Hippolyta and the Curse of the Amazons

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

JUDGMENT

HIPPOLYTA SHOVED TITHONUS BEHIND her and lashed out with her ax. The ax clipped the leg of the closest gryphon and sent it darting up into the sky with a howl of pain. A paw batted the cap from her head as another beast made its strike. Hippolyta ducked. Whirling her ax above her head, she sliced feathers from a passing wing, then cracked another beak.

Meanwhile Tithonus set himself back to back with Hippolyta. He pulled out the knife she’d given him days earlier, and then he too busied himself slashing at their attackers. The screeches, sizzles, and howls of the gryphons were almost deafening, and the breeze whipped up by their wings buffeted the two on every side.

The gryphons renewed their attack, and one managed to slip though the slashing blades, its beak tearing a red stripe down Hippolyta’s arm. Another, sensing an advantage, followed the first in and raked its sharp claws across the back of Hippolyta’s tunic. At the same time, its heavy wing gave Tithonus such a knock on the head, he saw bright stars.

Still, the two children wouldn’t stop fighting. Hippolyta’s ax drew blood time after time. And if Tithonus wounded fewer, it was because he was smaller, with a shorter blade, not because his heart was any less stout.

But they could feel themselves growing tired. Muscles ached, and sweat ran down their brows so quickly neither one could see very well.

Hippolyta guessed that death was now very close at hand. Perhaps, she thought, perhaps this is what I deserve. She’d been only too ready to sacrifice Tithonus a short time ago, and now she would die in a vain effort to save him.

A gryphon landed heavily on her shoulders, forcing her to her knees. Whom can I pray to now? Hippolyta thought wildly. Then she thought, Might the gods not accept me as sacrifice in place of the boy? She smiled under the weight of the creature atop her, thinking, Perhaps Tithonus could return to Troy, after all, and carry with him a fond memory of his dead sister.

From somewhere far away she heard Tithonus cry out, but whether it was in pain or anger or joy, she couldn’t tell. She pitched face downward onto the dirt, thinking that the screeching of the gryphons had changed, too. There was terror in it now as well as triumph and rage.

“Oh, Mother,” she whispered through lips as stiff as stone, “wait for me.” And she gave herself over to death.

But death did not seem to want her, and she pushed herself back onto her knees, dimly aware that someone was standing over her, fighting off the gryphons in her stead.

Looking up blearily, she saw a black-bearded warrior in bronze armor wielding a wide-bladed sword and fending off the claws of his attackers with a round shield.

“Polemos!”

Had she said his name aloud? She couldn’t tell. But for a moment he looked down at her and grinned. Then he focused all his energies on the attacking creatures.

Sunlight broke through the shadow of the circling flock as the gryphons drew back from the Lycian’s bloodstained blade. Ten or twelve of them lay dead on the ground by his feet.

Tithonus helped Hippolyta up. His face gleamed with pale horror, but his voice held pure joy. “Look, Hippolyta, it’s Polemos. He’s come out of nowhere to save us!”

“He always comes out of nowhere,” she said.

Breathing hard, she felt as if her chest were on fire, as if her whole body had been beaten with hammers.

“You can call off your pets now, Apollo!” Polemos yelled over the din of the gryphons.

Hippolyta gasped at his tone.

“If I don’t,” a smooth voice replied, “they’ll beat you eventually and eat your little pets. You know that, don’t you?”

“And how many do you think I’ll kill before that happens, Apollo?” Polemos retorted. “A hundred? Two hundred? More?”

Suddenly a tall, bronze-skinned youth, long black curls cascading over his shoulders, appeared from the shadow of a tall building and strode across the square toward them. He was so handsome, Hippolyta had to look away.

“Good question, cousin,” Apollo admitted. “Let’s not put it to the test today.”

He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, and at once the whole flock of gryphons wheeled into the sky, turned toward the mountains, and flew away. With their departure the sun blazed down on the city like the light of a fresh dawn.

“You always were a troublemaker, Ares,” the young man drawled to Polemos. “Always interfering in other people’s business.”

“Ares?” Tithonus wrinkled his nose. “The god of war?”

Polemos turned to him, grinning. “Not what you expected?”

So that’s how he can appear so suddenly, Hippolyta thought. And shoot so accurately, and—

Tithonus chewed his lip and fidgeted nervously. “I always thought you’d be, well, a bit of a bully,” he said abashedly.

“That’s what the other gods would like you to believe,” said Ares, casting a meaningful glance at Apollo.

“You used to bully me when I was young,” Apollo said.

“That was aeons ago,” Ares said. He smiled. “I was just trying to keep you in line.”

Hippolyta thought she might have found it amusing if she weren’t so tired. If blood and sweat weren’t running down her face.

Artemis stomped up to the war god, put her hands on her hips, and fixed him with a belligerent stare. “You’ve no business here, Ares. Why don’t you go back to that armory you call a home?”

“I have no business here?” Ares repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t the Amazons worship me as well as you, Artemis? Besides, you were trying to kill my daughter.”

He turned slightly and put a gentle hand on Hippolyta’s hair.

“Y-Your daughter?” she stammered.

“Your mother swore never to tell you,” said Ares. “She thought it might go to your head if you knew your father was a god.” He laughed. “But anyone seeing the three of us together would have guessed. You look nothing like Otrere.”

“You look like him!” Tithonus crowed. “I see it now. The dark hair, the crooked smile, the same color—”

“No, I don’t!” Hippolyta insisted. But she knew, with sudden conviction, that she did.

“Whether she’s your daughter or not, Ares, she’s still a mortal and must be bound by our laws,” Artemis insisted.

