A sharp whistle, like a high-pitched whinny, split the air, and the dream disappeared. Pippa jerked upright. But even though her eyes were open, she wasn’t sure whether she was truly awake.
Instead of her usual bed of hay, she was lying on smooth painted tiles. The scent of laurel filled the air. Had she stumbled here last night? She’d been so tired—but she remembered curling up under some bushes in the mud. Not on tiles. Especially not ones so finely painted as these. Slowly she rubbed her eyes and gazed around.
She was lying in the middle of the most extraordinary, most enormous courtyard she’d ever seen. The early-morning sun shone above, and the walls of the courtyard shone back. They weren’t made of sun-dried brick—but gold! A well gurgled beside a winding staircase, and the scent of laurel came from the enormous trees that grew in each corner—laurel trees, the trees of victory.
But, strangest of all, Pippa was surrounded by almost a dozen other children. They were all around her age but with oiled skin and brushed hair and dressed in clean tunics, ones specially for sleeping. Pippa had only one tunic. She was suddenly aware that it was crusted in mud from the day before. Mud had dried on her legs and feet as well, and it itched. She picked some stray hay from her tangled hair and watched it float down onto the tiled floor.
At her feet, she noticed a bundled-up red-and-blue chiton made of light linen, along with a matching belt. On top of the fancy tunic lay a brooch made of gold pounded as fine as a leaf in the shape of three intertwined feathers. She touched it cautiously, as though it might dissolve under her fingers.
Tweet! The sharp whistle sounded again, jerking her gaze upward. “Get up! Get dressed!” boomed a voice. “Get up!”
A huge man loomed over them, filling the doorway of the courtyard. He was triple the size of any man Pippa had ever seen. His face was lined with wrinkles, and he leaned on a cane. But his muscled shoulders and arms were those of a hero. The silver clasp on his red cape bore the same strange symbol—three intertwined feathers—as the brooch. Everyone stared at him in awe, as they scrambled to their feet.
“Who . . . who are you?” whispered a boy with long wavy hair.
“Are you a god?” demanded another, his nose as sharp and pointed as his voice.
The huge man threw back his head and laughed. “Ha! A god! Now wouldn’t that be fine? No, no god am I. I am Bellerophon.”
“Bellerophon? The hero?” stammered a third boy, big as a boulder but nowhere near the size of the man.
“Hero?” replied Bellerophon, shaking his head. “Not I. Not now.”
“But you tamed Pegasus! You tried to fly to Mount Olympus and you fell!” spoke a girl, the only one there other than Pippa. She was pretty, her hair piled on her head the way women wore it in Athens. “How are you here?”
“Ha!” His booming laughter rang out in the courtyard again. “Never mind me.” He surveyed them. “You are still not dressed! Hurry up! I’ll explain while we walk! No, don’t take off your tunics. The mountain is cold today.”
What mountain? Pippa’s heart caught in her throat. But like the rest, she jumped to action, pulling the chiton over her head, clumsily fastening it with the brooch while whispers swirled around her.
“It can’t be. . . .”
“It is!”
“But what is she doing here. . . .” The whisper, from the sharp-nosed boy, was directed at her.
He stared at Pippa. “Where are you from? Who is your family?”
“I . . . I’m a foundling,” Pippa told him.
The boy sniffed. “You don’t belong here. It must be a mistake.”
The sharp whistle split the air for the third time, and Bellerophon swung open his arms, nearly knocking over two of the children. “QUIET!” he demanded. Then he pulled out a scroll and began consulting it, looking back and forth between the children and the words.
“Theodoros of Argos? Yes, you’re here. . . .” The boy with wavy hair and watery eyes jerked his head up. “Sophia of Athens? Yes . . .” The girl near Pippa stiffened and nodded. “Khrys . . . Khrys . . . ?”
“Khrys of Argos,” said the sharp-nosed boy. “My family has won many chariot races. Surely, you have heard—”
Bellerophon didn’t pause. “Basileus of Thessaly . . .” Bellerophon glanced at the enormous boy, who shook his head. “No? Are you not he?” said Bellerophon. The boy reluctantly nodded. “Good,” said Bellerophon. “And you’re big too. You will need to be.”
