Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Philipp opened his eyes and looked down, and he suddenly wished he hadn’t.

All of Greece was laid out below him like a huge mat—each earthy brown, growing green, and billowing blue vibrantly alive as if painted with thousands of tiny hands. The only things in sight that seemed remotely close to their height were the tatters of clouds that occasionally obscured the view.

Something else was under him as well Philipp noticed—directly under him—so directly, in fact, that he was sitting upon it. The something was traveling at the same speed he was and consisted of two big lumps covered by golden fluff. From the front lump, two brown horns were curving up and out. The whole thing was giving off a strange smell that could barely be caught in the high wind—a scent of damp cloth.

Philipp heard a cough and turned his head. There was Hermes—flying hard against the wind. He had a bemused look upon his face as the wings on his cap flapped furiously to keep up.

“So, how do you like him?” the god shouted dimly across the gale.

“Who?” Philipp shouted—his own voice almost lost.

Hermes cupped his hands over his mouth. “Colchi!”

“Who?”

“By Zeus,” said something in a cracked and sour voice. “Amplify your voice!”

With a start, the boy realized that what was under him had just spoken.

“Just because I can pull strings, doesn’t mean I should,” replied the god—his voice becoming suddenly clear.

“And do something about this wind—I’m too old for this.”

“Fine.”

Philipp’s hair—which had been furiously trying to tear away from his head—settled. They were still flying—the ground still zipping by at an alarming rate—but the resistance was no longer there.

“I suppose you’ll want an introduction, too. Very well,” grumbled Hermes to Philipp’s fuzzy mount. “Sheepboy, this is Colchi the Golden.”

The boy saw the withered tip of a snout stick up over the front.

“How y’do,” said Colchi. “Don’t straddle the fleece too hard. You’ll wear it thin.”

“Sorry,” said Philipp—trying to figure out how to continue riding on the beast without actually touching him.

“Colchi is a flying ram,” Hermes said—his mind obviously elsewhere.

“Hopefully, the boy’s not fool enough to miss that,” said the ram testily. “And stop calling me that ridiculous nickname.”

“What would you prefer? Lamby? Goldy? Nibs? Watch him, Sheepboy, he’s the most cantankerous creature in existence.”

“You would be too if you had to go by that insufferable name!”

“What’s his real name?” Philipp asked the god.

“I don’t think he has one,” said Hermes irritably. “I think if he had his way, every one would just call him ‘Golden Ram’. Think of how horrible that would be.”

“No one’s ever bothered to ask me my name, now have they?” The ram was craning his neck viciously trying to get a look at his antagonist. “Here we have a creature that has existed for centuries—the paragon of wondrous beasts—the most glorious four-legged thing to grace the Earth! One more wily than the Chimaera! More agile than Pegasus! More mysterious than the Sphinx! What shall we name such a beast? I’ve got it! Let’s call him Colchi!”

“He takes himself a bit too seriously,” whispered the god.

“Tell us—Tell us—O Golden Ram,” Hermes began again richly, “What is thy name, Grandest of Beasts?”

“That’s beside the point,” he grumbled lowly. “I just wanted someone to ask.”

“Very well…Colchi.”

“You know,” Hoping to change the subject, Philipp turned to the flying god. “You’ve never asked me my name either.”

“Haven’t I?” Hermes cocked his head. “Sheepboy seemed to be good enough for me, I guess.”

The boy paused for a moment. “It’s Philipp.”

“Ah, is it now?” Hermes smiled and turned his attention back to his flight.

“Don’t expect any gratitude or common decency out of that one, boy,” said the Golden Ram. “Gods don’t understand mortals. They have no idea what we go through. They’re too concerned with themselves.”

Philipp made a faint nod.

“You’ll see, boy—you’ll see.”

Hermes was now flying feet first now—biting his lip and staring into the swirling clouds before them. “Now, Colchi, get ready,” he began. “Pay attention to how you’re flying. We’re going to have to go up a bit—over these clouds.”

“Thank you very much,” said the ram. “But I don’t need any lessons from you about how to fly.”

Hermes gave him a sideways glare. “Maybe not. But we don’t want another incident like the last time—“

Philipp balked. “What happened the last time?”

“Our dear ram bit off a bit more than he could chew. Two children were riding on his back—and, well, he lost one over the side.”

“Don’t you dare blame me for that,” shouted Colchi. “Single Occupancy! Single Occupancy! I told them! I told them! Stupid brats!”

“He feels really bad about it,” continued Hermes. “That’s just his way of showing it.”

The boy eyed the tapestry of the land below him nervously and thought of how quickly it could all be rushing toward him. “Perhaps you shouldn’t irritate him while I’m on here.”

“He gets more and more bitter after every trip we take—but I can’t blame him.”

Philipp could feel the beast fuming below him—his ancient sides heaving in out and heating up.

“Tell him why, you murderer!” cried Colchi in his worst voice yet.

“It’s procedure!” Hermes shouted back at the ram, and then looking apologetically to Philipp. “It’s procedure! After a successful run, you—well—you have to—y’know—sacrifice the ram.”

“Cut my throat! In cold blood!” came the shrill voice again.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic! You get to come back! He gets to come back.”

“Getting knifed time after time doesn’t cause emotional scarring or anything—dying again and again and again and again—“

“Oh, don’t get your wool in a wad,” the god muttered. “I’ve had about enough of him.”

And then—with the popping as before—Hermes was gone.

The remaining two flew silently for a while. Colchi did not seem to notice or care about the god’s absence.

“What does it feel like,” Philpp asked the ram quietly, “dying?”

He could feel Colchi let out a dry wheeze. “It stings a bit at first—then it feels very cold—underwater in winter—you try to breath, but you just can’t—you go numb—and then it’s all dark and crowded…”

“The Underworld?” asked the boy.

“No, worse—the womb. Then before you know it, back out with you—back into the sun—back into the world—back into misery—but not without first making a big mess.” The ram sighed. “You forget what it’s all about for a while. You’re a lamb—you grow up a bit—start chasing the ewes—then one day this weird looking man in a funny cap shows up and ruins your life all over again.”

“At least, you don’t have to stay dead.”

”That would be a blessing.”

Hermes was right. The ram had gone sour.