looked like she didn’t need to replace it. Yet he still didn’t seem interested in flying. She hadn’t even seen him fully stretch his wings. It was as if he wasn’t certain that he was a winged horse at all. He was much more interested in exploring the world on the ground.
Maybe the winged horse stables was the right place for him. The grooms could help him learn to use his wings. But Pippa already dreaded the day she’d have to say goodbye.
By the time night fell, after hours of Hero’s jabbering, Pippa was renewed in her determination to leave him. She planned to wait until he fell asleep and then sneak off with Tazo. Unfortunately, Hero talked and talked until she fell asleep instead!
Luckily, she woke up before he did. It was early morning, and the stars once again filled the sky brighter and fuller than ever, casting a blueish light over the mountainside. Without Hero’s chatter, it was silent, almost ominously so.
Tazo was sleeping and swaying unsteadily. She gave him a gentle rub on his nose, and his eyes flicked open, displeased. It took a piece of honey cake that she’d pocketed from the night before to convince him to follow her.
At last, they started out.
But they didn’t get far.
They were emerging from the tree line and entering rocky meadows, when Pippa heard Hero’s unmistakable voice: “Pippa! Where are you?”
Pippa scoured the area for a place to hide, and, to her luck, spotted just the thing. A humongous statue, so big it was like a mini mountain itself. It was hard to make out at first because it was so large and it had been tipped over onto its side. When Pippa tilted her head, she could see it was Poseidon, carved in marble, a giant trident in one hand and a lightning bolt in the other. There was nothing particularly strange about a giant statue of a god. Gods loved their statues! But . . . Lightning bolts are Zeus’s weapons.
Pippa couldn’t think on it for long though. The space between the bolt and his arm made a perfect hollow to hide, and she pulled Tazo in at once.
“Shhh,” she hushed.
“Pippa?!” Hero’s voice came once again, this time sounding strained. “If you’re looking for breakfast, you don’t need to. I brought plenty of honey cakes.”
She felt bad—but only a little. This was her adventure. She had met this boy only yesterday.
She peeked through a crack in the marble, watching him emerge from the trees, when she noticed something that made her heart jump.
Hero wasn’t the only one at the forest’s edge!
There, perched in a twisted tree, was a creature she’d heard of but never seen. A creature she and Tazo must have passed under only moments before. A siren!
Half woman, half bird, sirens used their magical voices to lure humans, usually sailors, to their deaths. But this siren was nowhere near the sea.
She sat on a bent branch, her claws curled around it tightly. Her crooked wings were the color of stormy gray waves and covered in white speckles. Her human face was partially hidden in shadows. Still, Pippa could make out enough to be terrified: a large nose, almost like a beak; a toothy mouth, open in a snore. At least she’s sleeping.
But with the noise that Hero was making, she wouldn’t be for long.
“Pippa?” he called again.
The boy looked surprisingly small, even wearing his lion’s pelt.
Pippa couldn’t help herself. She leaned out of the statue’s hollow. “Hero! Shh!” She pointed up to the siren.
Hero didn’t understand at all. Instead, he smiled, gave a big wave and shouted, extra loudly, “There you are!”
“No . . . ,” started Pippa.
Too late.
The siren’s eyes snapped open. She opened her wings, making a whooshing sound like the crash of waves on the shore.
Hero turned.
Pippa couldn’t see his reaction, but she could imagine it.
“Hero, here! Hide!” she cried.
Hero snapped his attention back to her. He didn’t hesitate. He ran, tripping over his cloak, and dove into the statue’s hollow, out of sight, just as the siren let out a note, the most compelling note Pippa had ever heard.
“Cover your ears!” cried Pippa.
Hero did. Tazo’s ears flicked back and forth.
Pippa didn’t know whether to cover her ears or the colt’s. Sirens’ voices didn’t affect horses, did they? She didn’t know. But she didn’t need to decide. The siren’s song was finished with just the single note. She wasn’t interested in what she couldn’t see. She circled in the air—once, twice—then took off, rising up into the sea of the sky.
When the siren was out of sight, Pippa breathed a sigh of relief. Hero snor
ted, along with Tazo, though the boy looked pale.
“What is a siren doing here?” Pippa murmured.
“It’s because of Poseidon,” said Hero in a know-it-all voice.
“But why?” said Pippa.
Hero didn’t have an answer to that.
Surely Tazo wasn’t the reason for Poseidon’s ire?