Basileus looked worried, but Bellerophon did not elaborate. He just continued with his list, “Timon . . . of . . . hmmm . . . It doesn’t say. I’ll have to ask about that . . .” A slight, shadow of a child appeared beside Pippa, so suddenly she shivered.
The list went on . . . but her name wasn’t called. Her brows knit together. Khrys smirked, whispering at her, “I knew you were a mistake.”
“Hippolyta?” called Bellerophon. “Hippolyta!” he called again. He glanced around the courtyard. “Is there no Hippolyta here?”
Pippa jumped. Of course! It was her! No one ever called her by her full name.
“Even my dog knows his name,” Khrys snickered, and a few others joined him.
Bellerophon didn’t seem to notice. “Hippolyta, lover of horses. How appropriate,” he said, his eyes twinkling as they met hers.
It was appropriate, especially since she did love horses, but how did Bellerophon know?
“An interesting choice,” he went on, raising an eyebrow at her. “What a race this will be. Your goddess does love to stir up trouble.”
Race? Goddess? thought Pippa. What does he mean? But her voice was stuck in her throat.
Not Sophia’s. “So is it true, then?” she said, pointing at the brooch he was wearing. “Three feathers—I thought that was the symbol. The Winged Horse Race. That is why we’re here.”
“Yes, that is why you’re here.” Bellerophon moved aside to reveal the open courtyard door and a great expanse of green and rock and sky. “Welcome to Mount Olympus.”
Four
Bellerophon did not wait to explain. He strode out the door, leaving everyone to rush after him in a swirl of gasps and cheers.
Mount Olympus? The Winged Horse Race? Everything was happening so fast. Was this all really . . . real? It had to be. The sharp nip of the wind on Pippa’s cheeks, the sparkly brooch pinned to her chest, the giant hero striding in front of her, the other children scrambling to keep up. These were more real than the muck and the mad groom and everything down in Athens.
Meadows splashed in sun and dotted with wildflowers rolled endlessly up the mountain. Below, Pippa could see rich green ravines and streams that snaked between forests. Her head was reeling with questions and excitement as she hurried after Bellerophon. She knew about the winged horses, of course—and Zeus’s steed. But she had never heard of a race . . . except . . . The grooms! The old song-stitcher on the road yesterday! Is this what they had been whispering about?
“You have each been brought here by a god or goddess who chose you,” said Bellerophon, his voice echoing across the rolling meadows, “for one of the most important of all the competitions on Mount Olympus, although it may be the least known. Which is exactly how I like it. The less mortals know of the horses on Mount Olympus, the better. It means less meddling. There’s enough of that done by the gods and goddesses already.” He continued, “Still, some of you have clearly heard of the race,” he raised his eyebrows at Sophia and Khrys, “so let me set the facts straight. Legends have a tendency to twist things.
“The race takes place only once every hundred years. The winged horses live long lives, but even they need to eventually retire. The winner of the race becomes Zeus’s next steed. Each god and goddess has a chance to compete, choosing a horse and a mortal to ride it—one of you.”
Everyone around her stopped in excitement. Pippa’s breath caught in her throat. So this was what the grooms and the song-stitcher had been talking about! This was how Zeus chose new steeds. In a race! With child riders! And she w
as one of them!
“And it’s my task to train you,” came Bellerophon’s voice. It took Pippa a moment to realize Bellerophon had not stopped, and she and the others rushed to catch up.
“I am the groom of the winged horse stables. Although you will sleep and be served food at the residence, the stables will be your true home for the next four weeks,” Bellerophon explained, marching ever upward. “That is where we’re headed now.”
“A month?” huffed Khrys. “No problem.”
“Not nearly enough time, if you ask me. You will be lucky to mount today,” replied Bellerophon. Even with his cane he moved quickly, and Pippa had to step twice for every one of his strides. “You might think you can ride a horse, but a winged horse is a different beast entirely. Just staying on until the finish line is a feat in itself, but the gods and goddesses want more than that. They have much invested in you. The race is very important to them.”
