Jane Yolen - Hippolyta and the Curse of the Amazons

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.