Bellerophon and the Golden Bridle by Lisa Voorhees

Bellerophon unclasped his hands and slowly lifted himself off the stone floor of the tower. His gaze trailed upward. The snow white horse was magnificent, with thickly feathered wings twice its body length, a head as massive as a draft horse, and brutish legs fit for a general’s charger.

It hung upside down from a vaulted recess of the tower’s arched ceiling, hobbled by a network of rope restraints. Its wings dangled uselessly from its broad shoulders.

The gods had answered Bellerophon’s prayers, but not in any way that made sense. What was he to do with an ensnared animal? He was weakened and starved himself. He would never survive a climb to free a beast the size of the winged horse.

The tower had been his prison for more than a month. The Lycian king, Iobates, had banished him to neighboring Caria for a crime he’d never committed, and a punishment he deserved even less.

He had never attempted to seduce the king’s daughter. She had been the one to make advances on him, and he’d rebuffed her.

For that, he’d been sent to Caria on a fool’s errand.

He had prayed to the gods. Oh, how he had prayed. To Zeus, most especially, and to Athena. The goddess of war couldn’t possibly ignore his plea for vengeance.

Athena would listen, he believed, his knees split open and bloodied from hours of supplication on the rough-hewn stone floor.

Yet, here he was. Faced with an enigma he couldn’t possibly untangle. A winged horse capable of the freedom of flight, but as trapped and helpless as Bellerophon was inside the tower. His troubled thoughts blurred together, and an exhausted weariness settled over him.

Amid the soft, animal rustle of feather and breath, the rope overhead creaked. Bellerophon’s gaze drifted upward.

“Pegasus,” he rasped through dry, cracked lips.

What did the gods expect him to do?

Bellerophon gave a bitter laugh and swiped bloodied knuckles across his eyes. Leave it to the gods to answer him with a dilemma. A creature powerful enough to kill him if he could even manage to cut it free.

He struggled to his knees, the saliva thick in his mouth. He needed water.

Beyond the window, the slate gray sky teemed with clouds of ash. In the distance, birds shrieked.

Outside, the world burned.

A deafening roar shuddered along the tower floor, and around him, the stone walls shook. The Chimeran monster drew ever closer, a fire-breathing beast the size of a dragon.

Choking ash drifted in through the window, and Bellerophon wheezed. His bones ached.

King Iobates had ordered him to Caria on a doomed mission to slaughter the Chimera, but the fickle Carians had foolishly decided to try their hand at capturing the beast and taming it for use in their own wars. They’d locked Bellerophon in the tower to prevent him from fulfilling his quest and, in the meantime, the beast’s fires had consumed every river and stream in Caria, reducing them to snaking paths of caked mud and dusty rock.

Bellerophon couldn’t have felt more useless. Simultaneously unable to escape the tower or battle the fire-breathing monster, he would only languish away if he remained stagnant any longer.

He fumbled for the sheathed knife at his belt and scaled the nearest stone archway, the weapon secured between his gritted teeth. His worn boots slipped off the shallow holds between stones. More than once, he nearly lost his grip, his joints screaming in protest as he clung to the archway, fingernails splitting.

The winged horse flailed in his restraining web of ropes. The whites of the creature’s eyes shone like crescent moons; his ensnared hooves thudded against each other in feral panic.

Bellerophon inched forward, prepared to hack at the thickest rope in the configuration, the one holding the rest of the apparatus together. His knife was dull and, in his weakened state, the work was excruciating. When he felt the rope start to give way, he let out a triumphant cry.

Pegasus thrashed violently. One massive pinion caught Bellerophon in the face, and he reeled. His feet lost their grip, and he dangled by one hand, dangerously high, above the grim expanse of the stone tower’s floor.

This is it, he thought. This is how I will die.

His fingers slid off the stone arch, and he plummeted. He slipped past muscle and hide, the slick tang of animal sweat smearing against his skin. A hard slap of bone and feather cracked across his jaw and stars floated before his vision.

He came to his senses on the stone floor, his mouth filled with a coppery tang. He spat out a mouthful of bloodied teeth and rubbed his jaw.

Miraculously, Pegasus had broken his fall, although the animal was not freed yet. The rope hung precariously by a thread. The creature bugled in a flat panic, spumes of froth at the sides of his mouth, his eyes wild and rolling. Broken feathers floated in the air.

Bellerophon scrambled back against the tower wall, dread coiling through him, alongside a dark relief that he had survived.

Where he’d hacked with his knife, the frayed rope continued to unravel, twisting in the air, creaking ominously against the weight of the winged horse. Pegasus kicked. The magnificent wings beat the air, kicking up dust and feathery debris in swirling clouds.

Bellerophon coughed, choking on ash and feather dander.

The spinning increased. The rope picked up speed as it continued to unwind. Pegasus whirled upside down, his mane flowing behind him in sinuous waves, his wings testing the air one moment, quivering with fatigue the next.

Pegasus screamed, a harsh, roaring whinny from deep in his throat. His body was a blur of movement, limbs indistinguishable from wings, feathers blending with the length of his tail and mane.

