Ambrosia

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  “Don’t waste your time, dad,” Philiastra warned, her tattoos shifting to blue. “He’s not worth it.”

  Lord Demos stepped closer. “Look, the injustice you heaped upon my household is no small thing, but I am not a small man either. If you will allow me to take but a small sampling of your essence, I am willing to forgive you.”

  “How dutiful of you.”

  “Duty, indeed. No, this is love.”

  “Love?”

  “Say no more, husband,” Lady Demos urged. “Our affairs are private.”

  Lord Demos kept his voice quiet, barely above a whisper. “My father is a meritorious man, but his health is failing. While surveying his lands in the northern isles he contracted the Red Rot.”

  “There is no cure for that,” Philiastra realized.

  He looked at her, fear and desperation in his eyes. “There is but one, and you possess it. Please, I ask you not as a nobleman, but as the child of a sick parent. My father lies dying. Will you give me what I need to cure him?”

  Philiastra looked at him sympathetically. “I’m sorry, I really am, but I couldn’t do that. My life would…”

  Lord Demos wiped his eyes and stood up. “I understand. No, I do. Please know that asking you was a courtesy. I am well within my legal right to take what I need.”

  He drew the saber at his side, the blade erupting in scarlet flame.

  Suddenly a chair smashed into Lord Demos, knocking him to the ground in a splinter of wood and fabric.

  Everyone turned to Storgen, who was quietly eating an éclair. “Whaddya know? Chairs work, too.”

  Lady Demos shrieked. Lord Demos sat up and rubbed his bleeding face. “Right, I’ll duel you for that!”

  “My hand slipped.”

  The kitten hissed atop Storgen’s head as he stood up and cracked the knuckles of his good hand. “You should leave before it slips again.”

  Lord Demos chuckled darkly. “I don’t need to duel you to destroy you.”

  Nyfitsa stepped forward and unfolded a golden scroll. “Mr. Storgen XVII…”

  “So formal.”

  “You have been formally served.”

  The scroll disappeared then reappeared in Storgen’s hand. Surprised, he threw it to the ground, but it floated up before him and presented itself.

  Storgen looked over the document, the kitten on his head reading along with him. “Wait, you’re suing me?”

  “We’re both suing you,” Lord Demos spat as Lady Demos helped him to his feet.

  “We’re suing the corporation that bears your name on behalf of the estate of the Saber of Warestus,” Nyfitsa exclaimed proudly.

  “Jabari? The former champion?”

  Lord Demos straightened his high collar. “We’re reviewed the details of your duel against Nisi’s Shield, and we allege that you caused the estate of the Saber of Warestus grievous personal injury and slander of reputation when you violated his copyright.”

  Storgen furrowed his brow. “Copyright?”

  Nyfitsa held up his hands. “The Saber of Warestus is the owner of the punch to the snout, it is his signature move.”

  “You can’t copyright a punch.”

  Lord Demos grinned smugly. “You can copyright anything if you have enough money.”

  “But, he’s been dead for years.”

  “His estate is the defendant,” Nyfitsa explained.

  “Aren’t I still legally dead?”

  “You are, but the corporation that bears your name is not.”

  “So, talk to him.”

  “You are him.”

  Storgen thought for a moment. “You know what? I like you Nyfitsa. You’re like a cute little STD.”

  A group of hoplites came around the corner, Markus at the head. The atmosphere became even more tense as they arrived.

  “Hey Markus, how are you buddy?”

  “Eat dung, squib.”

  “Why would I eat dung?”

  “And let me guess,” Gaetan appraised. “This copyright you are enforcing was filed by your office today?”

  Lord Demos smiled. “By sheer coincidence, yes, I believe it may have been.”

  “Coincidence, my truffles,” Phyllis snapped.

  Nyfitsa hooked his thumbs in his jacket. “The time of the filing is irrelevant. The copyright is retroactive.”

  “You should have copyrighted me kicking you in the gut,” Storgen recalled. “That one was more fun.”

  “Tch,” Lady Demos scoffed.

  Storgen touched his finger to his scarred chin. “I’d always wondered what color aristocrat vomit was.”

