by Nancy Holder
Diana took it from him and listened to its steady rhythm. “What for?”
“Because it tells time,” he explained. “When to wake up, work, eat, sleep.”
She chuckled. “You let this little thing tell you what to do?”
Steve took the watch from her and covered himself. “Can I ask you some questions?”
She shrugged her consent, mildly curious about why he felt the need to display modesty but accepting his actions as his own.
He began. “Where are we?”
“Themyscira.” There was no harm in telling him that. Besides, she already had.
His forehead wrinkled. “No, I got that before. I mean, where are we? Who are you people?” He gestured. “Why does the water do that? How come you don’t know what a watch is? How can you speak English so well?”
“We speak hundreds of languages.” Didn’t he know anything about the Amazons? “We are the bridge of a greater understanding between all men.”
He cocked his head as he gazed at her. “Right,” he said neutrally, and paused. “Hey, I didn’t get to say this earlier… but thank you for dragging me out of the water.”
“Thank you for what you did on the beach.”
A quick moment passed between them, one warrior to another acknowledging bravery on the field. That, and something more.
“So, are you going to let me go?” There was an edge to his voice, which she understood. Because the alternative…
She moved her shoulders. “I tried. It’s not up to me. I even asked them to send me with you…”
His face brightened and Diana deflected.
“…or anyone. An Amazon.
The Amazons.” “The Amazons?” he echoed. And then she was certain he had never heard of them. But how could that be?
“It is our sacred duty to defend the world, and I wish to go. But my mother will not allow it.” She shaded her disappointment, her frustration.
“Can’t say I blame her,” he said. “The way this war is going, I wouldn’t let anyone I care about near it.”
“Then why do you want to go back?”
Steve started dressing. “I don’t think ‘want’ is the word, but I’ve gotta try.” He paused, then added, “My father used to say, ‘You see something wrong in the world, you can either do nothing, or you can do something.’ And I already tried nothing.”
Diana was moved.
* * *
Moved, that is, to action.
I will honor Antiope, Diana thought. I will fulfill my destiny. The decision had been difficult, but it had been made.
Looming above all the other buildings of the village, back-lit by the light of the moon, the armory stood a silent sentinel over the Amazons’ secret island. Diana surveyed the structure from the hill opposite, aware that guards were stationed on the other side. It was assumed that the building was unscalable—its outer surface of smooth stone interrupted by only shallow ledge, the structure banked by a depthless chasm far deeper than the one that she, as a little girl, had nearly leaped into. The window was her target—extremely high up.
A cow meandered nearby, contentedly chewing grass. Diana moved passed it and gave herself a long runway to build up speed for her leap. She braced herself, then took off running for a test. Five steps and she was running full speed, two more and the distance looked just about right. She planted her feet and made as if to jump. She wasn’t sure it was possible.
Nevertheless, she jogged back to her starting point. Taking a couple of quick breaths, she paused for a second, then broke into an all-out sprint, legs driving, arms pumping. She hit the takeoff point perfectly and leapt over the abyss, hair flying behind her, soaring through the cool night.
The moonlit side of the building rushed towards her, closer and closer. The ledge loomed before her. Contact. She’d made it—
—but with one hand only. She was swinging back and forth, crazily. It was a very long way down. Then she held on with both hands, and she hung there for a moment, pleased with herself.
A crack. Beneath her weight, the ledge gave way.
She plummeted down the flat surface. There were no other ledges, nothing to hang onto. She tried nonetheless, seeking anything to grab, and drove her hand forward—
—straight into the stone. Her fist broke the brickwork; fragments tumbled as she took advantage of the handhold she had created, brows raised in surprise and relief. She swung back and forth for a second, then pushed her other hand into the dense stone. It punctured the thick rock as if it was made of honey cake. Another handhold.
She pulled out her hand, raised it up, and made another hole. Held on. Created another. Methodically smashing her hands knuckle-deep into the wall, she pulled herself up the entire height of the tower, finally making it to the window.
She hoisted herself up and balanced her weight on its thin edge. From there it was easy to drop down inside the armory. She landed lightly, barely making a sound. When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, the treasures of the armory snapped into focus. From its protective casing she took a shield. The heft was good, the workmanship exquisite. The Gods willing, it would deflect the projectiles of the rifles of men. The bullets.
Next she approached the Godkiller sword, which stood on its point in the exact center of the armory. Light filtered down on it, bathing it with an almost mystical glow. There she paused. The sword filled her vision. Her breath stopped. Her heart beat.
The Godkiller. The only weapon that could destroy Ares.
Take it, and she would dare to do that.
She would accept the destiny that now stood just beyond her reach. This was her last chance to turn back, her beckoning opportunity to seize the day. She understood the import of this moment, and the place it held in her story: the armory was holy ground, and this was the means to fulfill her sacred duty.
With her dying breath, Antiope herself had told her to take it. Mentor, teacher, savior. Diana gazed at the sword with awe and reverence. Let it be so, then.
Let it be so.
She reached into its ornate, sculpted cradle and grasped it. The rightness of the grip; she felt something now, an amplification of the whispery sensation she had felt when her mother had first shown it to her. Who will wield it?
