Preface
Alec stood over the modest grave. He kneeled in front of the stone. He placed a single dried rose on the polished granite. The rose was from the blanket of flowers bestowed to him and his young stallion Satan after the Kentucky Derby. It was a year since her death. The past year had been busy. The Black with him aboard had galloped to victory in many races in order to rack up enough points to qualify for the first horse race in Olympic history. The preparations consumed him, but her presence still crept around the edges of his mind. He lightly traced her engraved name with his fingers. He drew his fingertips to his lips, kissed them, and then lightly brushed them against the cold stone. He rose and stared down at her grave. He strove to fight the tears brimming in his blue eyes.
"Come on, Alec," Henry called from the car. "You have a big race tomorrow. You need to rest."
Alec brushed away the moisture in his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Comin' Henry," he replied. He glanced once more at the grave. Then, he turned and walked to the car. He needed to put the past behind him. He had a big day tomorrow.
The Olympic Trials
1
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Aqueduct and the last race of the North American Finals," said the announcer over the loudspeaker system. "The horse that wins this race will represent us in this summer's Olympic games in Atlanta. It's been a difficult journey so far for these teams of steed and rider. Many of them have been going through a tedious schedule to rack up enough points to be the lucky Olympian. The Black and young Ramsay are in the lead so far, but Duda or Tabasco Cat could easily steal their glory away if they win this race. And now the horses have come onto the track, better get your bets in quickly."
North America's finest racehorses paraded in front of the grandstand, their coats gleaming in the New York sunlight. The fans' eyes followed the well-muscled horses and their colorfully dressed jockeys as they cantered by. The viewers' eyes remained on the spirited black stallion and his jockey in the black silks of Hopeful Farms for most of the parade, though. The fans could see that the Black was giving his young jockey, Alec Ramsay, a rough time, tossing his Arabian head often and constantly asking for more rein.
It feels good to be racing again, thought Alec. After all the earthquakes it is nice to have things back to normal. I still miss Pam terribly… He was doing it again. Pam was gone. He needed to focus on the race right now. This would be their only chance of going to the Olympics. The Black was good, but not good enough to last through four more years of racing. Alec inhaled and then expelled all thoughts except for the moment at hand.
Alec walked the Black to the number three position at the starting gate. He guided the Black slowly into the stall and asked him to halt as the back door of the stall clanged shut behind them. Alec adjusted his stirrups, making sure they were secure and intact. Then, he leaned forward, parallel to his horse's muscular neck, whispering to the Black in their secret language. To his left, he could see the small black head and large intelligent eyes of Duda. He would have to worry about the filly in the last quarter of the race for she was a late runner. To his right was the chestnut and white face of Tabasco Cat, a sprinter.
The last horse reared right before the gate opening, making the other horses wait. The Black was becoming impatient and started pawing the ground. The last horse, Ulysses, after some pushing and prodding, finally entered the gate. Alec looked forward at the long open track, knowing the mesh gate would open in any second.
The bells rang and a wave of seven horses rushed out of the opened starting gate, leaving one rearing bay horse behind. The Black easily took the lead, but was followed closely by Tabasco Cat. Alec asked the Black to slow down a bit, knowing that if they kept up this pace they would have nothing left for the last quarter.
The Black shook his head, hating the cold, metal bit tightly gripping the corners of his mouth. He could see a small chestnut stallion coming up on his right side. He could smell the scent of the oncoming horse, but knew he couldn't fight the stallion. He saw the stallion's head come up beside his and, despite where he was, bared his teeth and pinned his back. The Black's blood boiled as the stallion went ahead by a length and plunged after him, wanting to regain his lead.
The Black heard his rider's gentle voice saying, "Whoa, Black. Whoa," and could taste the awful, metallic bit being pressed against his tongue. The Black snorted in disgust and relentlessly let Tabasco Cat add lengths to his lead. The Black easily galloped down the backstretch, staying three lengths ahead of the pack, but five lengths behind Tabasco Cat.
Three quarters down the backstretch, Alec saw Tabasco Cat loosing ground and tiring. As they rounded the turn, Alec let out one notch of the reins. The Black charged forward after the tiring chestnut stallion and passed him coming out of the turn. Down the homestretch they came, the Black leading them all by six lengths and increasing. Then, suddenly from the outside came a fragile black filly, her thin black legs barely touching the ground. It was Duda and she was coming up on the Black fast. Alec gave the Black his head and the stallion lengthened his strides until they seemed to gobble up the ground between him and the finish line. The small filly would never be able to catch him, but she still poured out more speed without her jockey whipping her. She showed she had what made a race horse the greatest, speed, guts, and heart.
