The last rays of sunlight were flickering across the meadows when Pippa returned to the pasture with Zeph, still shaken from her encounter with Ares. The other horses were already grazing for supper. She was surprised to see Ajax with them, his head held high, his tail like the plume of a helmet.
Kerauno was there too. For once, Pippa was glad to see the monstrous beast. He had returned safely. Bas wasn’t there though, or at least she couldn’t see him. Khrys was easy to spot. He was standing on the back of Khruse, balancing, showing off to Perikles.
“I wouldn’t ride in the air like this, but my great-grandfather could,” he said. “He was a rider in the Winged Horse Race himself.”
“Really?” said Perikles. “Did he win?”
“He would have, except that he had a horse like hers.” Khrys pointed to Zeph and laughed. Pippa could hear. She’d had enough of his bullying and was about to say so when a voice came from behind. “Ignore him.”
She turned to see who had spoken: Sophia. More trouble.
But it was just the opposite. “I want to thank you,” said Sophia. “You were right. I attached Ajax’s medallion to one side of his bridle, and the laurel leaf to the other. This afternoon he flew better than ever. He’s eating better too.” Sophia paused, then added, “I suppose not everything can be answered by scrolls.”
Pippa was speechless. After a moment, she managed a nod. “Horses are very prideful, almost as much as people.”
“But not as much as boys,” said Sophia, rolling her eyes at Khrys, who was still balancing on Khruse’s back.
“I think you might be right,” said Pippa. She thought of Bas.
“I know boys well. I should, I was raised like one.” Sophia took a deep breath. “I don’t have a mother either. She died when I was very young. My father raised me like a son. I had a tutor, and riding lessons, and we even ate together. If I win,” she added, “I shall be a scholar and study under Athena herself.”
“You won’t stay with Ajax?” asked Pippa.
Sophia laughed and shook her head. “But I suppose you would stay with Zeph?”
“Of course,” said Pippa. It was important, now more than ever, with Ares’s threat looming.
Sophia invited Pippa to sit with her at dinner. Pippa was grateful to have Sophia’s company. It kept the terrible thoughts out of her head. Especially because Sophia seemed to like to talk even more than read, and she knew so many amazing stories about the winged horses. They stayed longer at supper than usual, until even Bellerophon had retired for the night. It was very late when they parted, and Pippa headed back across the meadows to the stables.
The whispers came from the dark, near the lightning-shaped statue, which was now illuminated by the stars and looked like it was glowing with a light of its own.
“This is where my name belongs, and you shall ensure its place there.”
Although the voice was more sinister than usual, it was still recognizable: Ares. Beside him, Pippa could just make out Bas, his broad shoulders hunched over. She couldn’t return to the stables without them seeing her, and so she crouched behind a bush, hoping they would soon leave.
But they lingered, and Ares went on. “Now tell me, how could you have fallen off? You are the most respected young rider in Thessaly and the mightiest too, or so your father boasted. He must be a liar, only good at bragging and braying. Braying, yes! That is what he deserves to be—a donkey!”
“Oh no! Please,” cried Bas. “He isn’t a liar. He’s proud of me—my sisters, too—that’s all.”
“Then explain to me again how you fell. You slipped off where? And how did Kerauno end up back in his stall?”
“I . . . I didn’t fall.”
“Ha! It seems you are the liar. What in Zeus’s name were you doing on the southern slopes of the mountain?”
There was a long silence. Pippa held her breath, as curious as Ares.
But Bas said nothing.
“You cannot be telling me that you wish to leave,” hissed Ares, and Pippa could imagine his scarred face, spit flying from his lips.
“I . . .”
“When you win, you will be a demigod! There is no higher honor for a mortal. You can still visit your family, if you really insist.”
“But not live with them . . . Not grow up with them . . . They will all eventually die—but I would live forever,” said Baz. Pippa could hear the desperation in his voice.
“Exactly, who doesn’t want to live forever?!” cried Ares.
There was a long silence. Did Pippa want to live forever? With the horses, with Zeph, yes, she thought.