Blinded by the dust, Bellerophon pressed his fingers into his eyes. When the final thread on the rope snapped, his heart thudded behind his ribcage.

A pile of rope lay tangled on the floor. The creature was free.

Pegasus stood before him in the center of the tower’s holding room, chest heaving, nostrils flared. Hooves the size of river rocks clattered against the stones. Extended out to either side of him, his wings stretched more than twice Bellerophon’s height.

The horse’s eyes gleamed brightly. His muscles shivered. Pegasus stomped, then charged.

Bellerophon dove sideways, narrowly avoiding being crushed against the tower wall. He ran after the winged horse, grabbed a hold of the base of one wing, and levered himself up onto his back. The creature was his only means of escape.

He squeezed with his knees and leaned against the horse’s neck, desperately attempting to snatch at his mane.

Pegasus twisted and bucked, and Bellerophon was thrown off. His cheek slammed against the cold stone floor of the tower; a warm trickle oozed down the side of his face.

While he lay stunned, a bang sounded overhead, and a shower of dust and rock pelted down on him. A cold wind whistled along the stone walls and ruffled Bellerophon’s dirt-caked hair.

His gaze traveled past where the winged horse had hung suspended moments ago, to an exposed patch of sky at the top of the tower. The network of rope had torn down the supports, leaving a gaping hole between the stone arches.

Bellerophon’s entire body ached.

What use were his prayers when all he ended up with was false hope?

He struggled to his feet, sucking in painful breaths. His bones creaked, every sinew screaming in protest of his effort to reach the narrow barred window. He clenched his teeth and refused to pray. The gods were a waste of time.

He had life in him still, and he would muster the last of his strength to free himself and avoid being roasted by the Chimera.

He surveyed what lay on the other side of the window. The Chimera swept across the barren fields, breathing fire from its lion’s mouth. With its serpent tail, it fanned those same flames to life, the goat head that sprang from its back leering at the destruction all the while.

Bellerophon peered closer. Between the layers of blackened earth, darker ribbons flowed, pushing the ash aside. The faintest trickle whispered past his ears, a hissing sound. Mist rose amid the smoking char.

The flashes of white nearly blinded him, but Bellerophon shaded his eyes, narrowing them in deep concentration.

Pegasus flew to the earth, stomped his hooves, and wherever he landed, streams of fresh water flowed. A vast network of swollen rivulets channeled through the ash, not enough to extinguish the fires, but enough to thwart the Chimera’s progress.

The Chimera turned on Pegasus and unleashed a stream of fire from its mouth.

Pegasus flew out of reach, his wingtips singed. He was fleet and graceful, but the Chimera was the larger beast by far. A cold fear seized Bellerophon. What had possessed Pegasus to remain behind? Better yet, what kind of man was he if he allowed Pegasus to battle the monster alone?

He swept his gaze around the tower holding room. It landed on the fallen rope. He crossed the room, held the rope in his hands, and laughed.

If he hadn’t been so overjoyed, if the sheer, heady rush of adrenaline hadn’t acted to blunt the aching fibers of his flesh, he would have cried. What had shackled Pegasus to the tower ceiling would now lead to Bellerophon’s freedom. The gods couldn’t have foreseen that, could they? The irony lanced through him, followed by another crazed laugh.

He untwisted the rope, anchored one end, and flung the loose end out the window. He’d have a drop at the end, but a manageable one.

Bellerophon squeezed past the bars and shimmied down the side of the tower. The rope tore at his palms. He landed with a thud on the parched earth at the base of the tower. He bent over, winded by the swirling clouds of dust. Despite the shimmering heat, his breath soon came easier. He was finally free of the tower.

He stood in front of a weather-beaten wooden door, likely the exterior entrance to a guard room before the tower had been abandoned. The door squeaked open, and Bellerophon stepped into the shadows, fingering the knife at his side.

In the patchwork darkness, mice scurried and the sour smell of unwashed linen stung his nose. He wound past rows of trestle tables stacked with old uniforms and crates full of spare arrowheads until he stumbled upon them.

Piles of sheep’s wool blankets.

It was as close to armor as he was going to get. Bellerophon wrapped himself in the blanket, then cinched his belt tight around it. By the door to the guards’ room, he stopped. He’d missed seeing the rack of spear shafts on his way in. He grasped the sturdiest looking one, affixed an arrowhead to it with a spare piece of twine, and stepped back out into the light.

Across the surging water, the Chimera stood. The goat’s head on its back swiveled toward him, and the lion’s head roared. Wisps of steam curled from its nostrils.

The air was thick with smoke. Bellerophon scanned the skies, searching for Pegasus. The creature must have flown off or fled into the surrounding woods.

He hefted the spear and jogged toward the deepening flow, then splashed in, knee-deep, before plunging the rest of his body down into the water. The sheep’s wool billowed up around him, the oily fibers initially resisting the water’s pull. Bellerophon waited. The Chimera bellowed, its breath hot on his face.