The Black crossed the finish line in record time with Duda three lengths behind. The Black pranced to the winners circle, his head held high and flowing tail erect. He posed for the cameras as a wreath of flowers was placed around his arched neck.
We did it! thought Alec. He wrapped his arms around the Black's neck. Then, he jumped off the proud stallion and hugged his trainer and long time friend.
"Henry! We did it!" Alec exclaimed as the reporters bustled in to get their comments.
Many miles away in Australia, a muscular, black filly with a triangular star and a white patch where the saddle should be was trying to catch up with two other horses in the race, ten lengths away.
Jenza Quinn, bent low to her filly's neck, was absorbed by the filly's billowing black mane. They had a bad start and Jenza had been caught unprepared when the gates had opened. Her imbalance had caused the Phantom to stumble badly and, now, they had to make up for Jenza's mistake. She could feel the filly's powerful muscles surging between her sweat-soaked legs. It was wonderful to ride bareback. The Phantom always ran better, too, when she was uninhibited by the saddle.
Jenza saw Thorah, a creamy palomino, and Quantum Leap, a dark buckskin, halfway down Flemington Racecourse's backstretch. The Phantom desperately wanted to catch up with them and increased her speed with every stride she took. Their foes drew closer and closer. Jenza loved her filly so much. She always gave one hundred and ten percent. She had never felt her run this fast either. They really had a chance of not only winning this race, but the Olympics, too. Jenza had had her doubts throughout the campaign for points. Was she doing the right thing? Was she just wasting both of their time and energy? However the Phantom surprised her every time and never let her down. With the stallions three lengths ahead, Phantom increased her stride to an even greater length going into the turn. Coming out of the turn and galloping down the homestretch, the Phantom's head had reached the two leaders' rumps and she was gaining still more speed. We're going to actually win, thought Jenza as they passed the two stallions and with still-increasing strides, rocketed down the homestretch.
In the stands, a man watched the filly, looking more like a black blur than a horse, pass under the finish wire and remembered a similar race he had seen in Chicago years ago. It was a match race between Cyclone, the pride of the east, Sun Raider, the champion of the west coast, and a pure black mystery horse who a reporter claimed could beat them both. The black stallion had a bad start, leaving the gate with his red head jockey half out of the saddle. He had been a hundred yards behind, but had bore down on the two leaders and won by two lengths.
He watched the Phantom, prancing in the winners circle, and wondered if this miraculous, black filly could beat the Black Stallion in the upcoming twenty-mile race that they and four other outstanding horses would run at the Olympics.
In Japan, the land of the rising sun, a Midnight Star was shining brightly. A black filly with a white diamond on her forehead was leading the field with a chestnut stallion with a sideways star and a white snip named Gizmo right by her side.
Midnight Star's jockey, Samantha Ott, kept Star at an easy pace, knowing that if she got into a speed duel with Gizmo now, the rest of the field would pass them in the last quarter of the race. Apparently, Gizmo's jockey, Yamaguchi, thought the same thing.
They galloped down the backstretch and into the turn. As Star rounded the turn with long strides, Sam felt wet, cold drops of rain splatter on her yellow and green silks and drip onto her filly's glistening black coat. The overcast sky let out in a downpour of gallons of water. The track became muddy slop that swallowed the horses' hooves and made sucking sounds as they quickly picked them up again.
The field came out of the turn and down the homestretch, the horses' jockeys' colorful silks dull and brown with mud. Sam let Star out a few notches and Star lengthened her strides enough so she was able to pass Gizmo but she wouldn't slip. Then suddenly from the outside, Gizmo came charging past Midnight Star at break-neck speed. He slid over to the rail, in front of Star, and galloped two lengths ahead, Yamaguchi whipping Gizmo all the way. Gizmo was five lengths ahead when he stumbled and nearly went down. Yamaguchi whipped his horse and kicked his legs hard against Gizmo's muddy and sweat-soaked sides. Gizmo dug into the slop and charged forward for a 6-length lead.
A furlong away from the finish line, Gizmo's legs' slid out from under him and he went down hard, right in Midnight Star's path. Sam had no time to move Star over. She dropped her feet out of the short stirrups, so that her legs wrapped around Star's thin body. At the right moment, Sam squeezed her legs tightly around Star's body and Star sprung into the air, soaring over the huddled body of the chestnut horse and rider and landing safely on the other side. Star slipped a bit, but regained her balance and galloped towards the finish line. Star passed under the wire with Samurai Sun's head just reaching her rump.
Sam couldn't believe it. She was going to the Olympics. She - Sam Ott - would show how well her filly could run.