Ares went on. “You are only a farm boy, and I have brought you here, given you every chance to win. Do you know how much it cost me to secure Kerauno as your horse? No horse, or rider, compares to you. None. I have a bet on this race. Might or love. I will not lose. I will not have Aphrodite bragging for the next hundred years that love was the winner. . . .”
“But—”
“But nothing. If you dare try something like that again, I will turn your father into a donkey, and your mother and sisters as well.”
There was a great crack, like the sound of stone on stone, and then . . . silence. Was the god gone? He must be, for all Pippa could hear now was Bas, sniffling.
No wonder he’d been mad at her when she tried to rescue him. He didn’t want rescuing. He wanted to leave. He was homesick. How could he want to leave the horses? The mountain? But perhaps if Kerauno was her steed, she would like it less here, too. And if she had a family of her own . . .
I’ll tiptoe away, she thought. I’ll leave him be. But she had taken only a few steps when the ground crunched under her sandals.
“Who’s there?” asked Bas sharply.
Pippa held her breath, hoping he would leave.
But he didn’t.
“Who’s there?” he called insistently. He sounded almost frightened.
Pippa slowly stepped into the moonlight.
Bas was sitting on a rock below the great statue, but he stood up. His eyes and cheeks were puffy and wet with tears.
“I was just . . . ,” stammered Pippa.
“So you heard,” said Bas simply.
“I . . .” Pippa struggled with what to say.
“Think what you wish. My father isn’t a braggart. He is the smartest, kindest person I know. And so are my mother and my sisters. I miss them, yes. I don’t want to win. I want to go home.”
“Oh,” said Pippa softly.
“That’s why I didn’t want your help on the mountain. I was trying to run away. I miss Thessaly. I miss my horses, my sisters, my mother’s tagenias, with honey and cheese.” He rubbed his nose. “You must think I am a fool, too, now.”
“No, I . . .” What did she think of Bas? “I only wish I had a family to miss, like you,” she said.
It must have been the right thing to say because Bas looked up at her . . . and smiled.
Fifteen
The day of the race was fast approaching, and still there was no sign of Aphrodite, though the other gods and goddesses visited the stables more and more, their voices loud with boasts and bets.
Pippa had so many questions for the goddess, especially now that she knew about the wager between her and Ares. No wonder Ares hated Pippa, and Zeph, so much. They threatened his chance to win. Why had Aphrodite made such a bet? So far, it had only caused Pippa trouble.
When Pippa asked Bellerophon about Aphrodite’s absence, the groom replied, “Be grateful. These gods and goddesses are giving me a headache.”
But Pippa wasn’t grateful.
“Perhaps Aphrodite is staying away because of the bet,” suggested Bas one night at supper. “Maybe she doesn’t want to argue with Ares.”
Bas was sitting with Pippa and Sophia now, though Sophia was slightly wary of the boy. But it was hard not to feel sorry for him, knowing how much he missed his family, although with Ares’s threat looming over him, running away was no longer an option.
“What bet
?” asked Sophia.
“Aphrodite claims love shall win the race, whereas Ares bet on might,” explained Bas, stuffing a barley cake into his mouth.
Pippa contemplated an olive. “Might makes sense. I mean you are strong, and so is Kerauno, but love . . . ?”
“No one cares for their horse more than you,” Sophia replied.
“That doesn’t have anything to do with winning though,” said Pippa. “Besides . . .” But she stopped there. Pippa had yet to tell them of the Fates’ prophecy. Or the map. She wasn’t sure why, except that she was still learning what to say and not say to friends, and also, maybe saying it aloud would make it certain, maybe Sophia would insist the Fates were always right. Pippa preferred to believe Bellerophon, preferred to hope that there was still a chance. She had to hope. It was up to her to keep Zeph safe—something she was reminded of every night, when Ares’s knife, with the silvery blood on it, cut into her dreams.
