Chapter Eighty-Six
The clang of metal reverberated again and again as our swords struck. Ares was holding back. I knew that. At any second, he could change his footing and drive his blade through my heart, but I did not care. I fought him. I fought him with all I had.
I thought of Hirtus. I thought of every lesson he had taught me and how he would feel if he could see me now. I would make him proud. That was the thought that repeated in my mind as sweat soaked my skin. I would make him and Phile proud.
While for a few brief moments of adrenaline and exhilaration the sword had felt weightless, it did not take long for such deception to fade.
Ares was still swinging when the burning began in earnest. Fatigue struck my arms first; my muscles began to throb, sensations that soon traveled down to my stomach and thighs.
Would it be my legs or arms that failed first? Would it even matter?
I was gasping for breath, praying that my lungs and legs would not fail me, when Ares stepped back.
For a split second, I too considered retreating, only to change my mind.
I had not come so far to fail at the final hurdle.
Instead, I kept my weapon raised as I watched him, awaiting his next attack.
Only then did I notice the sword was gone from his hand.
I scoured the ground. Had he dropped it?
It was impossible to see in the long grass, yet I was sure I would have heard something when it hit the ground, and I knew without a doubt that I had not disarmed him.
“I think that will suffice for now, Queen Otrera. Come, you require water. And food too, I suspect.”
He turned and headed toward the shore. A moment later, I dropped to my knees.
I could barely see for the fluid that filled my eyes, though I did not know if it was sweat or tears.
Either way, I wiped my face clean and pushed myself up, grateful for the sword as support.
As I reached my feet and picked up the blade, I stopped in confusion.
It was not Ares’s sword now but my own. How long had I been fighting with that?
I pushed the sword from my mind. Ares had summoned me, and it would not do me well to keep him waiting.
“You have no god in your blood, do you, Queen Otrera?”
He had a flask in his hand, which he offered, and I took it without hesitation.
The water inside was clean and cold. It slipped down my throat, abating my thirst with such ease I wondered if it was water at all.
I tipped it up to my mouth and drank again.
Only when my breath had once again steadied and my thirst was quenched did I respond to his question.
“No. The ichor of the gods does not run in my blood.”
“What of great rulers? You are not some distant cousin of a great hero?”
“Perhaps so distant that neither he nor I know of it, but no. I do not come from rulers or heroes or gods. I come from a family of tradesmen.”
“And yet you have trained an entire village, persuaded them to rise up and fight against their husbands. And you have fought raiders and saved farmers.”
“I have.” I had felt a swell of pride at my actions before, but hearing them from a god’s lips caused that to surge. “Yes, I have.”
“And through it all,” he said, “you have offended me.”
In that split second, all hope and esteem I had felt crumbled, replaced by fear. I dropped to my knees as my pulse hammered like a drum against my chest.
“My god?” I did not raise my eyes, afraid of what I might see. “I am sorry, great god. I did not know. Please…whatever I have done, do not punish my women for this. It was my mistake alone.”
He offered no response. I closed my eyes, waiting for the strike. Waiting for the moment I would open my eyes and find myself not in the land of my women but awaiting Charon’s passage.
The sounds of waves crashing and sea birds squalling reached my ears, yet still no blow came. Emboldened only by the belief that I was to die, I opened my eyes and looked up.
Rather than the thunderous expression I expected the god to be wearing, Ares’s gaze was fixed but contemplative.
“My god?” I said. I stayed low to the ground as I awaited his verdict on my life.
“You have fought battles with strangers,” Ares said. “Wars, one could even say. You have taken the name ‘Amazons.’ And yet the only temple you have raised in this land is one to my sister.”
My stomach lurched as I lowered my gaze again, and the sickness that swirled in me churned so that I feared the water had been poisoned.
“I am sorry, my god. The name was given to us. We did not choose it. I swear, we can give it all to you. Everything we have from the spoils of this fight, we will gift it in your name.”
“And not use it to make armor or weapons? That seems foolish. Not warrior-like at all.”
My head jerked up to see a small smile twisting on his lips.
“Come, Otrera, you know we gods see all. Walk with me. I have a proposition for you.”
He was right. I knew the gods saw all and that they had the power to end my life and the lives of my women before I could even nock an arrow. I also knew that if they told a mortal they had a proposition, then only a fool would refuse to listen.
I took my time rising to my feet, not from disrespect but from the burning agony that afflicted my legs.
Every fiber of my muscles felt shredded beyond repair.
The one thought running through my mind was that if I survived this conversation with Ares, then I would fix myself a bath filled with all the oils I could find in which I would soak until the new moon.
When I was standing, Ares began to walk. Dutifully, I followed.
“You were taught to hunt and fight in Ninniya, is that not so?” He made no attempt to shorten his stride to accommodate my exhaustion. Still, I refused to fall behind.
