Hippolyta and the Curse of the Amazons Read online

  He shook his head again. “My father would kill me.”

  Just what I’d like to do, Hippolyta thought. She wondered why Tithonus was there if he didn’t mean to help her.

  “Then go back to your palace,” she said, “and think about your … sister”—it was hard to say the word, but she managed—“being ground to little bits between the teeth of a monster.”

  He shuddered, and his head drooped guiltily. “You must be very afraid.”

  Hippolyta didn’t like the way his pity made her feel. “I’m an Amazon warrior,” she said. “I’m not afraid to die.”

  Tithonus glanced over his shoulder at the waves, still crimson with the sunset. “I would be.”

  Hippolyta made another futile tug at her bonds. “You’re only a little boy. And a Trojan.” She said the eight words with as much contempt as she could muster. “But if you’re not going to free me, why have you come?”

  “To ask you about my mother,” Tithonus said, his voice on the edge of a whimper.

  “Our mother.”

  He nodded. “But maybe you just want me to go. So you can die in peace.”

  “No,” Hippolyta said quickly, “stay.”

  “Do you mean it?” His face seemed to brighten a bit.

  Hippolyta nodded, though the effort made her neck hurt. The hours in the sun, arms tied to the pillars, had given her a splitting headache, but she was trying to think clearly. And she was starting to form a plan.

  “We can talk a bit. Before dark. Before the monster gets here. But,” she whispered hoarsely, “my throat’s awfully dry.”

  Tithonus lifted the waterskin again. It grazed her lips, and water splashed over her face. Shaking off the droplets, Hippolyta cursed.

  “I’m sorry,” Tithonus said. “I’ll try to be more careful.”

  “Give me the waterskin,” Hippolyta ordered. “Put it in my hand.” She spread the fingers of her right hand.

  “But you won’t be able to—”

  “Just do it!” She took a deep breath. “Do you want me to die of thirst before we have a chance to talk?”

  Tithonus did as she said.

  Hippolyta made a great show of trying to stretch her neck and head toward the right to bring herself closer to the waterskin.

  “If you loosen the thong just a little bit—not all the way, I know your father wouldn’t allow it—then I’ll be able to swallow,” she said.

  Tithonus hesitated.

  “Just a little,” she wheedled. “Then I’ll answer all your questions.”

  He reached up to where her wrist was lashed to the pillar, plucking at the thongs but to no effect. “I can’t do it,” he said. “It’s tied too tight.”

  “Try again,” Hippolyta urged. It was difficult keeping the desperation out of her voice. She kept thinking that even her little sister Antiope would have worked harder at the knots. “Try again,” she whispered.

  “I can’t.”

  “Then I can’t tell you anything about our mother. I won’t have the voice”—and she let her voice go gravely—“or the time.”

  He twiddled with the thong some more, and at last the bond began to loosen. As soon as she felt it give a bit, Hippolyta pulled at it with all the strength she had left.

  With one strenuous heave, her right arm came loose, and the waterskin went flying. She smacked her fist into Tithonus’ startled face. While he tumbled backward, down the rough stone slope to fall on the shingle below, she loosened her left hand.

  Then she began flexing her fingers to get the numbness out and rubbing her chafed wrists. Reaching down for the waterskin, she’d almost picked it up when a roar thundered out of the water.

  The sea below her was bubbling like a cauldron, big waves heaving onto the shore. Three gigantic green humps mounded out of the water, and when they plunged in again, a cloud of spume rose high into the air.

  Someone screamed.

  For a moment Hippolyta thought it was she herself. Then she remembered Tithonus and looked around for him. He was half sitting, dazed and frightened, on the beach, the waves lapping over his feet.

  Many different thoughts wrangled in Hippolyta’s head:

  I could leave Tithonus to the monster.

  I could save him and bring him to his father.

  We could both be eaten.

  I could kill the monster.

  But all these were subsumed in one final thought: I can bring him back to Themiscyra.

