Jane Yolen - Hippolyta and the Curse of the Amazons

“That’s Cretans,” Tithonus corrected her. “All Cretans are liars. At least that’s what my father says.”

“Unless that’s a lie too.”

“My father doesn’t lie.”

“But he doesn’t tell you all the truth, or you would have known about your mother.”

Tithonus shut his mouth and didn’t answer.

The double peak reared high above them now. Other smaller mountains clustered around its slopes like children at their mother’s skirts.

“I hope we get there soon,” Tithonus said through chattering teeth. “Before I become a block of ice.”

“I doubt it’ll be any warmer at Arimaspa,” said Hippolyta gloomily. She rubbed her hands briskly together, but that generated no real warmth. In fact the only part of her that was even slightly warm was her bottom where it sat on the horse.

“At least Arimaspa will be the end of our journey,” he said. “We can lift that stupid curse and go home.”

“Why do you want to go home? Remember how much trouble you’re going to be in.”

He bit his lower lip. “I don’t care. I want to see my sisters again and my friends. And my new baby brother.”

The reminder of little Podarces stung Hippolyta. “Don’t talk about Podarces,” she said brusquely. “ He’s the cause of all this trouble.”

“How can he be the cause?” Tithonus asked. “He’s only a baby.”

“Never mind. Everything will be put to rights soon.”

The horse was laboring up another steep rise in the ground, and Hippolyta was thinking that they should dismount and walk to ease the climb. But before she could do anything, they reached the top and met with a shock.

The horse suddenly reared up and staggered back, almost tossing both of them to the ground.

“By the goddess!” Hippolyta exclaimed, clinging desperately to the horse’s mane.

Tithonus held on tightly to her waist and let out a whoop of alarm.

The ground had suddenly disappeared before them. They were on the very edge of a cliff face that dropped far down to a sunken plain below. And in the center of that plain was a city.

“Arimaspa!” they both cried out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ARIMASPA

HIPPOLYTA FINALLY MANAGED TO bring the horse back under control and stared down at their discovery. Below them, long, empty streets rayed out beyond the crumbling walls. Nothing seemed to be alive down there; nothing was stirring. Not birds or animals or people.

“Is this it?” Tithonus asked. “Is this Arimaspa?”

“Unless there’s another lost city around here,” Hippolyta replied.

They got off the horse and cast around for a way down. Tithonus found a steep slope. “There!” he cried out, pointing.

“We’ll never make it down that in one piece,” Hippolyta said.

They walked the horse along the cliff’s edge, and farther on, Hippolyta saw an ancient track that descended at a more agreeable angle. But it was badly rutted and looked barely passable. She pointed.

“That?” Tithonus’ voice held pure astonishment.

“That,” she answered, and slowly headed the horse in the direction of the old road.

Now that Arimaspa lay before them, Hippolyta felt in no hurry to discover its secrets, for the darkest secret of all was her own: Tithonus was to be her sacrifice. His life was the price to be paid for the safety of her people. If he died, they lived.

If he died … That thought sat in her chest like a lump of undigested meat, threatening to come back up again anytime she opened her mouth.

So she kept her mouth firmly closed.

The closer they drew to the city, though, the more she was aware of what lay before her. She wanted to tell someone. But the only one with her was the one person she could not tell.

No one else can do what I have to do, she told herself. No one else can carry this burden for me.

Tithonus too had fallen silent, but for a different reason: The eerie quiet surrounding them had soaked into his soul.

When they finally got to the city walls, they saw how thoroughly the wooden gate had rotted away. Only the arch was left, yawning emptily before them.

Once, Hippolyta thought, this wall would have deterred any enemy. Now she could easily count the places where the stones had collapsed. The city of Arimaspa had no defenses left at all.

Soon they were riding slowly through the empty streets where dilapidated buildings leaned drunkenly against one another.

Hippolyta thought that there was something familiar in this unfamiliar place, but she couldn’t place it. No sound of voices or footsteps, no rumble of wagons or crackling of cooking fires. The only noise was the mournful moaning of the wind down the empty streets and the hoofbeats of the horse that had served them so well.

Hippolyta could tell the animal was bone-tired, so she dismounted and had Tithonus do the same. Then, leading the horse, they proceeded farther into the city.

Open doorways and empty windows gaped on every side. Shards of broken pottery and corroded bronze and copperware littered the streets.

Familiar and yet unfamiliar.

“Are there ghosts here?” Tithonus whispered.

Hippolyta startled at the sound of his voice.

“Ghosts …” she whispered, as if trying out her voice again. Then she shook her head. “If I were a ghost, I’d rather stay in Tartarus than haunt this dismal place.”

As they turned into another street, she suddenly realized why Arimaspa seemed so familiar. The streets of Themiscyra were laid out along the very same pattern. It was as though an echo of the Amazons’ ancient home had remained with them down through the centuries of wandering.

Hippolyta smiled wryly. That meant she knew exactly how to get to the very center of the city, to the Temple of Artemis. “Right here,” she said, pointing at one street corner. “Then left.”

Tithonus looked at her as if she held magic in her hand. “How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

He went silent again, then suddenly blurted out, “I’ve never lifted a curse before.”

“Neither have I,” said Hippolyta. “I’m not exactly sure what’s going to happen.”

Except for one thing, she thought. One awful thing.

“I’ve seen old women making charms,” Tithonus said. “Do you think it will be like that? They toss some bones and herbs in a pot and sing over them.”

“No,” Hippolyta told him. “Not like that.” There was a catch in her voice. She blinked three times to keep from crying.

“Don’t be afraid,” the boy said. “Whatever you have to do, I’ll help you.” He put his hand on her arm, and much as she wanted to, Hippolyta could not bring herself to pull away from him.

By now they’d reached the main square, and as she’d guessed, there before them stood the Temple of Artemis.

Twice as big as the temple in Themiscyra, it alone seemed to have withstood the siege of time. The edge of the flat roof was intricately carved with scenes of hunting and battle. Huge stone pillars set about with golden vines and gilded laurels framed the entrance.

“Why, it’s beautiful!” Tithonus said brightly. “Don’t you think so, Hippolyta? Isn’t it beautiful?”

Hippolyta put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed hard to shut him up, for suddenly she realized that they were no longer alone. Someone was standing next to one of the pillars and staring down at them.

At first she thought the person standing in the portico was Demonassa, but when Hippolyta looked again, she realized it was someone equally old but quite different from the priestess.

Tithonus saw her staring, followed her line of sight. “Who’s that?” he asked.