by Nancy Holder
But one look from her mother told Diana that today was not that day.
3
After seven mortal years of secret training, Diana had made considerable gains. Not only had she grown in size and strength, but she had begun to be able to anticipate Antiope’s intentions from her stance, her repertoire of moves, and what the general perceived as her own personal strengths. Diana couldn’t always put this understanding to use, and there was still frustration when she wasn’t quite quick enough to take advantage or when her footwork still required effort.
Case in point: the two of them were in the middle of a training session among the pines, swords clanging, sparks flying. Antiope was on the attack, hammering with forehand and backhand slashes. Diana could not spin away; she could only retreat, shielding herself from the blows by meeting the general’s sword with her own.
“You keep doubting yourself, Diana,” Antiope growled as she drove Diana back, step after step.
“No, I don’t,” Diana said defiantly, grunting out each syllable as she parried the rain of blows.
“Yes, you do,” Antiope countered.
“No, I don’t,” Diana insisted.
Antiope pressed even harder, doubling the number of strikes, forcing Diana to stumble as she retreated. Her legs tangled under her and she went down hard on her backside.
“But you must dig deeper or you will never find your inner power,” Antiope said. “You’re stronger than you believe…”
“Diana!” a voice cried.
Heart pounding, Diana scrambled to her feet as Hippolyta rode toward her with her retinue of guards in tow. Oh, no, we’ve finally been caught. Diana had thought their secret would be safe forever. She and Antiope had always been so careful.
The Queen climbed down from her saddle, furious. “Are you hurt?”
“Mother, I’m fine,” Diana said. “I was just…”
“Training,” Hippolyta finished for her. Her mother turned to Antiope and said, “It seems I am not the revered Queen I should be. Disobeyed, betrayed by my own sister…”
“No, Mother,” Diana interrupted. “It was me. I asked her to…”
The Queen nodded at her guards. “Take her to the palace,” she said. Then, less sternly, “Off you go.”
Crestfallen, Diana allowed herself to be led away, remembering a time long ago when she had ridden on her mother’s saddle to be deposited back in her schoolroom. As she passed by her aunt, the two locked gazes. Antiope silently reassured her, but in truth, Antiope wasn’t her usual confident self.
* * *
“You left me no choice, Hippolyta,” the general said when her niece had been taken out of earshot. “You neglect your duty if she cannot fight.”
“You speak of a time that may never come,” the Queen countered. “He may never return. He could have died of his wounds.”
Antiope’s eyes flashed. “Ares is still alive. You feel it as I do—in your bones. He is out there. And it’s only a matter of time before he returns.”
“The stronger she gets…” Hippolyta began, and Antiope saw the real fear in her eyes. Antiope softened, no longer worried for herself. The Queen wasn’t truly angry. She was afraid.
“Hippolyta, I love her as you do. But this is the only way to truly protect her.”
The Queen looked away for a moment. Antiope knew how to read her sister. It was clear that her words had had an effect, and that Hippolyta was terribly torn. Diana was a member of the royal family, and no fiercer warriors dwelled on Themyscira. To be the only one who didn’t know how to fight—no matter the reason—was humiliating to the princess, at the very least. And at the worst? Highly dangerous. Antiope prepared to say all this to her sister.
Hippolyta stayed silent. Then the Queen turned to Antiope, resolved. “You will train her harder than every Amazon before her,” she ground out. Emotion ran deep through her words.
“Hippolyta…” Do not worry. Do not fear, Antiope wanted to tell her. This was hard for her sister, very hard.
“Five times harder—ten times harder until she is better than even you.” Antiope nodded and would have spoken, but Hippolyta continued. “She must never know the truth about what she is and how she came to be.”
Antiope dipped her head, sealing a wordless vow. They were of one mind again. The sisters both loved Diana, and they both wanted what was best for her. They both knew that she was unaware of her true heritage.
And they both prayed she would never have cause to find out what it was.
* * *
Years passed.
