Young Warriors by Tamora Pierce Page B

degree from UC Berkeley was in political science with an emphasis on Africa, but that emphasis soon moved back in time. When she relocated to London, newly married to Robert Service, her field of study was ancient African history. She completed her master’s degree and spent a season in Sudan on an excavation at Meroe, the ancient capital of Kush.
    Returning to the United States, Pam and Bob settled in Bloomington, Indiana, where she went into museum work and politics. During seventeen years as a museum curator, twenty years on the City Council, and the raising of daughter Alexandra, Pam also channeled her many interests and her love of the unlikely into writing for young people. She has by now published twenty books and numerous short stories and articles—a mix of history, fantasy, and science fiction. Today Pam lives in Eureka, California, where she continues her work as a museum curator, a political activist, and a writer for young people.
    Her story “Lioness” combines her own experiences and studies of Sudanese archaeology with her desire to create fiction that shines light on the events, myths, and personalities of the past. Much in this story happened, much might have happened; the joy of fiction is the freedom to interweave the two.

THUNDERBOLT
    Esther Friesner
    HE TOOK ME TO ATHENS. I hate Athens. It sprawls like a bird-dropping over some of the meanest, least promising land in all of Greece. Just about the only things its fields can raise are olives, vases, and philosophers. He carried me up the narrow pathway to the citadel where the royal palace stands and set me down by the courtyard well, then took a step back and grinned as if he’d given me half of Mount Olympos for a birthday present. I wonder whether he wore that same self-serving grin right after he killed the Minotaur? No matter what he did, Theseus, king of Athens, was always so very proud of himself.
    â€œWelcome home, Helen!” he declared, spreading his arms wide. He’d sent a runner ahead to announce our arrival, so there was a crowd assembled to greet us—slaves, guards, servants, and others who had no choice in the matter. They all sent up a small, dutiful cheer. Only Theseus’ mother, Lady Aithra, sounded as if she meant it.
    I looked around. I wasn’t impressed, and I didn’t mind saying so. “What a midden. I thought you were bringing me to the royal palace of Athens.”
    Theseus scowled at me. “This
is
the royal palace,” he said. There was something dangerous in his voice, but I was still too angry to pay attention to things like that.
    â€œHunh!” I snorted as loudly as my favorite mare. “In Sparta, we’d use a place like this to stable the king’s third-best horses.”
    That was the first time he slapped me. He hit hard. I staggered back from the blow, and I think I would have tripped on the hem of my gown and taken a tumble if not for Lady Aithra. She moved with the grace and silence of shadow, suddenly there at my back to catch me. My face stung and tears tried to escape my eyes, but I reminded myself that I was Helen, princess of Sparta, and that it didn’t matter if I was only fourteen years old, this man would never see me cry.
    â€œChild, apologize.” Lady Aithra’s voice was soft and gentle, but I could hear the urgency behind her words. She knew her son’s nature better than I did. My mother, Queen Leda, often complained I was a hasty girl, prone to act first and think afterward, but this time she would have been proud of me: I fought back my first impulse, which was to spit in Theseus’ eye. Instead I bowed my head, just as if I were some spineless little slave girl.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said, staring at my dusty feet.
    He didn’t respond right away. He must have imagined that I meant my apology, that I really was afraid of him. I’m sure he drew out his silence because he thought it would make me squirm. He