He pointed his cane to a craggy tree. Or what Pippa thought was a tree. As they grew closer, she could see it was actually a statue shaped like a lightning bolt, as though it had struck there and stuck. The statue seemed to shimmer, as if it was carved from something other than stone. Words were engraved into it.
“Nikepteros,” read Sophia, squinting up at it. “Victory in flight.”
“Very good,” said Bellerophon, stopping for moment. “This is the statue that marks the winners of all the races. But it is not the true prize. Not to the gods and goddesses. The true prize for them is that if their horse wins, they get to be Zeus for a day. Which is not always a good thing.” Bellerophon grunted. “The year his horse won the race, Dionysus made wine tasting an Olympic sport, which, as you can imagine, led only to disaster. And there was that volcano created by Hephaestus . . .” His eyes narrowed and darkened. “And that’s not even mentioning the side bets they make among themselves. Too many have been placed on this race already. . . .”
He stared right at Pippa, and she shifted, uncomfortable under his gaze.
“What about us? What is our prize?” demanded Perikles, another of the riders, sounding as haughty as Khrys.
“If you win, your horse will become Zeus’s new steed, and you will join the demigods and -goddesses forever on Mount Olympus.”
“I knew it!” Khrys proclaimed. He shot Perikles a grin.
Pippa’s head spun. That would be her prize? Becoming a demigoddess?
Beside her Basileus whispered, “No, no, this can’t be right.” His face looked pale.
“Don’t you want to be a god, Basileus?” teased Khrys.
Basileus didn’t reply except to say, “I’m Bas.”
Pippa wondered what Bas was really thinking, but before she could ask, Bellerophon strode forward again, past the statue. The slope was growing steeper as the great groom went on. “Of course, there have been winners who desire nothing more than to lounge in the gods’ palace, but most have taken positions in the stables, caring for the horses and raising the foals. You will meet two tonight at our feast,” said Bellerophon.
“Tonight?” said Theodoros enthusiastically. “Will the gods be there?”
“Yes,” said Bellerophon, though he did not seem too pleased about it.
“Who is my—” started Khrys.
“You will meet your gods and goddesses soon enough,” Bellerophon cut him off. “But enough, for we have arrived.”
At first, Pippa couldn’t see any stables. All that was in front of them were cliffs.
Then, she gasped. The stables were the cliffs! They were carved right into the mountainside!
The stables were as magnificent as a temple, with a facade of columns as tall and thick as the trunks of olive trees. Wide steps led to a central archway. Although she could not see how far back the stables stretched, they were clearly enormous, two levels high. She had never heard of two-storied stables before—not to mention ones built into stone.
Looking closer she noticed the top floor seemed larger than the bottom one, with a row of windows separated from one another by columns. Or were they windows? They seemed too large. But what else could they be?
Sophia was eyeing the second level critically. “Those aren’t windows, are they? They’re the gates for the horses’ stalls.”
“Very good,” said Bellerophon with a nod. “It is easier for the horses if their stalls are up high, so they can swoop out and fly back in. The gates must be left open if you are out on a training session, but closed at night, when the horses should be inside and sleeping.”
Pippa took a few steps closer and peered up into the darkness of one of the stalls, trying to spy its inhabitant. Bellerophon caught her gaze. “None of the horses are in right now, they are out for their morning graze. They will be back soon. Come.” He strode up the steps and through the stables’ massive archway. The children followed.
The moment Pippa stepped inside the stables, she felt at home. Everything had been different and overwhelming so far, but this was familiar. The main room was filled with the sweet smell of hay and horses. Although she expected it to be dark, it wasn’t. Not only did sunbeams stream through the archway, light poured in in dappled patterns from giant olive oil lamps hanging from the walls. In the center, water gurgled in a cistern. Troughs were carved into the stone floor around it. Stacks of hay and open barrels lined one wall. The barrels were overflowing with barley and beans for mash and rosy apples. Pippa was surprised to also see an assortment of nuts and seeds.
