Centaur Rising by Jane Yolen Read Free Book Online Page A

grade—that centaurs were mythical horse-human creatures from Greece. However, this wasn’t ancient Greece, and our pony boy was very real. It also seemed odd that magic should need us to be so practical: locks and keys, floodlights and blinds—and books. But we had to make our pony boy safe in this unmagical world.
    I also figured that if he needed a name, I knew where I’d find one.
    There were four pages on centaurs in the book, which I’d all but memorized. I read part of it aloud to Robbie.
    I also learned a new word— liminal , which means something caught between two different natures: like someone between life and death, or someone who is both horse and man. Or a werewolf. Or a faun. Or—I thought—someone like me, not quite a grown-up, not quite a kid. That’s liminal.
    Also, it was a great spelling word.
    Turns out, the Greek centaurs weren’t very nice at all. I’d forgotten that. In fact, they sounded sort of like a gang—dragging girls away from weddings, beating up people, rioting in town centers. There was only one really good centaur, named Chiron. He was a teacher whose students included the heroes Jason and Achilles. Also there was Pholus, who was described as “civilized,” which made him sound like a snob. And Nessus. I liked his name best, but he was really evil and helped kill Hercules with a poisoned shirt. I sure didn’t want to name our foal Nessus. He already had enough bad luck just being born into our world.
    *   *   *
    â€œSo, what do you think?” I asked Robbie the third day of our four-day grace period. We were taking a three-hour shift, and I’d just been reading the centaur stories out loud to him. Again. Robbie could read on his own, but he loved the way I acted out the tales, hopping about like a crazed centaur or shaking my finger as Chiron might have done to his centaur students. Like Dad used to do to me.
    Agora ignored me, but the pony boy listened intently, fascinated as the stories unfolded, almost as if he could understand them. His eyes were bright, a clear swimming-pool blue, and his head swiveled back and forth as he listened to each one of us in turn.
    â€œHow about Pholus?” I asked Robbie.
    He shook his head. “Sounds too much like Fool .”
    â€œWhat about Chiron?” That was my new favorite name.
    â€œWe could call him Kai!” Robbie said excitedly.
    At that, the pony boy’s mouth dropped open as if he knew we were talking about him. He held out his left hand, palm up, the right one being plugged into his mouth by its thumb. Then he put his head to one side considering us, or the name, or the world of his stall, before trotting over to Robbie. He no longer had the unfinished look of a newborn human, for he already had begun this phenomenal growth spurt. Like most three-day-old colts, he was still a bit unsteady on those legs, and he nearly pushed Robbie out of his wheelchair.
    I stepped in between them and raised my hands. “Whoa there, Buster. Too bad brakes don’t come with that body.”
    â€œNot Buster— Kai !” Robbie reminded me.
    Kai took the thumb out of his mouth and laughed out loud. “Kai!” he said, as perfect as that.
    Robbie whooped. “He said it! He said his name!”
    Talking at three days? Now that’s magic!
    â€œKai it is, then.” I put my hand to my chest. “Ari,” I said.
    It took three times before he got it. He poked me in the chest. “Awee.”
    Close enough , I thought.
    Robbie gestured toward his own chest. Poking was too hard for his little arms. “Robbie!”
    Kai laughed. “Wobbie.” And then he looked at me. “Awee.” Then he jabbed at his own chest. “Kai.” He said all three again quickly, as if it was a chant. “Awee, Wobbie, Kai.” Then his head went back and he laughed delightedly.
    I put my right arm around his shoulders and gave him a