The training grounds echoed with the sounds of combat. The Amazons were out in full force, reveling in their ferocious strength. At one end of the field, a striking young woman with braided dark hair ran at full speed, did a perfect shoulder roll, and came onto her feet with bow drawn, arrow loaded and nocked. The bowstring released and with a sizzling sound the arrow flew halfway across the expanse, high over the heads of the other fighters, arcing up into the blue sky until it vanished, then reappearing as it fell—a rainbow that ended dead center on the painted straw target being dragged at a gallop.
Diana, Princess of Themyscira, glanced up to the hillside, where her mother observed on horseback with her cortège.
Diana drew her sword. Ahead a gauntlet of Amazons awaited her. Her skin already glazed with perspiration, she immediately attacked in a frenzy, sword flashing in the sun. With each one down, another came at her. She deflected heavy blows, absorbing them until her assailant ran out of steam. Her current opponent pressed against her, their blades locked at the handgrips, straining practically nose to nose. For an instant, neither could gain ground.
Over the woman’s shoulder, Diana saw Artemis crossing the field at a trot, carrying an axe, eager to join in the fight against her. Suddenly the prospect of two Amazons at once loomed and the idea thrilled her. Seeing that help was on the way out of the corner of her eye, her opponent relaxed. That was all it took. Diana spun out of the deadlock, turning her back on the flatfooted adversary just long enough to coil into a wind up. She smashed the metal arm guard of her sword hand against the side of the Amazon’s helmet, which went flying. The clang of the blow resounded across the field and the Amazon’s knees buckled. Diana saw her eyes roll back in her head. As the defeated warrior hit the ground face first, limp but most definitely only stunned, Diana was ready to meet the onrushing Artemis.
Her teeth bared, the Amazon’s most accomplished brawler attacked with an overhand slash of the axe that Diana blocked with her sword. The sheer power of the impact sent electric tingles down the backs of both legs, but her knees held. She easily caught the next backhanded blow, which seemed to come at half speed, as if her opponent was slicing through heavy syrup. Artemis clearly couldn’t produce the same momentum standing still.
Letting the next swing whoosh past, Diana slammed hard into Artemis’s elbow, making her wince and stagger away. For a second she seemed to lose her grip on the axe handle, then caught it. The older woman’s eyes widened as Diana circled away, smiling. If Artemis wanted to keep her status as the strongest warrior, she had a fight on her hands.
Once again, everything slowed down for Diana. Without looking down, she could sense the other woman’s points of balance, the relative weight on either foot, the tension in her legs. The positioning of her arms and weapon reduced the number of possible attack strategies to a handful. And when Artemis made her move to resume the attack, those possibilities dwindled even further.
The all-out charge, the sharp crash of metal on metal, then the quick drop for a leg sweep—Diana knew what she was going to do at the same moment she did. The leg sweep cut through empty air as Diana pressed down and jumped, drawing her knees up to her chest. Then she simply rolled off Artemis’s shield, landing on the balls of her feet facing her opponent. Artemis slammed the side of the axe against Diana’s head. Dizziness rushed through her, but she tamped it down.
Others watched in respectful silence as Artemis feigned another attack, lunging with raised a
xe only to stop short, obviously trying to figure out Diana’s instinctive reaction.
But there was none. Diana knew the rush was a fake because she could read the tension in Artemis’s body—she was holding back.
They began to circle one another, weapons lowered, bodies taut and predatory, like lionesses. Daring each other to begin the fight. Something had to break.
Diana was ready for it when it did.
Instead of a straightforward attack, Artemis chose a flashier approach, with 360-degree spins and axe slashes coming from all angles. Diana answered every attack and prepared for a full-on assault. It came, and at the end, Artemis’s axe fell to the ground as Diana disarmed her. Diana pointed her sword at her and Artemis lowered her head in submission. She had been bested.
But Diana’s trials were not over. Now Antiope came at her from the right side with drawn sword. There was no time to think, only to react.
It was absolutely wonderful.