Eventually, the blanket succumbed and sank below the surface of the water, the fibers thirstily absorbing the liquid and swelling. Bellerophon sagged under the weight, his feet slipping in the slick mud.

Now was his chance. He used the spear to drag himself from the muck, one halting footstep at a time. Dripping wet and heaving, he positioned himself in front of the Chimera, lowered the spear, and dropped into a fighting stance.

The Chimera roared, and Bellerophon took aim, directly for the back of the monster’s throat.

He released the spear. It arced through the air, and the Chimera rose, jaws gnashing, and caught it between his teeth, snapping the shaft in two. A curtain of flames exploded from the monster’s mouth, catching Bellerophon in the chest.

The sheep’s wool blanket made a horrible sucking sound, as if all the moisture it contained had been siphoned off in that one cursed moment. A wave of heat rippled up his body, searing his skin, and Bellerophon stumbled backward. His vision went red as he fell twisting beneath the water, then black the deeper he sank.

Bellerophon, a voice said.

He cracked his eyes open. The green-gray of the water surged around him. His fingers skimmed the surface of the mud below.

This is Athena, the voice continued. Bellerophon hesitated, exquisitely attuned to the long awaited sound of the goddess’ voice at the same time as dread seized him. What fresh horror would the gods inflict on him now?

You still have a chance of defeating the Chimera, she breathed, if you can tame Pegasus. For your willingness to sacrifice yourself, I offer you a gift.

The mud shimmered; a golden crescent peeked out from beneath the muck, beckoning him by the sheer mystery of it. Bellerophon reached down and captured it. He pulled, tearing the priceless object free. It was a horse’s bridle, a shimmering golden one, engraved with a swirling pattern of laurel leaves and ivy.

Bellerophon spun, drifting afloat for a hairsbreadth of time before realizing he had no time to waste. He kicked his feet, flung his arms out to the sides, and fought his way to the surface.

The rushing water had swelled to the size of a river. At the edge, the snow white Pegasus drank; his lowered wings brushed the earth. Behind the creature, the Chimera blasted the remains of the fallen tower with fiery bellows. The structure lay in ruin, a column of black smoke rising from the orange flames.

Pegasus glanced up at Bellerophon. His eyes flicked to the golden bridle, and he gave a soft snort. Bellerophon considered the creature, the magnificence of his wings, combined with the powerful hooves.

Yes, Bellerophon was prepared to sacrifice himself to kill the Chimera in order to earn his freedom, but what did that mean for Pegasus? Was he to be a plaything of the gods as a result? And all for Bellerophon’s benefit, so he could claim the prize of having tamed Pegasus after?

Bellerophon stormed out of the water and tossed the bridle aside. Pegasus watched him closely, flaring his nostrils and whickering in curiosity.

The earth shuddered with the Chimera’s approach. The monster barreled toward them, belching fire. Bellerophon lunged for the broken spear tip. Less than half the shaft remained, but it would have to be enough. He fled toward the tower, glancing over his shoulder long enough to ensure the monster followed.

Thundering footfalls chased after him.

Bellerophon scrambled over the fallen tower stones. With a guttural cry, he plunged the remaining bit of spear into a mound of lead and heaved it above his shoulders.

The Chimera slid to a halt below where Bellerophon stood. The slitted pupils of the goat’s head narrowed, seething with rage, as the lion shook its mane, about to roar.

The monster opened its jaws, its throat red-hot and burning like a forge. Flames billowed out, the heat surging up Bellerophon’s arms and chest. He swung the spear tip high and rammed the hunk of skewered lead down the Chimera’s throat.

The lion’s eyes widened, blossoming with inky black clots. It made a choking sound. Great puffs of smoke plumed from its nose. Its legs gave out, and it collapsed onto the ground, chest heaving, gasping for air. The color leached from the serpent’s tail. The goat’s head sagged with a sigh. The lion belched a final cloud of smoke, which clung to the dead air before it, too, drifted away in a curling wisp.

A hot wind brushed his cheeks, and Bellerophon glanced up. Pegasus had flown to where he stood above the slain Chimera. He climbed down off the tower rocks and hesitated before the winged horse.

Then, Bellerophon kneeled.

Moments before, the creature had eyed Athena’s golden bridle in his hands, wary. Bellerophon had thrown it aside, but in the time it had taken him to defeat the Chimera, Pegasus could have flown to Olympus.

Yet he had not. He waited here, feathery wings unfurled and eyes shining.

The horse dipped his head, the light of the noonday sun rippling along his wings, and in that moment, Bellerophon knew his own mind as never before.

The gods were capricious, but Pegasus was not. He was not one of them, any more than Bellerophon was.

He had chosen to stay behind. Free. Untamed.

The two of them were free to do as they pleased. He reached out to touch the gleaming muzzle, to run his hand along the sleek neck, to cast his legs over the back of a creature capable of ruling the skies, and calling water from the earth with a stomp of his hoof.

His future was his own, and he had claimed it, alongside Pegasus.

The gods would never shackle either of them, no matter what the legends said.