“All we have to do is find Zeus,” said Hero. “I bet he doesn’t know what his brother is up to. I mean, he’s a busy god, right? But when I tell him, he’ll sort it out. No problem.”
“But . . . ,” started Pippa.
“Don’t worry about the siren,” said Hero, popping up his hood. “See? Now I look like a lion. Sirens aren’t interested in lions. I’ll keep us safe.”
Pippa sighed. It seemed like she was stuck with Hero. But maybe it wasn’t a bad thing, if there were more monsters on the mountain. She shivered. If she hadn’t seen that siren . . .
She did feel a bit safer in numbers.
Even though, when they headed out, Hero jumped at the sight of a giant shadow . . . cast by his own cape.
Eight
I’ll just ignore Hero, Pippa decided.
Luckily, that was easy to do. Meadows, dotted by small twisted trees, stretched as far as she could see. A sparkling stream wound its way between rocks like a blue ribbon. Even the air was beautiful, sweet with the perfume of wildflowers although tinged with a faint smell of salt.
Tazo was eagerly taking everything in too, darting his head this way and that.
As they continued farther up the majestic mountain and toward the stables, a tingle ran down Pippa’s spine. They were truly in the realm of the gods.
Pippa looked for signs. The muses dancing, as they often did in the flowering meadows. A nymph playing in the stream, or a dryad taking care of a tree. The aurae, the breezes, playing a game of chase. But she couldn’t see any. Not even the dangerous creatures of the mountain, like the taraxippoi, ghosts of children who had tried to run away from past Winged Horse Races and were now cursed to roam forever, lost on the mountain.
Still, she knew they were going the right way, for she spotted some rosebushes, though their flowers and leaves were withered. Had the salty storm poured down on the mountain as well? Why would the gods want to ruin their own home? It’s just the hot weather, she told herself. But it wasn’t very hot out. . . .
The sky had lightened, yet the sun barely peeked over the horizon, as if it were stuck there.
Strange, thought Pippa.
A crackling in a tree behind them made Pippa jump and Hero freeze. Was it a dryad at last? Or some other magical mountain being? But when Pippa spun around, all she saw was a squirrel scurrying out of view. Hero gave a nervous chuckle.
“Well, this isn’t so bad,” said Hero. “It’s like any other mountain.”
“So you haven’t been here before?” asked Pippa, raising an eyebrow.
Hero puffed, continued to hike upward. “No, not exactly. But no one travels to Mount Olympus. Not even heroes.”
“I’ve been here,” said Pippa. She didn’t want to sound like she was bragging, but it was about time that Hero knew.
“You have?”
Pippa nodded. “I was a rider in the last Winged Horse Race.”
“You were?”
“Yes.” Pippa smiled. For once, she filled the silence as they walked, telling him about the race and all that had happened since, even finding Tazo. Hero’s eyes were wide as she told her story.
“Tazo’s a lot like Zeph,” finished Pippa, touching her horse’s feather again in her pocket. “Except you should have seen how Zeph could fly. Tazo doesn’t even seem interested.”
She glanced at the colt, contentedly clopping beside them. A butterfly fluttered past and up into the clouds. Just the sort of thing that would have enticed Zeph to swoop away. But Tazo kept clopping.
“Do you think something could be wrong with his wings?” she asked.
Hero shrugged. “He’s just a colt, right? He seems fine to me. I mean, just because he’s not like his father doesn’t mean something’s wrong with him.” Hero adjusted his cape and added, “You know, it’s a good thing that I found you. You were banished. You might need my protection.”
“I don’t think . . . ,” started Pippa in a huff. Her words caught in her throat.
With all the talking, she hadn’t realized how far they had come. Looming up in front of her were the winged horse stables!
It was easy to miss them. They were carved right into the cliffs. A facade of columns, tall and thick as the trunks of olive trees, was chiseled from the stone. The columns were two stories tall, with a long row of what looked like large windows on top for the horses to swoop in and out of.
Some of her happiest moments had been spent in these stables caring for Zeph. At last she would see the winged horses again: Hali the ocean-blue horse, Skotos the black steed, golden Khruse. Not to mention their groom, Bellerophon.
She began to run toward the stables, when Hero called, “What’s that?”
“The winged horse stables!” exclaimed Pippa. “We made it.”
“No, that.” Hero pointed to the wide steps in front that led up to the open arched entrance.
