Hippolyta and the Curse of the Amazons by Jane Yolen Read Free Book Online Page B

two trees, where he would be safe from any wolves or other scavengers.
    Hippolyta was dreaming deeply. In her dream she saw the Hill of Artemis on the outskirts of Themiscyra. Moving closer, she noticed that something lay, bound hand and foot, on the altar.
    When she got closer still, she realized that the one on the altar was herself and that she was gagged as well as bound so that she couldn’t cry out.
    Suddenly she was no longer looking down but looking up, terrified, waiting for death.
    Around the altar were hundreds of Amazons, including her own mother and sisters, crying for her blood. Orithya was calling the loudest.
    At that moment the priestess Demonassa appeared, a large, jagged dagger clasped in her bony fingers.
    “A sacrifice must be made,” the old priestess intoned, raising the dagger. As she leaned over, her withered features seemed to melt and change till what stared down was the fierce and beautiful face of the goddess Artemis. The moon crowned her head, and winking stars glinted like jewels in her wild dark hair.
    “You must atone for lost Arimaspa,” Artemis cried, her voice like a fierce north wind.
    The Amazons answered her in a single voice: “Arimaspa.”
    Then the dagger sliced downward, and Hippolyta felt a searing pain in her side.
    She woke, and the pain only increased as a second boot struck her in the ribs.
    Groaning, she pulled away. Traces of the dream still held her in their grip: the sea of feverish faces, the savage beauty of the goddess, the dagger …
    Then she was wholly awake, blinking blearily into the dawn. Her ribs hurt, and somewhere to one side her horse was whinnying unhappily.
    There were voices all around her, deep, coarse, hoarse.
    The voices of men.
    She sat up.
    A pair of strong hands grabbed her tunic and pulled her roughly to her feet. “Why, it’s just a girl in man’s garb!” a man exclaimed.
    Hippolyta aimed a kick between his knees and connected. He let her go, screaming. Someone else grabbed her, this time from behind.
    “Let go of me!” she cried.
    At the sound of her voice the baby began to wail.
    For a moment the men looked confused. There were—she saw quickly—six of them, including the man behind her. They were dressed in plain tunics and sandals. Each was equipped with a helmet and bronze sword, and each had a shield hanging under his arm. Behind them, well away from the copse of trees, she could see the outlines of horses.
    She aimed a second kick, backward, but this man was too quick for her. He tightened his grip, saying, “Mind yourself, girl.”
    “She’s a wild thing, isn’t she?” joked a broad-shouldered man with a broken nose and bad teeth. “But maybe there’s a pretty face under all that dirt.” He moved closer to peer at her.
    All that dirt! Hippolyta was furious at the insult. She’d bathed three days earlier, in a lovely mountain pool, taking the baby in with her. They’d floated around for almost an hour, and he had gurgled and giggled and splashed until his lips had turned blue.
    She spat at the speaker. He smelled like a horse himself.
    A tall, hawk-nosed man yanked the other away. “We’re not here for your entertainment, Lyksos,” he said.
    Then, nodding at the man behind Hippolyta, he added, “Let her go, Phraxos.”
    “But, Dares, what if she runs?” came a voice behind her.
    “She won’t go far without the child,” the hawk-nosed Dares said. He stood squarely in front of Hippolyta, regarding her curiously.
    She stared back at him. He had coarse dark hair covering his cheeks and chin, and his eyes were as hard as a shield. She’d seen men before, of course. Traders and merchants were sometimes allowed to enter the Amazon settlements, and she’d encountered a few others on her journey at the farmhouses where she traded for milk. But never had she met a man who looked so powerful.
    And never before had any man laid a hand on her.
    She shivered, then willed herself to stand tall. An Amazon does not tremble