I.
She held it up. Moonlight streaming through the high window hit the blade and the reflected flashes spiraled dizzyingly around the room. Perhaps as a result of its perfect balance, the Godkiller seemed to float weightless in her hand, as if it had been created just for her.
That is what I am doing, she thought. Her skin prickled with anxiety even as a thrill of excitement fanned outward from the base of her spine. I am going on a quest to save the world.
To her left, armor gleamed red, blue, white, gold. The armor of a warrior. And the Lasso of Hestia, which had revealed her quest to her through the mouthpiece of the man. Steve Trevor.
Diana left the armory. Keeping to the shadows, away from the guards, she descended the hillside with her bounty. She changed and made all ready, saddling horses, and preparing herself to step into history.
As was her foreordinance.
* * *
Dressed in a heavy wool cloak, Diana entered Steve’s chamber to find him studying a map. He held a compass. He looked at her and said, “Nice outfit.”
“Thank you,” she said briskly. Speed was imperative. “Now I will show you the way off the island. And you will take me to Ares.”
He gave her a measured look as if he couldn’t quite believe his ears. He must have sensed her determination—and her competence—as he nodded and said, “Deal.”
He rose and placed his belongings—the green book as well—into his messenger bag. His moved sparely; he was focused but calm. For all she knew, she was leading him away from death—or toward her own.
Diana led him out of the infirmary to the trees where the two Amazon warhorses she had saddled chuffed at her approach. He climbed onto his mount with a confidence and style that made her smile. Steve was o
bviously a horseman as well as a pilot and a spy. A versatile companion for as far as their journey took the two of them together.
They rode silently through dark, dense forest. Diana followed a well-worn trail between the tall trees, urging her horse to go faster. There wasn’t much light to see by, but the animals were biddable. Steve kept up the pace, staying right behind her.
They emerged from the forest at the edge of a small, protected harbor. Moonlight danced on the wind-riffled water. She waved him onward and they followed the curve of the shore. She stopped at the bow of an Amazon sailing vessel. It was very unlike the German warship, more like the small boats the Germans had used to land on the beach, although it had sails and its wooden hull was embellished with intricate carvings.
“We’re leaving in that?” Steve said.
“We are.”
“We’re leaving in that,” he repeated.
“Do you not know how to sail?” Diana asked him as they both dismounted.
“Of course I know how to sail,” Steve said. “Why wouldn’t I be able to sail? It’s just been a while.” He hesitated. And then his eyes widened.
“What?” Diana said.
As he pointed at the valley behind them, she heard the thunder of horses’ hooves and turned. Hippolyta and the Queen’s guard were moving in their direction, the guards holding torches. From this distance, Diana couldn’t make out her mother’s expression, but the Queen sat tall in her saddle. Diana had always respected her mother, but just then, the tiniest bit of fear insinuated itself as she prepared to defend her actions. For his part, Steve watched carefully. Diana wondered if he was formulating an escape plan. Did he have a gun? Would he shoot any of the Amazons in order to get free? It was not a scenario she had considered, and she wished she had searched him.
Hippolyta raised her hand as they drew near and the guards reined in their mounts. She jumped down from her horse and approached Diana alone.
Diana took a quick breath. She looked into her mother’s eyes and said, “I am going, Mother. I can’t stand by while innocent lives are lost. If no one else will defend the world from Ares, I must. I must go—”
“I know,” Hippolyta said.
There was no fury in her mother’s face, only sadness. Deep sadness.
“Or at least I know I cannot stop you,” the Queen corrected herself. “There is so much—so much you do not understand.”
“I understand enough,” Diana said. “That I am willing to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. Like you once did.” She hoped for a response from her mother, an admission that she was right. But the Queen remained sorrowful as she gazed at her child.
“You know that if you choose to leave us, you may never return.” Her voice broke.
Diana’s throat tightened. Never for an Amazon was an eternity.
“Who will I be if I stay?” she asked, searching her mother’s face.
Hippolyta gazed at her with deep love. Then the Queen reached over to her horse and pulled something shiny from the saddlebag. Diana’s breath caught. It was Antiope’s headband, with its inverted triangle and sunburst.
Her voice husky with emotion, Hippolyta said, “This belonged to the greatest warrior in our history—make sure you are worthy of it.”
“I will,” Diana said, equally moved. This was their leave taking, their farewell. Everything she had ever known… her beloved mother, the Amazons: Antiope, Orana. The constellations overhead: tears, guideposts. A gentle wind, the moonlight, soft. The parting… so hard. So very hard. But right.
Hippolyta took a deep breath and gazed with eyes that saw Diana, really saw her for what she had become. Besides tenderness, there was respect. Pride. Diana had her Queen’s blessing. Her mother’s love.
“Be careful in the world of men, Diana. They do not deserve you,” Hippolyta said.
All those nights braiding hair, giggling, listening to the stories of the Amazons, seeing the real love the people bore for her mother, and for her… In the throes of parting, she sought to lock the treasures of her girlhood away in her heart.
