Ambrosia

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  “A clerical error on the part of my office, I’m afraid. I never should have employed satyrs. Filthy goat-people. It seems that you were listed in the system as already deceased. Well, you can imagine how long it will take to get that reversed.”

  “I’m legally dead?”

  “Technically, as a non-resident you were never alive. For now you are deceased, but we should have your file updated within eight months or so. In the meantime, let’s look at transferring your credits.”

  He took out his quill and tapped it against his slimy tongue. “So, tell me, which champion academy did you graduate from?”

  Storgen grabbed a stack of the papers and squinted, trying to make sense of them through the haze. “So, will any of those actually teach me how to fight?”

  Nyfitsa blinked. “Well, no, but that’s hardly the point, now, is it?”

  Storgen looked around at the nurses mulling about in their short skirts. In a chair beside his bed, he found a person sleeping within a bundle of blankets. The tuft of leafy green hair and goggles poking out the top told him who it was.

  “Is that Philiastra?”

  Nyfitsa looked over. “Oh yes, the nymph, she’s been here since you were brought in. Good thing, too. The apothecaries were at a loss in how to treat you. The auto-sutures wouldn’t work, the synthetic skin wouldn’t adhere. Most of them hadn’t applied a bandage by hand since medical school, but she showed them how.”

  He adjusted his glasses. “It’s strange; she never left your side.”

  Storgen smiled affectionately. “It’s not strange at all, it’s just who she is.”

  Philiastra began to stir.

  Storgen turned back to the bald little man. “Well, this all sounds wonderful.”

  “Doesn’t it, though?”

  “I can’t tell you how excited I am. Textbooks and wax seals and thesis papers about statues. Riveting. I tell you what, you go and wait at the academy, and I’ll get dressed and leave.”

  Nyfitsa clapped his hands. “Wonderful. I’ll see you there.”

  As soon as he left, Storgen kicked Philiastra with his foot.

  “Mmmm?”

  “Phili, get up. Help me get dressed. I gotta get outta here.”

  Philiastra looked up sleepily, drool dripping down her chin. “What happened?”

  “I woke up with a big leech on my chest.”

  “Ewww.”

  “It’s okay, he’s gone for now, but he’ll be back.”

  Philiastra stretched and yawned adorably. “I knew you’d wake up. Your head is so thick I think it might be solid bone.”

  Storgen winced as he tried to sit up.

  “Careful, careful,” she warned, reaching underneath his arms. “You were burned really bad. You must be in unbearable pain.”

  “Nah, I’m fine. Just a few more scars to add to the collection.”

  She helped him sit up and his body flinched. Though he made no noise, she could see his midsection trembling even through the bandages.

  She looked at him sympathetically. “You don’t have to hide it, you know?”

  “Hide what? Did you see the other guy? I kicked his teeth in. He’ll be the laughingstock of his tribe till the end of time.”

  Storgen feigned to stretch, but then thought better of it. “I feel great.”

  Pursing her lips, she crawled closer and poked him in the side.

  “Ahhh!”

  “See? You are in pain.”

  “Of course I am, you’re sitting on my broken hand.”

  She looked down at his cast. “Ah! Sorry!”

  He pulled his hand free and shook it. “You’re so heavy.”

  “You don’t say that to a girl!”

  She tried to slug him in the shoulder, but he caught her wrist with his good hand.

  She backed away and began rummaging around for some clothes. “When did you break your hand, anyway?”

  “That first punch, when I got him in the snout. It was like punching a brick wall.”

  She looked back. “You mean, when you struck his elbow it was with a broken wrist?”

  “Ha! So you did watch my match, after all.”

  She blushed in embarrassment. “No, I didn’t. I just heard about it, that’s all.”

  She handed him a folded up robe, unwilling to look him in the eyes.

  “Aren’t nymphs supposed to wither up if they lie or something?” he asked.

  “Well, since I’m full and leafy, I must be telling the truth.”