Sparks flew from the edges of their blades as Diana met the attack with measured strikes of her own. The intensity of her teacher’s assault surprised her. For the first time in all their years of training, Antiope was committed to sheer domination. They circled each other in a predatory dance, parrying each other’s thrusts. One mistake, a slip, could mean serious injury. A blunt sword edge could still split a skull or break an arm.
“Harder, Diana!” Antiope growled, lunging at her. “You’re stronger than this. Again!”
And Diana answered; she found a deep well and inside it, the steady thrumming of her own heart. It was a warrior’s heart—the very core of her essence. The flow of combat slowed to a crawl, and her sword seemed to weigh nothing, the very force of gravity weakened.
She moved with a speed and with power that clearly surprised Antiope, even though she’d asked for it. Diana drove her teacher backward with a blinding series of forehands and backhands. And the power behind the blows made Antiope grimace. Again and again the sword strikes rained down. Diana hammered the hand guard of her sword so hard that the weapon flew out of Antiope’s hand and cartwheeled through the air. Standing tall, she pointed the tip of her sword at the general, who raised her hands in surrender. Lowering her weapon, Diana turned to her mother, eyes beaming, anticipating the approval that was certainly now her due.
Out of nowhere a crushing blow struck her in the temple and sent her flying. Weaving, she swayed on her armor-shod feet, fighting to keep balance as stars burst behind her eyelids.
Then Antiope attacked again. “Never let your guard down,” she said. “You expect a battle to be fair. A battle will never be fair.”
Antiope hacked and slashed at her. The general knocked Diana’s sword out of her fingers. Diana staggered backwards, then fell to her knees and crossed her arms protectively over her chest to block the blows of the onslaught, her bracelets clanging together.
Boooooossshhhh!
They sizzled; then, like a secret door opened in the center of her being, a field of pure energy blasted forth. The air rippled and shone. The impact of the force knocked Antiope off her feet and made Diana stumble backwards. For a second, it was like looking at the world through a golden lens, and then the image faded.
* * *
On the cliff top, Hippolyta’s world changed forever. Her eyes wide, her heart seizing, she murmured to herself, “What have I done?”
* * *
In the field, Diana stared at her bracelets, the release of unthinkable power. What had just happened? The assembled crowd stood frozen by what they had just seen; no one spoke. She wanted to tell them how incredible it had felt—the raw power, the thrill of it. She opened her mouth—
“What have you done?” Hippolyta cried, breaking the silence.
Diane looked to Antiope and saw blood streaming from a cut on her forehead as an Amazon attended her. The general looked dazed. Stunned and amazed, Diana started to back away.
“Wait, Diana. Wait,” Antiope said, in an attempt to calm her.
“I’m sorry,” Diana said. She was amazed. And excited. What had just happened? She took a step toward her aunt. Antiope held up a hand as if to wave her off.
Diana looked around. Everyone was staring at her. She turned to her mother and saw tension in her face.
Fear of her?
No, Mother. This is power. Amazon power, she wanted to tell her. This is something incredible—for us.
Diana backed away, then dashed up a grassy embankment. She ran to the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. The winds gusted around her as she stared at her open palms. What secret had she unlocked? What door had she opened? She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky as deep within her, she sensed a vibrant strength, something new. It was as if she had completed an altogether different rite of initiation than what had played out on the training field. She opened her hands and studied them. Where had that power come from?
Then she heard another strange sound—a sawing buzz that grew louder and softer as if it, too, was buffeted by the sea wind. As she peered upward, the sky itself seemed to bubble and shimmer—and then a large object manifested as if out of thin air. It had a pair of wings like a gigantic bird. A tawny yellow bird. It was flying erratically, dipping up and down, veering from side to side, and smoke trailed from its tail.
As the object began to angle in a sickening dive towards the water, she saw what looked like a human figure restrained inside it. Before the person could get clear, the object crashed into the sea, throwing up a plume of white foam.
Without a second of hesitation, Diana bounded upward off the cliff, arched into the sky, and knifed through hundreds of feet of empty air. She splashed neatly into the waves, propelling herself through the ocean depths as object and passenger sank rapidly toward the bottom.