  She smiled grimly at the thought. He was a spoiled, whiny, useless princeling and she didn’t like him at all. Besides, his father would have sacrificed her, so she would sacrifice Tithonus in place of the baby. It was the only way left to her, now that Laomedon had refused to help her mother. She would take Tithonus to Themiscyra and give him to Valasca for the altar in exchange for her mother’s release. Then there’d be only one live boy child born of Otrere in the world. Wouldn’t that fulfill Artemis’ demands?

  Hippolyta looked back at the sea. The dark, humping shapes were above the waves again and heading once again toward the shore.

  Tithonus was right in the monster’s path.

  Hippolyta pressed a knuckle to her mouth to keep from screaming. An Amazon doesn’t scream. Then she scrambled down the slope to rescue the Trojan prince.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  PREY

  HIPPOLYTA WAS GLAD of her sturdy leggings as she slid and scrambled over the shards of flint that covered the sharp incline. She hit the shingle with a wet thud, and Tithonus cried out.

  She touched his shoulder. He cried again and turned, saw her, and whispered, “Mother?”

  “I’m not your mother!” she whispered hoarsely. “I’m your sister—worse luck!” She saw that his eyes were partly glazed, and he seemed unable to focus. His head fell backward and his eyes closed again.

  Nervously she glanced out to sea and saw the water seethe and swell. A huge submerged shadow was drawing nearer to the shore. There was no time to be nice to the boy.

  She slapped him.

  His eyes fluttered open again, then closed.

  She slapped him harder.

  “What—” he began.

  She dragged him up by the arm, and he seemed to wobble about.

  Hippolyta bit her lip. If she couldn’t wake him up, she’d have to carry him. But before she picked him up, she quickly looked around the narrow stretch of beach.

  There was nowhere to hide. High crags blocked them on both sides. Either she ran straight back up the flinty slope, or …

  “Prince,” she said sharply.

  He barely registered her voice.

  “Tithonus!” She tried again.

  He tried to look at her.

  “WE’RE GOING TO BE EATEN BY THE MONSTER!” she yelled.

  This time he heard.

  “Follow me,” she said.

  She clambered nimbly up the slope, clawing at the rocks and jamming her feet into any holes and crevices to give her purchase on the rocks.

  But Tithonus only managed to get two steps up before collapsing. “No use,” he cried.

  “I agree you’re no use,” she muttered under her breath. “But I’m not letting that monster eat you. I have other plans for you.”

  She backed down and grabbed him by the shoulder of his tunic. Then she lugged him up till he was beside her.

  “We’re both getting out of here,” she told him. “Together.”

  They began struggling up the slope, Hippolyta dragging Tithonus along every few feet. It was hard work, and they were both sweating profusely, but they made the top of the slope before the shadow of the monster reached the shore. Their fingers were scraped raw, and Hippolyta’s arms, already aching from the long hours she’d spent tied up, now hurt from hauling the boy.

  When they reached the top, they collapsed facedown on the rock.

  Then Tithonus gave a strange squeak, and Hippolyta turned and looked at him over her shoulder. He was pale and shaking and pointing his hand at the sea.

  One great
green coil was rising high out of the sea, throwing off tons of water that crashed as waves against the shore.

  Then something big as a boulder broke the surface: the monster’s scaly head, with unblinking serpent eyes. When the mouth yawned open, Hippolyta saw row upon row of daggerlike teeth. She’d never seen that many teeth on a creature before.

  “It—it—it looks hungry,” Tithonus whispered.

  “It can stay that way!” Hippolyta told him. She jumped up and pulled him up with her. They leaped off the rock face, then began to run frantically across the stunted brown grass.

  “My chest hurts,” Tithonus wheezed.

  “I know a cure for that,” Hippolyta said.

  “Really?”

  “Being eaten.” She shoved him ahead of her and then made the mistake of looking behind.

  The monster’s head had just cleared the rim of the headland. Giant claws, like great bronze clamps, dug into the broken ground as it hauled its long body out of the sea.

  “Faster!” Hippolyta cried, pushing the boy again.