Indeed, now Pippa noticed that water was spilling down the steps and forming a stream that trickled down the mountain. Water cascaded from the stalls up top too, in a row of tiny waterfalls.
Had Poseidon flooded the stables again? But why? Where was Bellerophon? Pippa was about to call his name when she saw something floating in a puddle of water at her feet.
It was a whistle, carved from wood and shaped like a wing. Bellerophon’s whistle!
She fished it out by its leather cord and dried it on her peplos. “This is the groom’s whistle. What’s it doing here?”
Hero shrugged, but his face was ashen. Even so, he adjusted his cloak and puffed up his chest. “I am sure I can find out for you,” he said, taking a step toward the stables.
“Wait,” said Pippa. She hung the whistle around her neck and held it to her mouth. The whistle called winged horses. And it would surely call Bellerophon too. She blew it as hard as she could.
A high-pitched birdlike note rang through the air. Hero clapped his hands over his ears. Tazo startled and seemed to hover for a moment, the first time Pippa had seen him use his wings so well.
Pippa gazed up at the stalls, hoping to see Bellerophon emerge from the shadows. But the groom didn’t appear.
Something did though. Some things. The most fearsome creatures Pippa had ever seen! Enormous serpentine fish, with heads like horses’ except scaly, and long rows of teeth sharp as knives.
More monsters!
From the bottom floor, another water monster appeared. It had so many heads, Pippa couldn’t count them. A multitude of red eyes glowered at them. Water—or maybe drool—dripped from the heads as they swayed back and forth like giant snakes.
The creature seemed to smile with all its mouths, then slithered farther out, thudding down the slippery steps toward them. When it reached dry ground, Pippa thought it would stop, but it rose up on its flippers and began to walk right toward them!
Pippa spun to face Hero. This monster looked similar to the Hydra that Hercules had defeated. “What should we do?” she cried. This time there was nowhere to hide.
Hero was now white as marble and shaking.
In a voice tight with panic, he yelled, “Run!”
Nine
Hero began to speed back down the mountainside. Pippa turned too, tugging on Tazo’s rope. He had frozen, stiff and trembling.
“Come on, Tazo!” cried Pippa, tugging harder.
Then, suddenly, she didn’t have to tug anymore. Tazo’s legs started moving so fast they were a blur, and he was the one pulling her, his mane and tail streaming behind him.
The monster barreled after them, frighteningly fast for a creature that was meant to swim, not run. Its flippers pounded the ground. Thud! Thud! Thud!
It roared from all o
f its mouths, and its terrible breath that reeked of rotten fish blasted out, nearly making Pippa faint. She gripped a boulder to steady herself. Rocks loomed up in front of them, forming a maze. There were so many paths to choose from. Which one should they take? What if it came to a dead end?
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Pippa glanced back—and shrieked. The monster was so close now she could see thin bones of fish hanging from its teeth, and bigger bones of—what, she wasn’t sure.
“This way!” came a cry.
Pippa thought it was Hero, but when she turned back, she saw an old woman gesturing from between two large boulders.
The woman was hunched and wore a cloak that shimmered like sunlight on a silver coin. The voice and the woman were familiar, yet Pippa couldn’t place her. She was leaning on a carved walking stick, like that of a song-stitcher, a storyteller. Although what was a song-stitcher doing on Mount Olympus? “Come, come!” she said.
Hero didn’t hesitate. Neither did Pippa. She pulled Tazo toward the old woman, who turned and began to hobble quickly along a path between the rocks.
The sea monster roared again and bashed one of its heads against a boulder.
“Hurry!” cried the crone. For one who looked so ancient, she moved phenomenally fast.
The sea monster was still behind them, squeezing itself between the rocks. It roared a third time, and green saliva spattered her back.
“Here!” said the crone. She darted around a rock, stopping in front of another, this one particularly enormous.
“We’re trapped!” cried Hero in despair, and Pippa had to agree.
“Not quite,” said the woman. She pressed a smooth patch on the stone, and to Pippa’s amazement, a door appeared. It swung open, and the woman disappeared within, but not before gesturing for them to follow.
Breath catching in her throat, Pippa stepped inside too, coaxing Tazo through behind her. Pippa thought he might not fit, but the doorway seemed to expand to accommodate him, and once Hero tumbled in after them, the door closed itself just as it had opened. Suddenly all was . . .
The Colt of the Clouds Page 4