Wonder Woman: Warbringer (DC Icons #1)(110)

They will never know, said the Oracle. It will be as if you never left. Come, Diana. Come home.

Home. The images were bright in her mind. The trumpet flowers climbing the window outside of her bedroom. The palace kitchens bustling with life. The woods with their vast trees, where she and Maeve had spent long hours exploring. The northern shore with its cliffs and secret coves. The cliffs she knew better than anyone, where she’d first heard Alia’s cry for help.

Alia. To whom she’d sworn an oath. As I breathe, your enemies will know no sanctuary. While I live, your cause is mine. That vow was unbreakable, as binding as the golden lasso.

Diana thought of Ben, who had piloted the jet with such calm assurance, facing down assailants he knew were better armed; of Alia’s parents, who had tried to make a better world. She thought of her pinky twined with Nim’s; of Theo picking up a sword, though he had no idea how to wield it. The Amazons were her people, but these had become her people, too. She had to find a way to protect them.

These people, these mortals—fragile, foolish, brave beyond all common sense—deserved a chance at peace. It was not too late. The sun had not yet set.

Daughter, said Athena, we see your good heart. But this cannot be.

Please, Diana begged. Let me remain.

No, said the goddess, and her voice was stern.

But from the first moment she’d met Alia, Diana had refused to do as she was told. Why start now?

Give me another chance, she pleaded. What was she asking? What price would the gods demand? Give Theo and Nim another chance.

This is not possible. Their moment is past.

You are goddesses, Diana said, taking her courage in hand. You decide what’s possible.

You bargain for the lives of mortals? A different voice this time, clear as a horn calling the hunt. Why?

They are my soldiers, said Diana. I can’t win this battle alone.

And these are the warriors you choose? that clear, cold voice asked, her amusement rippling like moonlight.

Another voice spoke, sweet as a lyre. If the girl wishes to make a foolish choice, she would not be the first.

Then if we are to bargain, said another, let us name our terms. What do you have to offer, Daughter of Earth?

Nothing. She had nothing with which to barter for her friends’ lives. No trinkets or vows to offer, no worthy sacrifice. But that wasn’t quite true, was it? She had the gift she’d just been given. She could risk her own life, her own future.

Think, Daughter, said the Oracle, once more the golden-helmed general. Think what you will be giving up for the sake of these mortals, these brief, impossible creatures.

But Diana didn’t need to think anymore.

I offer my life as an Amazon. If I fail to stop this war, if I die at Jason’s hand, I relinquish my right to return to the island.

You would go to your true death? said the Oracle.

Yes.

A chorus rose: a thousand languages, the voices of a thousand goddesses, all the deities who had entrusted their daughters to the sanctuary of Themyscira, all who knew what war would bring.

Then, abruptly, the Oracle went silent. The goddesses waged their arguments in private, and all Diana could do was wait. An age passed. A bare second.

Athena spoke, and Diana heard both pride and caution in her voice. We will answer your entreaties. Your compatriots will have their chance and so will you. Seek victory, and should you find it, return to your sisters as a true Amazon. But heed us, Daughter of Earth—you have bartered the last of your chances.

Diana felt a tremor of fear at these words. The gods did not deal in favors. There was always a price.

Here are the terms of our bargain: Should you die in the World of Man a second time, you will pass on to the Underworld as mortals do. You will never see Themyscira’s shores, or your mother or your sisters again. Athena paused. Do you understand, Diana? Your life will end. There can be no backward step. We will not intercede on your behalf. Speak not our names to plead for mercy.

Diana thought of exiled Nessa standing on the shore, stripped of her armor, as the earth shook and the winds howled. She remembered the poet’s words: What can we say of her suffering, except that it was brief?

Diana had made her choice with that first leap from a high cliff, with that first plunge into the sea. Her mother and her sisters had chosen to turn their backs on the World of Man, to build a new world with peace at its heart. Their work is done, thought Diana. But mine is just beginning.

This is my fight, she told the Oracle. Let me claim it.

A sound like thunder rent the air with a crack.

Diana gasped for breath—the roar of the storm was the pounding of her heart, echoing in her ears as her body filled with blood, her lungs with air. Her eyes flew open. She saw gray water, reeds. She inhaled, and water flooded her nostrils. She remembered her arms, her legs, forced herself to turn over and sit up, coughing.

The air around her seemed to snap with electricity.

Demeter lifted her hand, and the reeds along the riverbank grew taller, sheltering them from view.

Hera knelt beside Nim. The goddess cradled her head in her lap, straightening the angle of Nim’s neck as Aphrodite dipped a shell into the river and sprinkled its contents over Nim’s limp form. Nim’s chest began to rise. She blinked once, twice, sat up in shock, water streaming from her hair, looking around frantically, but the goddesses were gone.

Over Theo’s wound, Hestia’s fingers dripped fire, and as the flames touched the cleft the sword had made in his side, the flesh knit together, smooth and unscarred. Artemis drew an arrow from her quiver, ghostly and glowing as if forged of moonlight. She drove it into Theo’s chest, and he twitched, gasping as his heart began to beat once more. His eyes flew open, and he scrambled backward on his hands, reaching for a weapon, seeking his attackers.