It was for Zeph, not herself, that Pippa finally decided to risk searching for the gods’ palace, despite Bellerophon’s warning that doing so could result in being disqualified or worse. There were only two days left until the race, and the final day would be spent on preparations. This was her last chance to have her questions answered. Why had Aphrodite chosen her? How did Aphrodite expect love to win the race? Could she help Zeph? And what about her parents?
Unfortunately, Pippa didn’t get far.
She and Zeph had only just flown out of the stables when a giant black wing swept over them. Pippa ducked. “Watch out!” she cried.
“Sorry!” shouted Bas.
He yanked Kerauno’s reins, trying to steer the horse away but without success. The monstrous horse was heading straight for Zeph!
Pippa had no choice but to land. Once she and Zeph were safely down, Bas landed too. He secured Kerauno’s reins to a tree and stepped back, shaking his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong. He keeps flying to the left. He never used to have this problem.”
The beast looked even more agitated than usual. Flecks flew from his nostrils, and his ears were pressed back.
Something was wrong.
“Here, hold these,” said Pippa, handing Zeph’s reins to Bas. “I’m going to take a look.”
“No—” started Bas. “It’s too . . .”
But Pippa stepped forward anyway, into the shadow cast by the huge horse. His eyes glowed red like coals but didn’t give off any warmth. His gaze was hard and cold.
She reached up to check his teeth—which were sharp and pointed, not like a horse’s at all—but he snapped at her. When she felt his legs, he kicked out. As she touched his wings, he opened them forcefully. She ducked just in time.
“Are you okay?” asked Bas.
“Yes,” she replied. Kerauno’s wings spread above her like the limbs of a tree. “I think I see something.”
There was a gap in the feathers on Kerauno’s left wingtip, like a missing tooth.
Carefully, Pippa crept toward the wingtip, concerned the horse might close his wings on her at any moment.
The gap was not because any flight feathers were missing. The feathers were there but stuck together. They were pinned by—she could see it now as she looked closer—a long, thin thorn. She reached up on tiptoe, her fingers just touching it.
She gripped the thorn and tugged. Kerauno gave a shrill whinny, like the shriek of a harpy, and tossed his head, jerking his wing away, folding it back up. The thorn slid free, causing Pippa to stumble back, right into . . . Ares! She quickly moved away from him, but the damage was done.
“What’s going on here?” thundered the god.
He gazed, steely-eyed, at Bas, then at Pippa, and then at the thorn in Pippa’s hand.
“What’s this?” He reached over and took the thorn.
“It was stuck in Kerauno’s wing,” explained Pippa.
“A thorn?” said Ares, glaring at her. “Did you put it there?”
Pippa shook her head.
“She was helping me,” Bas interjected. “Helping Kerauno. The thorn was causing him to fly off course. I don’t know how it got there. Maybe while he was grazing?”
Ares ignored him. “Now is the time when tricks are played. An injured horse cannot race. A sly attempt, but foolish. Bas, come with me. At once! And you, girl, can take your tricks with you.” He threw the thorn at Pippa’s feet. Then he untied Kerauno’s reins from the tree. “There, there, come,” he told the monstrous horse, almost tenderly.
Bas glanced at Pippa apologetically as he walked away.
Pippa watched them go. She could feel anger at Ares bubbling up inside her.
Obviously it wasn’t her fault. But it was someone’s. Ares was right about one thing: there was no way the thorn had accidentally made its way into Kerauno’s wing, not so deep and so purposefully placed. Someone had put it there, knowing Bas would struggle to remove it, if he even found it at all. Someone had wanted Kerauno not to race. But who?
Pippa had given up her search for the gods’ palace. The thorn was all the three friends talked about that night at supper, huddled together on a bench in a corner of the courtyard.
Sophia examined it carefully. “It looks like a pomegranate thorn. But it is much larger than any I’ve ever seen. Someone is trying to sabotage you, Bas.”
“It isn’t fair,” said Pippa. “Not even Kerauno deserves that. What did Ares say?”
Bas’s voice grew thick. “He threatened my family again.”
Pippa placed a hand on his shoulder.
“It must have been one of the riders,” said Sophia. “Surely a god or goddess wouldn’t have done it.”