  “Yeah, uh huh, sure,” he teased, unfolding the garment.

  She knelt there quietly while he pulled the robe over his bandages. It felt weird putting on citizen’s clothes. It didn’t feel right, even though he knew it was the proper attire for him now. He had trouble with the fox-crested clasps over each shoulder.

  “Here, let me help you,” she offered.

  Gently, she affixed the clasps, straightening the material of the stola, then draped the palla over one shoulder. There was such a soothing melody to her presence, an air of comfort she brought into his world.

  He slipped into a pair of waiting sandals and put his arms out. “Well, how do I look?”

  He really was a stallion of a man when all dressed up. The palla showed off his broad shoulders and muscular arms, and the silken cloth contrasted well with his tanned and rugged features. Even his bandages looked fetching in this light, like a statue of a victorious hero returned from war.

  “Well?” he asked again.

  She realized she had been gawking at him, and looked away. “You look like you always do.”

  “Ah, well that’s a relief.”

  She looked up at him with admiration in her green eyes. “You were pretty cool out there, you know? I mean, normally you’re just a big dummy with a head full of fluff, completely unmanly. But this time, yeah, that was about the manliest thing I ever saw.”

  Storgen reached out and gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder.

  “Thanks, Phili,” he said sincerely. “You’ve always been a real friend to me.”

  She looked down in disappointment. “Friend, huh?”

  “Well sure, what else would you be?”

  She sighed. “All right, let’s help you up.”

  As they made their way out into the hall, Piers and a number of Ambera’s guards came running up.

  “Sir, I was sent to retrieve you.”

  Storgen stared at him for a moment. “O-Oh, you mean me?”

  “Who else would I mean?”

  “I’m not used to being called ‘sir.’ Did you bring the new issue of Epoch?”

  “Yep, got it right here,” Piers said, handing the scroll over.

  “Oh, sweet, you got the variant cover.”

  Philiastra turned her nose at it. “A real woman’s waist would snap standing in a pose like that.”

  “Killjoy.”

  “Sir, Scythe requests an audience with you immediately.”

  Storgen sniffed. “Can she do that?”

  “Well, yes sir. A champion is second in authority only to the goddess herself.”

  “Wait, you mean I can order around anyone who works at the temple?”

  “Of course, anyone in the Ambera familia, actually.”

  Storgen grinned impishly. “Oh, I am going to have fun with this.”

  Piers held out his hand. “If you will please come with me, sir.”

  “Actually I just got up, so I order you guys to take the rest of the day off.”

  Piers chuckled. “That is very kind of you, sir, but I’m afraid Scythe is the senior champion, so you cannot countermand her.”

  Storgen snapped his fingers. “Blast. I hate being the new guy.”

  The guards moved in a little closer, indicating they would use force if they had to.

  “If you please, sir,” Piers said, trying to sound friendly.

  Storgen and Philiastra looked at one another suspiciously.

  “Go ahead,” Storgen bade. “I’ll meet you at the usual spot.”r />
  “You be careful,” she warned. “Amazons are treacherous.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  As she slipped out from underneath his arm, he winced from the pain of carrying his own weight.

  Piers looked relieved that Storgen was coming willingly.

  Storgen looked around. “Any chance we could get that human platter thing out here to carry me?”

  “I’m afraid the palanquin is for the goddess’ use only.”

  “Awww.”

  As Storgen walked off with the guards, he tried to link his hands behind his neck, but a jolt of pain prevented him from doing so. “Hey Piers, instead of ‘sir,’ maybe you could call me ‘your greatness?’”

  “No, sir.”

  “Your splendor?”

  “I don’t think so, sir.”

  “Your imperial majesty?”

  “Not a chance, sir.”

  Storgen laughed, and the guards laughed with him.

  “So, Ambera’s got everyone looking for this girl of yours, but the goddess didn’t seem too happy when she issued the command,” Piers commented.

  “Well, that should please you.”

  “It does actually. So, what do you think she’s like?”

