It was difficult for Pippa to make out who it was.
She jumped up, expecting Timon to do the same, but he remained seated, lost in thought, staring down at the entrance he couldn’t go through.
As much as Pippa wanted to ask him more about his coin and the Underworld, and possibly even her parents, she left Timon and made her way through the boulders, into the meadow.
As she neared the boy by the tree, she could finally see who it was. His sharp chin was unmistakable. Khrys! His horse, Khruse, stood nearby.
Khrys was holding a small woollen bag, into which he was stuffing a twig from the tree. It protruded from the bag, gnarled and thorny.
‘Stop!’ Pippa cried.
Khrys looked up. His eyes narrowed.
‘You!’ he spat. ‘What are you doing here?’ He shook the bag at her, and the twig shook too, like an accusatory finger.
‘I could ask you the same,’ replied Pippa. ‘But I already know. You’ve been picking thorns and using them to hurt the horses.’
‘Horses?’ Khrys shook his head. ‘Only one horse – so far. And you should be grateful.’
‘It’s wrong to hurt a horse – any horse,’ cried Pippa. ‘You’re cheating! Just wait until I tell Bellerophon.’
Pippa expected Khrys to drop the bag and beg her to reconsider, but instead, he laughed. ‘Ha! Go ahead. I’m not the only one. Haven’t you realized that by now?’
Pippa didn’t want to believe it, but perhaps he was right. Timon, being from the Underworld, was impossibly light. Skotos wouldn’t even feel him on his back. Ares wanted Bas to do whatever it took to win and had even given him a spear, though she knew Bas would never use it. ‘Even Theodoros, with the food …’ Pippa murmured aloud, remembering how she’d seen the nymphs feeding his horse special seagrass. Sophia still seemed determined to win by skill alone. And so was Pippa, of course.
‘Good for Theodoros!’ Khrys’ eyes glittered as he interrupted Pippa's thoughts.
‘But you can’t hurt a horse, it’s cruel. Bellerophon won’t like it!’
‘Tell him then. What’s he going to do? He’s not a god or goddess. Maybe if you told Aphrodite. But from what I hear, she never visits you. She didn’t even pick you. You were that pathetic horse’s choice.’
An image flashed into Pippa’s mind. A horse leaning over her and a goddess saying to him, ‘If you wish, little one.’ Maybe her dream had been real.
Khrys sneered. ‘Why don’t you just go home? Oh, right – you can’t. You don’t have a home to go to, foundling.’ His words seared like the sun’s rays. ‘I grew up with chariot winners; I know what it takes to win, but you don’t. And when you’re gone, your horse will be nothing but horse meat.’
‘No!’ said Pippa. ‘I have to win!’
Khrys threw down the bag. ‘You’ll be needing this then.’
And with that, Apollo’s child leaped on to his horse and took off into the night.
The bag lay at Pippa’s feet.
A white muzzle poked around from behind her and sniffed the bag. Zeph. When had he joined her? She turned into him, burrowing into the crook of his neck, taking deep breaths of his earthy, sweet-hay smell. But it didn’t calm her as it usually did.
Zeph nudged her with his nose, and she looked up at him, blinking back tears. She had to save Zeph – if she didn’t do something, he would be … Khrys was right. But …
‘I can’t hurt a horse,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m not like Khrys.’ But who was she like then? Timon? No, she’d been training. She would not give in to her fate.
Still, she did not reach for the bag of thorns. She left it there in the field and slipped on to Zeph’s back.
The map led her back to the stables. All the way, Pippa’s heart hammered with hurt and anger, and she was so lost in her feelings that she didn’t see the hunched figure in Zeph’s stall until she almost collided with it.
‘Watch it!’ came a crackly voice.
Zeph landed, and Pippa practically fell off him at the sight of the woman, so gnarled she looked like the root of a tree. It was the Fate, Atropos.
Her shears were stuck in a loop of her linen belt, and she was wearing a cloak that covered her grizzled hair. Pippa had only seen her sitting down before. Standing up, she was not much taller.
‘Don’t you know how to land that creature by now?’ snapped Atropos.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Pippa, climbing down from Zeph’s back.
‘What am I doing here?’ grouched the Fate, rolling her eyes.
‘I thought you didn’t want anything to do with the races?’
‘I don’t! We shouldn’t be part of this foolery if you ask me. This is Aphrodite’s job, and if she doesn’t care whether you have a costume, well, so be it!’ She waved her crooked hand in the air. ‘But my sisters insisted you must race. Love must have its chance. And, of course, I drew the shortest thread. Just my luck!’
‘You brought my costume?’ Pippa’s eyes caught sight of it, folded in the hay just behind the old woman. ‘So … I’ll win after all? My training has changed things?’
But the Fate’s answer came quickly, like a dreadful snip. ‘Of course not,’ She said and stepped out into the hallway. Then, like a crease smoothed away into nothingness, she was gone.
‘Wait!’ Pippa rushed out of the stall. Only darkness spread out as far as she could see.
Pippa’s hand trembled as she closed the gate, returning to Zeph … and her costume.
In the hay by the manger lay her outfit for the race. A new chiton, folded neatly, glimmering with golden roses. But it was the helmet that angered her.
It was a full face mask that disguised the wearer’s identity. The type of fancy helmet men wore in elite displays of military horsemanship, made of bronze with a thin leather strap that fastened behind the head. A winged-horse feather, clearly one of Zeph’s, rose from the top with a flourish. But the face on the helmet wasn’t a horse’s – or even a human’s. Although Pippa had not yet seen her, no other face could be as beautiful as this. It was Aphrodite’s, and it was smiling up at her.
Pippa glared back.
Once again, the goddess had avoided her. The other gods and goddesses had given costumes to their riders in person. But not Aphrodite. She too had given up on Pippa. She hadn’t even sent one of her Graces!
Maybe if she had helped me, I would have a chance. Only the Fates care if I race – to make sure their prediction comes true.
Pippa had done everything she could. If they weren’t going to win, it was because no one believed in her. Except – she believed! And Zeph did too. He’d chosen her.
Pippa didn’t want to wear Aphrodite’s face during the race. She’d rather wear Ares’. At least then she’d be wearing the face of a winner.
Suddenly, she had an idea. That’s it!
Pippa hugged Zeph hard.
Maybe she didn’t have to wear the helmet. Maybe she could wear something else – be someone else.
Maybe she could change her fate, after all.