  This time he tripped and fell, and Hippolyta bit back the curse that filled her mouth. If he’d been training in Themiscyra, the instructors would have thumped and sworn at him for his weakness.

  “Run, Tithonus,” she hissed at him, “And I promise you’ll see your mother.”

  He tried to run faster, but she knew he was much too slow.

  She knew she was much too slow.

  Glancing back again, she saw the whole of the monster was now on the land, its ungainly body perched on four stubby legs that propelled it forward awkwardly. Its neck had stretched out the entire long length; the gaping mouth hissed horribly. Its feet thumped the ground like hammers, and its tail lashed from side to side.

  The question, Hippolyta knew, was not how fast could they run, but where could they go?

  Then, cresting a small rise, she saw a farm ahead of them, a cluster of battered buildings leaning on one another like old friends. Perhaps they could hide—

  “There!” she cried, pointing.

  Tithonus tried to say something but hadn’t the breath, and Hippolyta knew that it wouldn’t be long before she’d have to carry him or leave him to his doom.

  She was certain that the farm was their only hope. They had enough time to get there before the monster was upon them. Enough time for that—but little else.

  Maybe there’s a weapon at the farm, she thought, which would at least allow her to fight the monster, though the gods knew she’d no desire to get close to its ugly head.

  “Artemis,” she cried, “if you have any mercy in you at all, now would be the time to let it show!”

  Dragging Tithonus by the arm, Hippolyta hauled him into the first open doorway, which led into the farm cottage’s single room.

  There was a crude table, a broken chair, and a back exit guarded by a tattered cloth instead of a door. The roof to the cottage was gone and the evening sky hung over them.

  The air around them suddenly grew heavy and smelled of the bottom of the sea.

  Tithonus looked up and screamed.

  Hippolyta knew that the creature had found them. “Run!” she cried, dragging him with her through the tattered curtain and out the back.

  No sooner had they left the cottage than the monster brought its whole weight down on the little building, demolishing it in an instant. A cloud of flying rock and plaster filled the air, and Tithonus was knocked onto his knees.

  Hippolyta yanked him up, hurriedly glanced around, and saw their one chance for survival. “The well,” she cried.

  The boy could scarcely move, so she had to drag him over to the well. There was a ragged rope hanging on the other side, but they hadn’t the time to get it. The monster was already upon them, and his breath stank of fish and flesh and other things too awful to name.

  “Jump!” Hippolyta croaked, and leaped over the edge of the well, dragging Tithonus with her.

  Above their heads the colossal jaws crashed shut like the sound of trees breaking in a storm.

  Hippolyta caught her breath as she hit the water fifteen feet down. She was plunged into a cold dark, and the waters closed over her head.

  The River Styx, she thought as she sank, the river that runs around the Underworld, would not be this cold.

  Then her feet touched the slimy bottom of the well, and she pushed against it and propelled herself up again. When she broke the surface of the well water, she flailed around for something to hold on to. After a moment her fingers found the rope and the clay jar that had been used for bringing up water.

  Tithonus too broke the water’s surface, and before he could sink again, she grabbed the braided collar of his tunic and pulled him close.

  Just then the monster stuck its snout into the well’s top. But its head was too big, and it could not force its way down. In frustration it roared and roared, and the well’s echo nearly deafened them. Hippolyta fought the urge to put her fingers in her ears and instead hung on to Tithonus with one hand, the clay pot with the other.

  The monster gave one more awful roar, then stomped away.

  “Thank you, Artemis,” she whispered.

  “I’m freezing,” Tithonus said. Indeed his teeth were chattering.

  “Just a few minutes more, till we’re sure that monster’s gone,” Hippolyta said. “Then we’ll climb the rope out of here.” She looked at Tithonus, who was now shivering uncontrollably. “You can climb a rope, can’t you?”

  He nodded.

  She wondered, though. Exhausted, frightened, cold, even she was going to have trouble climbing.