“Half mortal,” said Ares. “And this has nothing to do with laws. It’s all about your empty rivalry with your brother. The two of you have been quarreling for so many centuries, you believe the whole world revolves around your disputes.”

Brother and sister, Hippolyta thought. Then she looked over at Tithonus. We won’t quarrel that way, she promised herself.

But the gods were still arguing.

“Why shouldn’t mortals do as we say?” asked Apollo. “Aren’t we the gods?”

“Yes, we’re the gods, and we’ve the means to fight our own battles,” said Ares. “Let men fight for their own reasons: to defend their truths, to protect those they love—”

“To gain gold or ground or tell someone else how to worship,” sneered Apollo.

Artemis folded her arms and glared at Ares. “So you take their side against your fellow immortals.”

“I am the warrior’s god, after all,” said Ares firmly. “Many times mortals are at their worst when they fight, but often they are at their best then, too. Battle displays human courage, determination, willingness to sacrifice for something they value even more than their own lives. Just look at Hippolyta. She was ready to give up her own life in defense of her brother. That’s more than either of you two would ever do.”

“You’re a fool, Ares,” Artemis declared, stamping her foot. “Would you have us take lessons from mortals?”

“Who else is there for us to learn from?” said Ares. “Now end this foolishness, and lift your curse from the Amazons.”

Brother and sister stared at each other for a long moment, and Hippolyta wondered what would happen. She could feel a bead of cold sweat running down her spine. When the gods decided to do something, humans could only wait and hope.

Then Apollo nodded slowly, and Artemis did likewise, though it was with a sullen look on her pretty face. Each raised a hand in the air, and a bolt of light shot from the space between their fingers, merging above the city. The light arced across the sky like a shooting star flying up to the heavens and then was gone.

“There,” said Artemis, scowling. “It’s done.”

“Now go,” Ares ordered them, “back to Delphi or Olympus, I don’t care where. See if you can settle your differences without bringing harm to anyone else.”

“We’ll go,” Apollo agreed with a curl of his lip. “But even without us, mortals will still find things to fight over.”

“Perhaps,” Ares said. “But at least those disputes will be their own. And they’ll learn to settle things themselves.”

“We’ll go for now,” Artemis said, leaning toward her cousin. “But we won’t promise to stay away.”

Apollo nodded and stood close to his sister. A nimbus of gold surrounded them both, as if they were twinned in a womb of light. As the nimbus tightened around them, they seemed to fade into the air until they were just motes of sunlight dancing in the sunlit town square.

Hippolyta and Tithonus both breathed huge sighs of relief, and the boy turned to Ares. “So you were Polemos,” said Tithonus.

“And before that,” Hippolyta added, rubbing a hand through her hair, “you were the old man by the river.”

“Yes.” Ares nodded. “I was both. We gods change shape as easily as you change your clothes.”

“But why did you keep your identity a secret?” asked Tithonus.

“I couldn’t interfere directly in your journey,” Ares explained. “Father Zeus doesn’t allow it.”

Hippolyta laughed. “That javelin was pretty direct. And fighting off the gryphons.”

“I was simply rebalancing where Apollo and Artemis had already interfered,” he said. “The Fates had marked out a particular path for you, and that I couldn’t change. But I wanted to prepare you, Hippolyta, for what was to come. To teach you how to fight—when and why. Because what you are now, you will be later on. I must say, you’ve learned both lessons well.”

Tithonus shifted from one leg to another. “And me? Did you want to teach me, too?”

Ares shook his head. “You aren’t my son, Tithonus. You are your own father’s child. And he has taught you.”

The boy’s face fell. “I don’t like what I’ve learned from him.”

Ares patted him on the head. “That’s a kind of teaching as well.”

Hippolyta felt anger and something else rise like heat in her cheeks. “Why now? Why have you never come to me before?”

“I thought you didn’t care who your father was,” Tithonus reminded her.

Hippolyta ignored him and pressed Ares. “Did you care so little for me that you never once in thirteen years came to visit?”

“Your thirteen years are but a passing flicker of time to a god,” Ares said in a gentle voice. “And it won’t be long before you’re queen of the Amazons in your own right. Before that time comes, I wanted to know that you would lead them well, not in a spirit of savagery, as Valasca would have it, but with courage and nobility.” He undid a belt with a bronze buckle from around his waist.

“Wear this, and all will know you’ve found the god’s favor.”

She hefted the belt. “Me? Queen of the Amazons? But why me? My sister Orithya—she’s older. Or Melanippe—she’s smarter. Or Antiope—everyone loves her.” Hippolyta shook her head.

“Read in the remains of this city what happens when a selfish ruler goes head to head with a vengeful god.” Ares gestured at the abandoned ruins. “From now on, let the Amazons be free of such folly. You, my daughter, will know that lesson best. Put on the belt.”

She thought for a moment about refusing, then remembered how the Amazons could still fall into Valasca’s hands. Her mother’s voice came to her then, saying, “If Valasca is rid of me, she’ll plunge our sisters into years of empty, bloody warfare.” Resolutely she tied the belt around her waist. It was heavier than it looked.

Like queenship, she thought.

“I hope my father doesn’t bring doom to Troy the way the king of Arimaspa ruined this city,” said Tithonus glumly.

“You’ll know what to do if he does,” Hippolyta said. She slipped the serpent bracelet off her arm and handed it to him. “Let this remind you of your courage on this long journey and recall to you the love your sister bears you.”

“And let’s worry about one curse at a time,” said Ares, giving the boy a playful slap on the back. “I have a chariot close by that will carry us to Themiscyra faster than you can imagine.”

“I can imagine pretty fast,” Tithonus said.

“Not too fast,” Hippolyta cautioned. “After all, Father, we have a lot of catching up to do along the way.”