To Pippa’s left was a doorway into the tack room. She peered in and saw a whole wall of golden bridles gleaming in the darkness. In the center was the shadowy shape of a chariot far, far larger than the ones pulled through the streets of Athens.
“Come,” Bellerophon said, and led them farther inside. Behind the cistern, at the back of the room, Pippa could now make out stairs, half-hidden in shadow.
They must lead up to the stalls, she thought, trying to get a closer look. She jumped back in surprise when a figure stepped out of the shadows.
“So you are here at last,” he said.
Although the man was as large as Bellerophon, he was much younger and more simply attired, with a short cloak carelessly draped over one shoulder, and he clutched a spear instead of a cane. He looked like he was glowing, and the scars crisscrossing his face gleamed as he grinned. It wasn’t a warm grin like Bellerophon’s though. It seemed full of thorns.
Pippa noticed Bellerophon tense. “Although we are honored by your presence, Ares, you know you should not be here, not right now.”
“Of course, of course,” said Ares. “I just wanted to welcome the riders.” Pippa saw his eyes flick from one child to another, before his gaze at last landed on her, taking in her tangled hair and muddy legs.
He chuckled, and his chuckle turned to a laugh. He was laughing at her, just like other children had. “Who chose you?” He laughed louder. “Let me guess, I bet it was her. Typical—following her heart instead of her head! What a costly mistake! Ha! I have nothing to worry about, then.”
Having the other riders, like Khrys, say she was a mistake was one thing. Having a god say it made Pippa’s stomach knot.
Bellerophon’s face reddened too, but his voice was calm and controlled. “Here, all riders are the same. You know that, Ares. And now I insist,” said Bellerophon, gesturing to the doorway with a tilt of his head. “The horses will be here shortly, and I must gather the bridles.”
“Of course,” said Ares. He nodded at Bas. “I shall see you soon.” Bas blushed, and Ares strolled away, still grinning.
When he was gone, everyone began to whisper excitedly.
“Did you see his scars?!”
“Of course he has scars. He’s the god of war!”
“And he’s coming back to see you!” said Theodoros, impressed, to Bas. “He’s your god! He chose you!”
But Bas looked uncomfortable. Bellerophon too. The groom ran his hand through his hair. “Completely against protocol. I will have to speak to Zeus about this,” he muttered. �
�Now where was I?”
“You were going to show us around,” said Sophia.
“Ah, yes,” said Bellerophon. “Of course. Feeding is your responsibility as well, so I will have to go over that. But I think, before there are further interruptions, you deserve to meet your horses.”
Five
Bellerophon led the children back outside, and they lined up while he fetched the bridles. The sun shone brighter now. White clouds spread across the sky, wispy and long like horses’ tails, but there was no trace of actual horses, winged or otherwise.
In the distance, Pippa spied three poles topped by glittering flags that were whipping in the wind. “I see you’ve spotted the flags,” said Bellerophon, returning with his arms full. “They mark the training course.”
He began handing out a golden bridle to each child, giving an especially large one to Bas. “Your horses already know who you are,” he said. “They were there when you were chosen.
“All you must do,” continued Bellerophon, “is slip the bridles onto them when they approach you.” When he reached Pippa, he chuckled. “Good luck.”
He whistled, a high birdlike call so loud that even the clouds seemed to shudder.
And they kept shuddering as the sound of beating wings—enormous wings—filled the air. A rush of wind blew across the pasture. Pippa held her breath . . . and looked up.
They were coming, silhouetted against the skyline. Closer, closer, until Pippa could see them properly. The horses!
Horses, winged horses, all different colors and sizes, swooped from the sky. Silver hooves, golden eyes, feathers that flashed and sparkled in the sunlight. They were like stars, if stars had wings.
All those nights on stable roofs, gazing at the sky, dreaming of winged horses, and now Pippa’s wishes were galloping to greet her!
Wings of Olympus Page 2