“Yes, I was. By Hirtus.” Given that the god had already displayed his knowledge of all things, this conversation seemed futile, yet I responded in full. “Hirtus allowed all of us to use his bow and arrows. When he thought I had a talent, he trained me further.”
“And the sword? When did you start to use such an item?”
“My first sword was given to us in payment from farmers whom we helped. Since then, we have been trying to master smithing. We train with each other, hoping to better our skills, but our knowledge is limited.”
“So you are self-taught, and to such a level that you can hold your own against the god of war.”
His words sounded earnest, yet I could not help but scoff internally at such a false compliment. “I believe we both know that what you offered me today was not even a fraction of your power, great god, but I appreciate the kindness.”
He smiled, a glimmer in his eyes. He was a far cry from the thunderous image that had been etched in my mind from birth—a god who was quick to anger, slow to reason, and whom I still feared would appear before me at any moment.
“Otrera, the guidance you have shown your women is extraordinary, and what you are building here is unique and wondrous. But it has not come without guidance. You should know that I have intervened.”
“You have?” I halted, frowning. “When?”
“There have been several instances. There is a nomad you have never met, a woman you believed to have come from Oreia, who led your women to this place. She taught your women to make bricks and told the farmers how to reach you. She does not exist. Except in me.”
Ares had been Zehra? The knowledge was like a key turning in a lock, opening my mind to the realities of all he had done.
Upon my very first visit to Themiscyra, I had thought to myself that the land was like a gift from the gods.
I had simply not realized how directly that gift had been given.
But despite his generosity, the knowledge of what Ares had done riled me.
“You sent men to Themiscyra?”
I could not disguise my disgust, even from him. He knew of my intent, knew this place was sacred to women, yet he had allowed men to trample upon it.
“I have offended you now. I see that,” Ares said, taking a step toward me. “But I needed to see what you were made of. I needed to see if you had the strength to become what I hoped for.”
What he hoped for? My head spun. He had manipulated me. Manipulated us all. I should not have been surprised, for what are we mortals if not playthings of the gods? Yet hearing those words from his lips caused my blood to boil.
“You wished to make us an army for yourself,” I spat. “To do your bidding. To fight your wars. You wanted to make us warriors so that you would have more mortals than ever to sing your praises and offer their orations. That is why you set us on this path.”
“Is it?” he asked.
My words should have been enough to end my life, yet all Ares offered me was a slight smirk. Rather than responding to my accusations or striking me dead, he asked another question.
“Do you know gods can make mortals immortal? It is not easily achieved, and it is the greatest gift we can bestow, but there are other similar blessings.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“We can make time pass for you as it does for the gods. Allow the years to pass as if they were days. Extend a life or lives so that the afflictions of age do not burden the body for centuries.”
He paused and looked at me as if he expected me to respond, yet bemusement left me silent.
I had not imagined eloquence from the god of war, but such fault lay in my own ignorance.
After all, Ares was not just the god of war.
He was also the god of courage and father to Harmonia, the goddess of harmony, who served to soothe discord.
Should I, therefore, have been surprised by Ares’s poise?
As the silence continued to bloom between us, I spoke again.
“My god, these are great gifts indeed, but why are you telling me this?”
He took a step toward me, a single stride that closed the gap between us as if it had been ten paces of a mortal man.
He was so close that I could see the pulsing in his veins, not of blood but of the ichor that the gods possessed.
I could feel my body strengthened by his presence, as if his powers could permeate through the air and into me.
“My fellow gods have a reputation that is well deserved. Zeus, Poseidon. They have seen women they want, mortal or god, and they have taken them regardless of their wishes.”
My grip tightened on my sword as a fresh wave of fear swelled within me. Death I had expected, but not this. Not again.
“I am not like them,” Ares said. “It is not possible to preside over civil order and condone such actions. Besides, I have felt the bliss of true intimacy, the deep connection with one and one alone. I understand the strength that can come from a union, and I know the pain when separation is forced upon you because of another’s jealousy. ”
His face hardened. I knew this love he spoke of. It was likely that every being in the land of the living and the dead did. Aphrodite. The goddess of love.
I do not know how long their affair had lasted; time moved differently for the gods, but it had been long enough for the goddess to birth several of Ares’s children.
I thought of their separation, how they had struggled to stay apart, and my mind went to thoughts of Cleon and the child we had lost. I would never dare to consider my own emotions comparable to that which the gods might feel, but I knew how deeply they burned within me.
I had not realized how long the pause had been until Ares spoke again. His voice was far quieter, softer than I had ever envisioned the god of war’s could be.
“Otrera, I have spoken of time,” he said. “And it has little meaning to me, so I do not ask you this impulsively. As such, I do not expect you to respond impulsively either. Take a year. Take two if that is what you require. Think carefully. I believe my offer will be of great benefit to many.”
“What will?” I asked, unsure what it was he was asking me.
“Our union, Otrera,” he said. “I wish to make you my wife.”