  “My girl?”

  “Yeah.”

  Storgen tossed his head back and daydreamed happily. “I’m sure she’s a real special lady. Classy, gentle, and refined.”

  * * *

  Agaprei bent over and vomited into the spittoon.

  As she retched, she managed to reach up with her free hand and keep her long lavender hair from falling into the vile contents within.

  All the other students in the sparring hall ewww’d in disgust as the centaur who had just kicked her trotted around with his hands up in the air. “I gave her a chance to back down. I gave her a chance.”

  They clacked their steins together and took a gulp of mead to remove the bad taste from their mouths.

  Agaprei coughed one last time and spat into the spittoon. “I’m not done yet!”

  She wiped her face with the back of her hand and forced herself to her feet, cradling her injured midsection. “That was a cheap shot, Isidorios, kicking me in the gut.”

  Isidorios clopped his hooves and faked a curtsey. “You want my instructor’s crest? You better be willing to fight me for real, siren.”

  Her long, pointed ears twitched in irritation. “All right then, for real this time.”

  The other students went quiet, money changing hands as quick bets were made, and a fresh round ordered. Outside the sparring hall, dozens of young men were pressed up against the glass, eager to get a glimpse of her.

  Agaprei adjusted her spectacles and time seemed to stand still for a moment as she focused on her opponent with her trained eyes.

  He favors his right foreleg. Probably the result of an injury when he was a colt. He keeps his head turned slightly to the left, his hearing in weak on the left side. The first strike will be a rearing high kick, followed by a double hooved stomp. Roll straight through, then spear-hand strike the radial nerve in his left hind leg. He will fall to his hock, immediately follow up with a hammer fist to the kidney, fracturing the 11th and 12th floating ribs. In pain, he’ll lash out with a blind haymaker. Duck beneath, then box his ears, rupturing his primary and secondary eardrums. His sense of balance destroyed, his momentum will roll him to his flank. Avoid dazed foreleg righting kick, then palm-strike the meridian pressure point at his philtrum, throwing the head back and fracturing the nose, eyes watering shut. Finish him with a scissor finger strike to the jugular notch. Loss of consciousness: five to twenty seconds. Full physical recovery: six to twelve weeks.

  Isidorios neighed menacingly and charged, his heavy hooves shaking the entire hall and tearing up chunks from the hardwood floor. He reared up and kicked at her head, but hit nothing but air as she rolled beneath him, striking him so hard on the inside of his hind leg that he crumpled over. Rolling free to avoid being crushed, she punched him in the back. The students recoiled at the sound of the bones cracking.

  Squealing in rage, he whipped his powerful arm out, but she ducked beneath him and smacked him with her palms on either side of his head. Ears ringing, he fell to his side, kicking wildly at her legs, but she was already on top of him, bashing his face, then striking his windpipe.

  The centaur collapsed to the ground insensible. The entire fight had taken less than four seconds.

  The other students and instructors looked on in stunned silence as she hopped off and grabbed a towel to clean herself off. The young men outside cheered wildly. A few of them took off their horned helmets and tossed them into the air. “I love you, fighting siren!” one shouted. “Please be my wife!” shouted another.

  Agaprei ignored them as she hunched over and waited for Isidorios to wake up. He stirred painfully and opened his eyes, finding her smiling sweetly with her hand extended. With a groan, he reached into his vest and placed a ruby crest bearing his name into her hand.

  “All right,” she said as she stood up, flipping the crest in the air like a coin. “Who’s my next patient?”

  The remaining instructors looked at one another apprehensively.

  From the observation window, Galenus dabbed the sweat from his portly face and took a deep swig of mead as he watched Agaprei prepare for her next fight. “We’ve got to advance her.”

  “We can’t advance her,” his partner Myron responded looking down on her across his long pointed nose.

  “Just look at that crowd, she brings in five new students a week just by training here.”

  “Then pay her to stand in the window and be a model, but we can’t advance her to second year.”

