Jane Yolen - Hippolyta and the Curse of the Amazons

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.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

AND HOME

ARES’ CHARIOT SPED HOMEWARD with the swiftness of the wind. He could have gotten them to Themiscyra in a single night, but heeding Hippolyta’s plea, he went the long way around.

His horses never tired, but knowing his passengers to be mortal, he stopped frequently to let them eat and rest.

Tithonus suspected nothing, but Hippolyta understood that each stop cost them time the god could have easily dismissed. But he remained charming and effortlessly found game to provide them with food. At each meal he regaled them with tales of ancient heroes.

On the second evening, while Tithonus lay wrapped in a blanket sleeping peacefully, Hippolyta asked Ares about her mother and how they had met.

Sitting with his back against a tree, and scratching there like some great cat, Ares spoke. “I was traveling the mortal world and decided to visit the land of the Amazons in the guise of a messenger bringing gifts from King Sagellus of Scythia,” he said.

“Why not just travel as yourself?” asked Hippolyta, eagerly leaning into the tale.

He smiled at her. “And what’s the fun of that?” he asked. “After so many aeons, myself is a boring way to travel.”

“Is this”—she pointed at him—“really what you look like then?”

He smiled again and didn’t answer, electing instead to finish his story. “I found the young queen Otrere tending a girl who’d been injured during spear practice. After gently washing and binding the wound, she showed the girl how to protect herself, how to fight without lowering her guard.”

“Funny,” mused Hippolyta, “I can’t think of my mother as a fighter.”

Ares smiled as he remembered. “Never before had I come upon a woman who so perfectly combined both strength and tenderness in her actions and words. I loved her at once, and while I enjoyed the hospitality of her court, I wooed her with all my heart. Only when I had won her love did I reveal my true nature to her.”

“What did she say then?”

Ares grinned. “She laughed. She said she thought a god would be handsomer.”

Hippolyta laughed, too. Then she thought of Apollo, whose beauty outshone the sun. And the golden-haired Laomedon. “I’m glad you’re my father and not Apollo. Or Laomedon,” she said. “Beautiful on the outside, but—”

“Eventually Laomedon will try to cheat the gods once too often,” said Ares with a frown, “and that will be his downfall.”

She glanced over at the sleeping Tithonus, and faint lines appeared on her forehead.

“Don’t worry,” Ares assured her, putting his hand on her arm. “He will be safe and happy and far away from Troy when his father’s downfall happens.”

“And when he is king?”

Area shook his head. “He will never be king of Troy.”

Hippolyta smiled. “That’s all right. He doesn’t want to be king anyway.” She made a strange sound then, half laugh, half sigh. “It’s the fighting, you know. He hates it. Though when he had to, he watched my back and never gave up. And kings need to know how to fight. At least kings of Troy.”

“There will be no peace for Troy, that is certain,” said Ares. “But one day Trojans and Amazons will fight side by side as allies and friends, and that will be because of you.”

“I’m glad,” Hippolyta told him. “I should like to see Dares again, at least, to thank him for his kindness.”

“I have told you more than I should,” Ares said.

Hippolyta heard the caution in his voice. “Bedtime stories, really. Father to daughter.” She leaned over and kissed him on the brow. “Good night.”

Over the remaining three days of the journey Tithonus became his old talkative self once more. He plied Ares with questions about the other gods and told his own stories of life in Troy.

Hippolyta couldn’t help being amused at seeing her father strain to maintain his patience with the continual chatter, and she was sure that the more Tithonus talked, the more Ares urged his horses to greater speed.