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said, patting me. “Poets down the years will sing of Atalanta’s strength, her wild spirit, her beauty. The splendor of your legend will far outlive you.”
    Joy and bewilderment made me flush. If Zoi’s words were true, I would have all the glory I had ever yearned for. Yet how could she know my future?
    “How—?” I began. Ignoring me, she pulled herself to her feet. I rose hastily. “Please tell me,” I asked her, “did you dream that also?”
    The smile on her face was as enigmatic as the statue’s.
    “Safe journey home,” she said.

PART TWO
The Homecoming

TEN
    They entered our settlement on horses, frightening everyone. The children recovered first, hurtling back into the clearing as if they were running one of their wild races. Were these giant four-legged creatures cousins of the winged horse, Pegasus? Were they strays from Lord Poseidon’s savage herd? Chittering with excitement, the children came as close to the horses as they dared, while the women, who had probably mistaken the mounted strangers for centaurs, emerged from the trees slowly, whispering imprecations.
    The men of the tribe were out hunting. Only the two eldest, our headman, Bias, and Castor, had remained behind. Just as he had taught me to make traps before I could speak, Castor had taught me to feather arrows, and when the riders appeared, I had been helping him. I liked the work, which required no thought, only a light touch. It gave me good reason to sit with Castor—the least garrulous of men—in prolonged, uneventful silence. Since my return home some days before, I had wanted little else.
    Now I felt a long thrill of amazement. Men rode to battle in horse-drawn chariots—I knew this because Jason had told me—but I had never seen them sitting astride before. It was a wondrous sight.
    After surprise came a less familiar sensation: the slow, insistent burn of wanting and not having. Who were these men, looking down at us with such arrogance? How had they come to handle these magnificent creatures with such ease? I hated them.
    Bias greeted them calmly, as if the appearance of men on large walnut-brown steeds were an everyday occurrence. The gleaming horses stood motionless as he approached, and when Aura wove between their tall, finely chiseled legs, sniffing eagerly, they did not even flick their tails; it was as if she were beneath their notice.
    “We come on behalf of King Iasus,” said the older of the two, a broad-faced, balding, curly-bearded man. “He sends for his daughter.”
    The king lived in a region of Arcadia far below our own. Of him, I knew only that he was growing old, had once been fond of hunting, and lacked an heir. I had heard no mention of a daughter.
    Beside me, Castor grunted softly, as if hit in the belly by a rock. Bias’ head dropped, and for a moment he said nothing. Then he asked, “He . . . wants her now?”
    The men nodded. They wore leather sandals and deep blue chitons. The handles of their short swords were inlaid with colored stones. The older man looked around the clearing somewhat impatiently.
    “Prove you come from the king.” Castor said this abruptly, rising to join Bias. The older rider drew in his chin and raised an eyebrow. Surely, his expression said, our splendid horses and imposing weapons are proof enough!
    “We must know she will be safe with you,” added Castor, by way of explanation.
    The men looked at each other, then dismounted. The younger man stroked Aura’s head, which set her tail to sweeping the ground like a maddened snake. The older man produced a small leather pouch, reached inside, and showed something to Castor and Bias. There was a bright golden flash as they passed it between them.
    Bias turned my way. His expression was both stern and regretful, as if he were about to deliver judgment, or mete out punishment. I have done nothing wrong! I thought, as dread grabbed me by the throat. Suddenly I felt very young.
    “Atalanta,” he said, “come look at