“You have been my greatest love.” Her mother’s eyes overflowed with tears and she cradled Diana’s face in her hands. “Today you are my greatest sorrow.”
This face, forever. Her mother’s hands, forever.
One last look, and then Diana turned and walked away. Away from the only home, the only family she had ever known. Towards Steve and the ship, and her future. Her heart was heavy as she cast off the mooring lines and, with Steve’s help, raised the sails. The boat began to move at once, pushed by a following wind. She looked back from the stern. She could see the torches still on the beach, points of light that got smaller and smaller. Mists enfolded Themyscira, her homeland, and the barrier that protected the island from the eyes of the men.
And from her own eyes now.
* * *
Menalippe approached her queen, who stood unmoving like a statue, facing the sea. The tiny dot that was Diana’s ship was still visible, and Hippolyta would stare after it for a hundred years if it still bobbed on the waves. It would be impossible to convey the enormity of her sorrow, the vastness of her fear, and the depth of her pride in her daughter.
“Should you have told her?” Menalippe asked.
Hippolyta had considered that question. Wrestled with it. And ultimately rejected it.
“The more she knows,” Hippolyta said, “the faster he will find her.”
BOOK II
WARRIOR
“It is only the dead who have seen the end of war.”
—Attributed to Plato
8
Themyscira was gone. Let it be so, then. After taking a few moments, Diana put thoughts of home aside and focused on her quest. As she and Steve Trevor balanced with the rocking of the waves beneath the bow, she said, “How long until we reach the war?”
He considered. “The war? Which part? The Eastern Front in France is four hundred miles long—from the Alps to the Atlantic.”
She thought a moment. “Where the fighting is the most intense, then. If you take me there, I am sure I’ll find Ares.”
There was a beat. Then he said, “Ares? As in the God of War?”
She nodded. “The God of War is our responsibility. Only an Amazon can defeat him. With this. ”
She drew the Godkiller from beneath her cloak and ran her hand reverently along the blade. The ancient runes gleamed in the starlight. “And once I do, the war will end.”
He looked from the massive sword to her. “Look, I appreciate your spirit, but this war’s a great big mess and there’s not a whole lot we can do about it. But we can try to get to the men who can.”
“I am the man who can,” she countered. “And after I find and destroy Ares, the German armies will be freed from his influence—and there will be good men again, and the world will be better.”
Another hesitation, and then he said, “Great.”
She detected no sarcasm in his tone and decided to take him at face value—at least for the time being. She needed him. The sails lofted; the waves rolled in the vastness of this unknown sea. She watched as he began to move bundles around, then gathered up and spread out a blanket.
“What are you doing?” she asked him.
“I thought maybe you’d want to get some sleep.”
That was sensible. And thoughtful. But sleeping in close quarters in his presence? She hadn’t considered that. “What about you? Are you not sleeping? Does the average man not sleep?”
He continued to arrange the bed clothing with a preoccupied air, then turned to her. “Yes, we sleep. We just don’t sleep with…” He trailed off, not looking at her.
When he didn’t finish his thought, she said, “You don’t sleep with women?” It was a reasonable conclusion. But speaking of it made her feel odd. Feeling a bit conspicuous, she lay down on the bed he had made for her and took a few moments to adjust her cloak around herself.
“I mean, I do sleep with—I sleep with women, yes.”
He, too, seemed a bit flustered. “Yes I do,” he said emphatically, raising his eyes to the stars. “But out of the confines of marriage, it’s not polite to assume—”
“Marriage?” she interjected, unfamiliar with the word. She had not come across it in her studies.
“You don’t have that down in… yeah,” he said. He thought a moment. “You go before a judge, and you swear to love, cherish, and honor each other until death you do part.”
He reclined on a sack he had placed over the lines of the boat some distance from her. He was pointedly not looking at her; she slid a sideways glance at him, then looked away. “Do they? Do they love each other until death?”
“Not very often,” he conceded.
“Then why do they do it?”
Cocking his head, he seemed to fix his attention on the one star in particular. “I… have no idea.”
She cocked a brow, less certain of navigating this conversation than she was of scaling the smooth surface of the armory tower. “So you cannot sleep with me unless we are married?” She had a lot to learn about the world of mankind, that was clear.
“I’ll sleep with you,” he said quickly, glancing at her, then back up at the sky. “I’ll sleep with you if you want.”
She gestured to the empty space beside her. “There’s plenty of room. It’s up to—”
“—If you don’t mind,” he said, speaking over her.
“— you,” she finished, as he continued.
“—I’ll come sleep with you. I’ll make the choice. I’ll come sleep with you.”
The fumbling way they spoke over each other dissolved into an awkward silence as he stretched out beside her. She felt his warmth, and her situation hit home—she was on a Themyscira fishing boat in the middle of an ocean with a man. It was not the evening she had envisioned upon waking. But then, nothing had gone as expected this day.
The boat rocked. She kept her focus up at the stars, finding it simpler than making eye contact with him, and toyed with the end of her cloak, not quite certain what to say next. Apparently, neither was he.