  “You’d better go first,” she said. “I’ll be behind you all the way.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  COMPANIONS

  THEY CREPT OUT OF the farmyard under the light of a full moon, thankful to find the sea monster no longer around.

  “Gone to find easier prey,” Hippolyta said to the shaking boy.

  His teeth were clattering so hard he couldn’t answer, though he nodded silently.

  “Good boy,” she told him. “Now let’s find some rocks where we can hide out. Our clothes will dry as we walk.”

  He nodded again.

  “And perhaps the serpent, satisfied with what it finds elsewhere, will go back to the sea for a while.”

  He smiled briefly.

  She smiled back.

  Neither of them gave a thought to the monster’s other prey but stole quickly and gratefully away from the farm.

  When Hippolyta awoke in their nest of rocks, morning sun blazing overhead, Tithonus was gone.

  She was immediately seized by a sense of alarm and reached for her weapon. Then she remembered she had none.

  “Tithonus!” she hissed in an urgent whisper, then listened hard for an answer.

  She was greeted by silence.

  Cautiously she eased her way out of the small cave into the full glare of the morning sun. There, on the plain below the rocks, was a small figure kicking disconsolately at a stone.

  Hippolyta checked all around. There was no sign of anyone. And no sound of any monster. She sighed with relief. Then she clambered out of the rocks.

  The noise she made surprised her. Even more surprising was that Tithonus had gotten out earlier and she’d heard nothing.

  A warrior, she reminded herself, never sleeps.

  She bit her lip. She had not acquitted herself well. The monster hadn’t been slain. Her prisoner had escaped. Well, at least he hadn’t gone far.

  She hurried down the rocky slope, calling his name.

  This time he heard her and looked up with a faint smile.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  He shrugged. “Looking for food.” Then he paused. “I haven’t found anything. And I was … afraid to go too far. In case … you know.”

  She did know but didn’t want to comfort him. “Well, you won’t find loaves of bread and joints of mutton lying around on the ground.”

  “I’d settle for an apple,” Tit
honus said. “Even the peel would be something.”

  “Well, there’s a bramble bush over there,” Hippolyta said. “We can pick some berries.” And, she thought, looking around at the scrub and brush, there’s always nettle soup.

  The bush was small, and the berries were mostly unripe. Neither of them felt any less hungry after their meager breakfast. The waterskin had been lost back where Hippolyta had been staked out. She didn’t suggest they return to look for it.

  “I’d be having milk and freshly baked bread for breakfast if I were in Troy,” Tithonus whimpered.

  “I’d be breakfast if you were in Troy,” Hippolyta said. Not that she was thanking him. He hadn’t meant to help her escape.

  “I’m starving!” said Tithonus, paying no attention to her reply.

  “Well, why don’t you run off home?” she said, adding quickly, “Of course I wouldn’t risk it in your place.”

  That got his attention. He looked at her with wide-open eyes. “You wouldn’t?”

  “Surely your father knows by now that you set me free with the monster stomping about the countryside.”

  His lower lip turned down. “That was an accident.”

  “I know that. You know that. Who else would believe it?”

  He looked at his feet, the sandals scuffed and filthy. “My father wouldn’t.” The stuck-out lower lip now began to tremble.

  “I mean,” Hippolyta went on, hoping she wasn’t slathering it on too thickly, “I only ruffled his tunic, and he had me trussed up for monster food.”

  “But I’m the heir to the throne,” Tithonus whispered.

  “Don’t forget he has another heir now,” Hippolyta said. “Little Podarces. The baby I delivered to him. That makes you as expendable as I am.”

  He looked so stunned and lost that for a moment Hippolyta felt sorry for him. Then she reminded herself what a spoiled brat he was and how she meant to make him suffer. And his father.

  “So you have no choice, really,” she added.

  “What do you mean?”

  She smiled and held out her hand. “You have to come with me. To my home. To Themiscyra.”

  His lower lip snapped back, thinned out. His mouth was like a sharp, hard line. He looked just like his father. “I thought Amazons didn’t let men into their country.”