* * *
I’m outgunned and outrun, the pilot thought, tugging at his shoulder strap. It would not release. At least I caused some damage before I died.
When he couldn’t jump clear before impact, he sank back into the cockpit, grabbed the joystick, and braced himself. The downward view of the sea over the side of the machine gun tilted madly as his air speed spiked. The German Fokker Eindecker fuselage was made of sheet metal, stronger than the coated linen of the British fighter planes, but no plane was designed to absorb a nosedive crash.
At the very last second he pulled back on the stick with both gloved hands. As the nose struggled to rise, g-forces slammed him into the seat, the monoplane fuselage vibrated violently, and even before he hit the water, the sheet metal rivets began popping out—it sounded like small-caliber gunfire.
On impact he was slammed forward and lost consciousness for a second. The cold water pouring into the cockpit woke him with a start. Looking to either side, he realized the plane was sinking with him in it. He pushed down on the release catch of the seat restraint again. It was still jammed. Behind him there was a shrill creak, then another. When he looked back he saw a deep fissure in the metal near the tail widening, then the tail broke free of the fuselage. Its flotation was the only thing keeping the plane above water. With the engine as an anchor, the nose, then the wings of the ruined aircraft slipped under the surface. He managed to suck down a deep breath of air an instant before he sank into the depths. Light above him grew dimmer and dimmer.
But I’m not done yet, he thought. I’ve got to get to London.
Through the haze of ocean, oxygen-starved, he looked up in frustration at the surface. Even as he fought to hold his breath, the dark and the cold closed in on him. As his eyes fluttered shut he felt a sudden rush of warmth. He opened them again. A woman was staring right at him, practically nose to nose.
An angel come to take me home.
* * *
In the water, grabbing hold of the padded edge of the opening where the human occupant was trapped, Diana pulled herself closer as the wreck was sucked down. She couldn’t tell if the person was alive or dead. The eyes were closed. Though great bubbles were escaping from inside the contraption, no air came
from the nose or mouth. Reaching way into the opening, she took hold of an armpit, and bracing her legs against the side of the thing, ripped free. The wreckage continued to sink, disappearing beneath her as she kicked, pulling the limp body to the surface. A bag of some kind trailed behind.
As they bobbed in the sunlight one thing was certain: it wasn’t an Amazon she had saved. The person was wearing a full body suit of heavy material with a fur collar and long gloves. Adjusting her grip, she rolled onto her back and began towing the unresisting body towards the shoreline.
4
Capture the pilot at all costs.
That was the order from Command. Four wooden launches had been deployed from the Schwaben, the battleship sent to track the plane to… where? It seemed to have disappeared into thin air.
The German soldier riding in the bow of the first boat squinted ahead but could see nothing except fog and water. The sputtering buzz of the plane had become their only beacon. He glanced back at the other soldiers hunched on the boat’s bench seats, lanterns up, with heads lowered.
Then the tone of the buzz changed; the sputtering grew worse. The soldier heard a faint whine. Growing louder. Then a whomp as it hit the water. The plane had crashed! Perhaps two hundred feet directly in front of them, but maybe closer—the fog played tricks with sound.
The soldiers in the boat let out a cheer. The tillerman gunned the boat’s motor, maintaining course. They had to reach the aircraft before it sank and all was lost. The other following behind sped up too, keeping each other well in sight.
Leaning out over the bow, the soldier strained to see some sign of the wreck. He reached over the side to touch the tail and his hand disappeared into something that wasn’t fog, more like a glittering smoke. When he jerked his hand away, just for a second he got a glimpse of something ahead, as if a curtain had been ripped away—a beautiful island with tall trees, cliffs, and a broad beach. Then the fog closed in and it was gone.
He shook his head to clear it. No such island existed; there was nothing but open sea for hundreds of miles. Perhaps his overtaxed eyes were playing tricks on him? He looked back at the tillerman, who apparently hadn’t seen anything.