  “We sell so much grog when she’s here, we might as well refund her tuition.”

  “So make her a mead wench, but she’s not graduating.”

  “Come on, Myron. Can’t we just massage the numbers a bit? We’ve done that before.”

  “We’d need a contortionist, not a masseuse. She refuses to train with any instrument…”

  “She’s a siren, she can cast spells with just her voice.”

  “…she hasn’t been rated in even the most basic combat ballads, defensive sagas, and I’ve never even seen her touch a war horn.”

  “Do you know how much the gods pay for a fully trained beastman champion? And a young and supple female one at that. Ozias would pay through the nose.”

  Myron gave him a sidelong glance. “Ozias is a drunkard and a pervert.”

  “No, he’s a drunken perverted GOD with pockets as deep as the ocean.”

  Myron sniffed. “This academy was once the finest in Agadis, now only nostalgia and your father’s good name keep this place afloat. You hired me to restore your prestige. If we certify a prospective champion without testing her to make sure she has the prerequisite skills, we could lose our accreditation.”

  There was a scuffle in the hall, and a human instructor flew across their view, smashing into the wall. Ancient runes flashed to life, absorbing the blow and preventing the wood from splintering. All the other students and instructors raised their steins drunkenly and cheered.

  Galenus put his hands out. “Do you see that? Does that look like someone without skills to you?”

  “We teach prospective champions magical combat here, unarmed combat is just a marginal after-thought, a backup preparation just in case, probably never to be used.”

  Galenus rested on his elbows and watched the empty steins being filled. “Yeah, but look at the crowds it brings in,” he said dreamily.

  Myron raised a thin eyebrow. “Then open a sports arena.”

  “What do we know about her? Maybe she could be our mascot or something. Put her in a tight skirt with our seal printed across it.”

  Myron tapped the runes on his slate and it came to life. “It says here that up until last year she was a third-year apprentice at the Philomena Apothecium.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “It says right here.�
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  “So, what? She just woke up one day and said, “I’m not going to be a medical student, I’m going to be a champion?”

  Myron shrugged. “You’d have to ask her.”

  Galenus punched his fist into his palm. “I’ll do it. I’m going to advance her to second year. We’ll enlarge the front windows, start charging admission for the spectators. I bet I can get an endorsement from the brewery, have her chug a pint between each match.”

  Myron sighed heavily.

  Back in the hall, Agaprei reached into the pocket of the barely conscious instructor and took out a sapphire crest. “Thank you for coming in, I’ll have the nurse come in and check on you when you can stand again.”

  “Your bedside manner is terrible,” he muttered.

  She smiled sweetly. “Thank you, I’ve been working hard on it.”

  A group of the male students inched near, forcing one of their own closer and closer to her.

  “Come on, stop pushing me,” Rouvin complained.

  “Just ask her,” his friend goaded.

  Agaprei groaned, her ears drooping.

  Rouvin was shoved towards her and looked down at his toes furtively. “Ah, miss Agaprei, you were really amazing out there today.”

  “Thank you.”

  From behind his back, he pulled out a small, wrapped gift box.

  “Would you like to go to the forum with me today?” he blurted out.

  She clasped her hands over her heart. “Oh, that sounds marvelous.”

  “R-really?”

  “Oh, yeah, I can’t tell you how excited I am. Philosophical debate about trade embargos. Riveting. I tell you what, you go and wait at the forum, and I’ll get dressed and leave.”

  Rouvin brightened up. “O-okay!”

  He returned to his group of friends, who all patted him on the back in congratulations.

  Agaprei gathered up her things and made her way up to the observation area. “Master Galenus, may I have a word with you?”

  “Absolutely, my dear, he said, shoving a stack of tuition papers off a chair to make room for her. “In fact, I was just about to call you up here myself. I have some crackin’ good news for you, but you go first.”

  She tucked a lock of lavender hair behind her ear. “I’m quitting the academy.”

  Galenus went white as snow.