"And they're coming around the first turn. It's Khemosabi in the lead. Two lengths behind is a close pack with Night Wind in second, Quickwits in third. In the middle of the pack is Lady Tiger, looking for racing room in fourth. In fifth is Savanna Showdown and three lengths behind the pack is Kenya's Charger."
"Here they come down the backstretch, Khemosabi still has the lead by three lengths followed by Quickwits and Night Wind very close. Lady Tiger is on the rail behind them, but Savanna Showdown has pulled up beside the light chestnut mare and is sill moving forward. Lady Tiger is behind a wall of three horses. She's moving to the outside to try to go around them before the turn, but wait!! Kenya's Charger is charging towards her outside. He's behind Night Wind and beside Lady Tiger. She's blocked in. Kenya's Charger is moving inside, pushing Lady Tiger to the rail. It looks like she's have to wait until Quickwits moves or for something to happen to Kenya's Charger."
"Going around the turn the favorite, Khemosabi now has a five length lead. Quickwits is moving out, pushing Night Wind and Savanna Showdown to the outside. There's a hole on the rail and Abisha, the jockey, is moving Lady Tiger through the opening, hoping it won't close. Lady Tiger is half way through the hole and moving through fast. Oh no!! Quickwits has swerved in, pinning Lady Tiger on the rail. Quickwits is still moving in. It looks like Abisha will have to pull her up. Lady Tiger is picking up speed coming into the home stretch. Her jockey is going for her whip and she's made it through the hole. Just in time, too. Quickwits has crashed through the rail and is laying in the infield."
"Down the home stretch they come. Khemosabi's in first, but here comes Lady Tiger. She's running like her tail's on fire! Khemosabi is running all out, but Lady Tiger is still gaining on the dark bay stallion. They're neck and neck coming down to the line. It looks like it'll be a photo finish but wait.... Lady Tiger still has more to give! Abisha's asking Lady Tiger for more and Lady Tiger is giving it to her. Lady Tiger's lengthening her strides and she's ahead by a head and gaining. They're crossing the finish line and the winner is Lady Tiger by half a length. Lady Tiger is going to the Olympics! We're very proud that this courageous filly is representing Africa."
The announcer flipped off the loudspeaker system. He stretched and then left his broadcasting box high above one of the few African racetracks. He walked down to the little cafeteria to get a cup of coffee before the next race. As he drank his coffee, he thought of the Olympics. If that filly runs as well as she did today, the Olympics are going to be very interesting.
In purple and green silks, Jillian Bearden leaned close to her Kinger Mustang stallion, Courageous King's, neck. She was desperately trying to gain control of her dusty bay stallion. "Whoa, CK! Whoa!" she yelled to him, but the wind seemed to push the words into her throat. Jillian pulled on the reins, but Courageous King didn't feel any pressure because the bit was in between his teeth. He knew that he had control.
I shouldn't have tried to hold him back so long, Jillian told herself. If I had let him out a little around the first turn, CK wouldn't have ripped the reins out of my hands and gotten out of control. Right now he knows no master. He is like that wild stallion I saw three years ago, running across the plains and mountains of Montana, like his great granddaddy. I'm surprised he hasn't bucked me off yet.
Courageous King plunged around the turn with increasing speed. Jillian looked back at the rest of the field, many lengths behind. Jillian knew that the crowd in Doncaster, England's stands and the sports caster had no idea what was happening on the turf track. They thought that Jillian was just making an early move at the lead, thinking that her stallion could run at that speed for the whole mile. They did not know that Jillian had no control of how fast or in which direction they went. Courageous King pounded down the homestretch with no sign of decreasing speed. Jillian glanced back again and saw a pure white mare galloping toward them with gigantic strides. Jillian started to worry, not knowing if CK could stay ahead of the oncoming challenger or if she would be able to control his actions when he sees the mare, Lady Roxanne.
They were a furlong from the finish line. Lady Roxanne was two lengths behind Courageous King and gaining. Jillian was nervous, glancing back every ten seconds at the oncoming mare. Then, suddenly, the reins went slack. CK had let go of the bit! Jillian had control again. Lady Roxanne had pulled up beside them and was about to pass them. Jillian leaned close to CK's neck and said urgently in his ear, "GO, CK! GO!" Jillian kneaded her hands along the sides of her stallion's neck. CK sprung forward and passed Lady Roxanne. He rocketed under the finish wire, Lady Roxanne one length behind.
Jillian stood up in her stirrups and pulled back on the reins. When he slowed to a walk, Jillian patted his neck. Then she leaned forward and joyously whispered in his ear, "We won!! We're going to the Olympics!"