Chapter 30 #3
“I can’t,” I say regretfully. The longer I stay here, the more chance there is of seeing Ares—of his seeing me—and that’s something I need to avoid. “The young ones will be back now,” I say. “I’ll talk to them one more time.”
He unfurls his wings, ready to go. “Tell me later, then, what happens,” he says.
“I will.” I wave him off, and make my way back toward the camp. As always, it’s busy with women tending animals, cooking and working.
When I see the girls hurrying back from their furtive meetings, I move to intercept them before they reach the camp. “Girls,” I say, taking mortal form.
Melo beams. “You came back!”
I rest my hand on her shoulder. “And I see things are the same as when I left.”
She glances at her three companions. “We can’t let them go,” she says.
“And your queen?” I ask.
“We told her,” she says, “that some of us have taken lovers among the men.”
“And?”
“And she warned us it might be a trap.” I can hear the wounded outrage in her voice.
“Some elaborate revenge for our taking their horses. Only if it had been, they would have ambushed us when we went to meet them. If they wanted to lure us away individually so that they could stand a chance against us, well—they’ve had the opportunity. They didn’t take it.”
“Has she forbidden you from going back?” I ask.
The girls shake their heads. “She would never forbid us. Amazons are free to love whoever they like, whenever they choose,” she tells me. “We can take the risk ourselves, but she won’t take it for the tribe. She won’t let them join us.”
I frown. “Is that what you want? For the men to ride alongside you?”
She shrugs. “Why not?”
“Would they follow your queen’s command?” I ask. “Give up their independence?”
She laughs. “Of course they would. At first, he told me that he wanted to marry me.” She rolls her eyes.
“I told him no will ever be a wife. But we don’t turn our sons and brothers out of our group.
Our queen is always telling us how we must survive, how we must keep our legacy alive—how we must always be here, living our lives as free women of the steppes.
Why not allow us to bring along those we love? Or at least stop attacking them.”
I like her fire and her determination. But I can imagine how she’s met her match in her queen. “I told you before, it will be hard to convince her—”
The assault comes without warning, shocking as a thunderstorm from a clear blue sky.
Attackers flood the camp—men, every one of them, but even in the flurry of chaos I can see at once it isn’t the lovestruck Scythians and their brothers.
It’s another tribe, taking revenge for a previous raid or else attracted by the stories of wild women and eager to subdue them.
I’ve seen the Amazons raid the Scythian men and witnessed the warning shower of arrows fired between them. There are no warnings here. Men are rampaging through the tents, horses trampling everything underfoot, their riders swinging swords and axes with murderous intent.
The women react immediately, fast and deadly.
At once, each of them is bristling with blades and weapons, leaping onto their own horses’ backs and charging into battle without a single hesitation.
The girls at my side, a moment ago dreamy with love, are transformed into warriors, grabbing spears with breathtaking speed and sprinting past me without a word.
The Scythian men, who despite their best efforts haven’t gained much distance, hear the commotion and act almost as fast. This is the moment: this is what I promised in the dreams I sent them—their chance to prove themselves to the Amazons and end the enmity between them at last. Those that still have horses gallop toward the fray, others running in their wake, brandishing swords and spears.
I see some of the women gesturing them toward the stolen horses, urging them to mount their former steeds.
There’s no question of the Amazons needing rescue, but nor will they turn down a supporting force to dispatch their enemies more quickly.
And these enemies aren’t going down without a fight.
They’re warriors of the steppes too, vicious and brutal.
I see an dislodged from her horse. She crashes to the ground, her arm twisting underneath her.
I won’t allow this to happen. This won’t be Phaon all over again.
I’m not a war-goddess, but I’m descended from those who were.
In my veins, I feel the stirring of my foremothers: my ancestral goddesses, possessed of voracious appetites for sex and death, for love and war, those who lusted for blood and passion and were unconquerable and insatiable in all their desires.
Goddesses who ruled the worlds beyond and before Olympus, ancient and terrible.
It’s their fury that courses through me now, alongside my own.
I have kept myself unseen until this moment, but now I stride forwards into the fray, flinging attacking warriors to the side like dolls.
I hold back just enough of my radiance so it doesn’t burn them to ashes as they cower, dazed with terror.
They can be in no doubt that they have roused a goddess—one who towers above them on their battlefield, bright and dazzling with rage.
The invaders shrink back, staring at their comrades tossed aside in my wake. They lurch and stumble before me, crying out in fear, and I raise my hand. I’ll give them one chance to flee and save their sorry lives.
Just at that moment, a blood-curdling war-cry rings through the air, one I can never forget. The sun is blotted out by the approach of a black chariot, its midnight-hued horses panting flames through the air.
The Amazons shriek with glee.
I could bring this to an end right in front of him. I could stop this war before it really begins. The attackers will run from me the moment I order them.
But this isn’t my battle.
It belongs to the Amazons.
Their god has arrived, and, under his approving eye, they finish it.