Pippa looked around the room. Everyone was busy eating or chatting. No one looked suspicious.
“Pomegranates do not grow on the mountain,” said Sophia thoughtfully. “Of course, there is the myth . . .”
“. . . of Persephone,” finished Pippa.
It was her favorite tale of the gods, other than the stories of the winged horses, for it was a tale of family love, so unlike her own story. It told of a mother who truly loved her daughter and would do anything for her. Demeter’s daughter, Persephone, was kidnapped by Hades, and Demeter missed her so much that when she mourned, her grief cast perpetual winter across the world.
At last, Hades had no choice but to give up Persephone, although he played a trick on the girl and convinced her to eat an enchanted pomegranate. When Persephone returned home, she still had the fruit, which she dropped upon seeing her mother. From it grew a pomegranate tree, unlike any other. It was said to mark an entrance to the Underworld. But only Hades knew its whereabouts. And perhaps his rider . . .
Pippa scanned the courtyard for Timon. But he wasn’t there.
“Where’s Timon?” she said.
Bas shrugged. “He never comes to meals.”
“So what does he do instead of eat?” said Sophia.
“Practice?” said Pippa. She had seen him flying around the training course in the starlight, on her way back to the stables after supper. “He must really want to win. Enough to . . .”
“Enough to do this?” finished Bas, gesturing to the thorn. “If that’s true, he’s lucky Kerauno didn’t kick him and snap him in two. I don’t think he is strong enough to deal with my horse.”
“We need to talk to Timon,” said Sophia. “We need to find out more.”
Bas and Pippa both agreed.
Pippa glanced again at the ominous thorn. Kerauno might be a monster. But no horse was born that way. Perhaps he had never known love. Without love to guide you, life was hard. No one knew this better than Pippa.
Aphrodite might have abandoned her, her parents too, but still she had Zeph. But for how long?
The last rays of the sun hung above them like the threads of the Fates, and she shivered.
Sixteen
Although they waited in the courtyard until long past supper, when all the food had been cleared away, Timon didn’t arrive.
“Do you think he’s in his room?�
� Bas wondered.
“Perhaps,” said Sophia.
But Timon wasn’t in his room either. In fact, it seemed as though he’d never been there at all. At first, Pippa stood near the door, hesitant to enter, but the room was so bare, it didn’t feel like she was intruding.
There was no mosaic on the wall, no tub in the corner. No sandals lying out, or clothes, fresh or dirty. Just the bed, and even that looked like it had never been slept in, although Pippa had not used hers in a while either.
The only other item in the room was so small, she might have missed it had the moonlight not caught its edge. A silver coin, much like hers, half hidden under the bed. Pippa picked it up gently. Instead of a horse, the thin metal was stamped with the image of an anchor.
Sophia and Bas joined her, questioning looks upon their faces.
“An obolos,” Sophia said as soon as she saw the coin. “The ferryman’s fee, for entering the Underworld. But why would Timon have one?”
“I don’t know,” said Pippa. “But . . . I have one too.”
She reached into the folds of her chiton and pulled out her coin, then handed both to Sophia.
“These aren’t the same at all,” replied Sophia, turning them over in her hands. “I’m not sure what yours is, but it’s not an obolos.”
Now, side by side, they did look different. Pippa’s was larger, made of a thicker piece of silver. But if it wasn’t an obolos, what was it?
“Besides, oboli are given to only those who are dead or dying,” continued Sophia, handing the coin back to Pippa. “You wouldn’t have been given one, nor would Timon. Unless . . .”
“Unless Timon is . . . dying . . . ,” said Pippa slowly.
“He looks like he’s dying,” said Bas. “And he never eats.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” said Sophia. “Surely Hades wants Timon to win, not die. Why would he choose a rider who’s sick?”
“Who knows with Hades,” said Bas. “Maybe the coin is for good luck?”
Sophia didn’t seem convinced, but said, “We’ll have to find Timon in the morning. It’s getting late. Tomorrow is the last day before the race. We need our rest.”
Wings of Olympus Page 8