Hippolyta stood her ground. The sword in her hand was heavy, though she held it ready, for her arm was but tired from many hours of battle. Her will was mighty, and though she could not deny the imperfections of her mortal body, she knew she would stand until her dying breath if she must.
"Come, woman," cried the madman who bore a long spear in one hand and a guttering torch aloft in the other. "Take your rightful place! Before me, on your knees!"
He leered at her, his wide smile little more than a broad baring of teeth.
"The War God commands it!" he bellowed, flicks of spittle flying and drilling his chin.
Hippolyta glared with more heat and hate than she had ever laid upon any man, "You are no Ares! There is no God's Grace about you, no touch of the Divine in your move or flesh. You have butchered my sisters for sport, for more game and less gain, and these senseless murders are on your head! By Hera, you shall pay for your crimes against the Amazons! You will pay, and you will die."
She rushed him, her sword clutched in both hands, though only the remnants of her broken shield still hung at her wrist. She turned her weapon downward, catching the spear perfectly upon her blade. Driving in, she turned the spear to sweep aimlessly above her head as she scored down the shaft, her sword coming to bear at his head. The instant before she could reach his manic face, he punched the torch at her like a blade, twisting it up and under her hunched torso, catching her below the breastplate, and with a sudden and horrifying swiftness, her undertunic caught flame.
The fire licked up her skin, charring and searing as it went, leaving her writhing, the heat burning the very air so that her lungs began to blacken as she breathed.
She rolled, the loose dirt shifting, and she grabbed great fistfuls and tried to smother the flames. Finally, she extinguished the fire, rolling onto her back to not weigh upon her burns. It was then that the madman's blow fell. Ignoring her breastplate, he drove low, cruelly and purposeful striking his spear down through her abdomen, right where a child would be bore.
"You and your kind are weak," he said through clenched teeth, his eyes goggling. "You are nothing but a lowly whore who is best suited beneath me. Though I will settle for putting you between my boot."
Hippolyta glared around her cries of pain and the trickle of blood she coughed forth. With no wasted effort, she drove her sword to the hilt into his eye.
"I think you'll find," she gasped, "that you are beneath me, filth."
She threw his limp body to the side as he fell, the spear still within her. She could neither move nor properly breathe, for the tip had exited her back and pinned her to the earth. She laid for what seemed an age, her mind sharp with the pain and numb to the world for loss of blood. She knew only that the battle raged on around her, and that she could not assist her sisters as she yearned desperately to. At long last, she was visited by her shield sisters, her seconds in battle, who brought her aid.
The healers came, but there was little hope. They drew out the spear and closed the wound as best they could, but the smell was telling and soon talk turned to ending her suffering.
"Hera will provide," intoned Hippolyta.
After their first attempt to give her drink, they desisted when she spat it back up, mixed with more blood than water. They did not attempt food, and her bandages were changed as soon as they were soiled through, which was often. And still, through it all, through the eventually shakes, the fever, the pallor that robbed her of life's luster, Hippolyta intoned, "Hera shall provide."
A day slipped away, and then a second, and a third. The intoned words became quieter, less coherent, the sickness raging, leaving little chance at life. Upon the third night, while her handlers and healers slept, even the hopeless watcher, Hippolyta pulled herself from her bed. She pulled away the bedding that had plastered itself to her wounds, as though imploring her to stay, and walked, trembling and staggering and occasionally falling, out of the tent they had erected around her. She spent many hours forcing her way down to the beach, where water joined earth.
"I know you have not forsaken me, Great Hera," Hippolyta breathed. "I come to your place, the place where Amazons are born, to the place where you are strongest, so that you may work your will, should I be worthy."
She dug a birthing rut, soft sand that is yet still rough, as was the rite and the right first experience for warrior women or their sons. With hands she could barely control, she pushed a large amount of sand back within the rut and sculpted it, giving it a newborn's shape. Despite her unsure hands, the child's visage was cherubic and wondrous, taking Hippolyta's breath away. She pressed a finger into her wound, suppressing her cry as she found fresh flowing blood, and with the gentleness of a kiss upon fresh born flesh, touched the blood upon the child's forehead. The star-shaped smear soaked into the sand, and Hippolyta lifted her creation upwards toward the heavens, which remained miraculously intact for being naught by wet sand.
There was a sound upon the wind, as though of distant birdsong, and as the rich sound fell away, so did the cast of sand from about the daughter in her hands.
She had a wash of dark hair, very lustrous and with a noticeable wave even though it was so short. Her eyes shone like the brilliant sky on a clear day over the sea, and though she was but only born, she had thin rows of flawless teeth.
Hippolyta bared her breast, marred and cracked and waxy with her burns though it was. And yet, milk dribbled, and the child suckled with innocent acceptance at the garish flesh.
Tying the child to her chest, Hippolyta stood with renewed strength.
"Great Hera," she spoke again, her voice sure and impassioned, "I ask of only one last favor, should that it cost me my life; for the life of my daughter and my warriors, grant us a refuge from all men, so that we may practice our ways and yours in peace and without harassment."
There was a long moment of silence, and then, with a rending that shook the very world, a portal appeared, showing a way to an island that could not but be called paradise.
In a trice, Hippolyta returned to her sisters in arms and roused them from sleep. All saw her returned vigor and her child and could see the touch of Hera at work and held all question, following her commands for breaking camp and departure.
As they approached the beach, they marveled at the way to their new home, as much as at the island itself. Without hesitation, they marched through, and as they embarked upon the opposing beach, the way closed behind them.
Those that were wounded, save for Hippolyta herself, slept on as the camp was set, once again just off the beach. She led the exploration party, which marched for the rest of the night and the following day, but had not found the island's other end. What they did find was everything they could have asked for.
The island was vibrant with life. Any plant that could be asked for in terms of food, medicine, remedy, or material was present and abundant. Any animal they might employee was there, and any animal they might hunt for food, any predator to test their might and cull the weak from the wild herds was also present. Every desirable landscape was abounding, fresh water from clean springs, ample swimming holes, fields to be farmed, space for villages and arenas, mountains to climb, jungles to explore, beaches to run, any and all was provided.
"Praise Hera," each whispered as they passed each new wonder. But as they found a chief and central site that could easily house a village amidst a particularly desirable local dense with all they could desire., they stopped their exploration for a time and turned back to gather the rest of their people.
While their supplies were meager and the wounded moved slowly, they were able to forage as they went and found their way to the land that was to be their home. The herbs and medicines they procured and used were hardy and sped their recoveries, and everyone took a hand in the work. The land was tilled, huts were built and then steadily replaced by more enduring homes. Buildings for crafts and trades were made, and impermanent housing was set up for schooling as well as fighting. Storage was created, animals tamed and healers began their tutelage. Everything was well.
It was nearly six months time when Hippolyta stood, watching the new forge being bricked that was of sufficient quality to begin work on the temple that had yet to be built when she looked down and found her daughter walking towards the workers. She had gained her independence and thus was to be named. And, as was the way of the Amazons, was named with a mothers necessity to give voice to who the child was by calling to her at the distance that there was now between them, making her freely known to all. Hippolyta called intuitively and without forethought.
"Diana!" she said with the authority to halt a horse. "Return this way."
And Diana did, as she did most things, with a smile.