  Lord Demos took a step to the side, allowing the hoplites to draw closer. “You’d best be careful. If you say anything further, you may expose yourself to further action.”

  Storgen ran his fingers through his mane of blonde hair. “All right, I’ll demonstrate then. Am I being sued for this kind of punch…?”

  Fast as lightning, he punched at Nyfitsa, his hand stopping just an inch from his sweaty nose.

  “…or was it this kind of punch?”

  He pulled back and counter-punched with an uppercut, stopping it just short of slamming into Nyfitsa’s jowls. The little man cried out in fear, falling back on his haunches.

  “Enough!”

  Markus charged up his spear and fired a blast of electricity, striking Storgen in the torso. He followed up with a back end strike, knocking him to the ground.

  “Stop it,” Lord Demos ordered. “You can’t strike a champion. You wanna’ go to jail yourself?”

  “He was attacking the weasel,” Markus argued.

  “No, I wasn’t,” Storgen chuckled, the tines of electricity racing painfully over his body. “I just wanted to clarify what I was being accused of before the trail.”

  Lady Demos snatched the kitten from Storgen’s head. The poor little thing mewed unhappily, stretching its paw out as she pulled her free.

  Lord Demos snapped his fingers and the hoplites withdrew. “We’ll see you in court in an hour.”

  “Really? No eight month waiting period this time?”

  Lady Demos looked back over her shoulder snobbishly as the left. “Didn’t you know? Only the little people have to wait in line.”

  * * *

  Lichas, Godfather of Sky and Storm, was a being of fume. His billowy body of ash and cloud relaxed in his throne of raven feathers as he looked down into the earthen gladiatorial arena, watching the potential champions fight and duel in the dust and the dirt for the pleasure of the drunken masses. He took a long draw on his cigar as he listened, the smoke he inhaled mixing with the smoke of his body, and swirling beneath the fine satin robes he wore.

  The Godmother sitting beside him was thin and twitchy, her long stringy hair hiding most of her gaunt face as a dozen cats crawled over her, scaling her body and mewing hungrily.

  “Reinala has made new demands for the coming war against Erotan.” She took out a nearly empty flask of ambrosia and managed to tease one last drop free. With a wave of her hand, a sloppy pile of meat appeared in her lap and the cats jumped down, eating ravenously as she stroked them. “Ten percent of my disciples fully armed and trained for war. It’s unjust. My people are not warriors. That’s why they worship me. They know I ask little of them, and they receive little in return.”

  She winced as a champion was thrown across the field by a giant, the crowd cheering as he slammed into the earthen embankment, the runic spells straining to absorb the impact.

  “And then she wants me to recruit at least a hundred beastman disciples into my familia. You know me, I’m not recruiter, I’ve never proselytized. My followers come to me. My temple doesn’t even have a door on it, just a mail slot to deposit tithes, and that’s how I like it.”

  Lichas took another long draw on his cigar as he listened, the smoldering tip reflected in his eyes like embers.

  In the arena below, a well-oiled man in a loincloth came out, sword and shield at the ready. “I fight for the honor to serve Lichas a
s his claws.”

  Lichas nodded, and the man charged at the giant chained to the far end.

  “What is it you want, Mónos?” he asked steadily.

  The Godmother turned to him, pleading with her sunken eyes. “You have Reinala’s ear. Explain to her that my situation is unique. Grant me immunity from her demands.”

  His face was placid as he considered her request; small, thunderous rumblings arcing through his chest.

  “That I cannot do.”

  “Please, I’ll do anything.”

  He took a long breath. “In all the time you have filled your post, this is the first time you have come to me for counsel or help. I can’t recall you ever inviting me to attend one of your shrines or holy days, even though you are the only child of my sister. So, let’s be honest here, shall we? You never wanted to be associated with me.”

  She looked down sadly, stroking her cats. “It’s not you, it’s me. I don’t like socializing. I don’t like being around others. It makes me uncomfortable. It drains me.”

  He held his cigar gently in his fingers. “I understand. You found yourself in a post that played to your strengths. You were small enough that the others left you alone, big enough to work a few minor miracles. You stayed out of sight, you enjoyed your autonomy, and you grew accustomed to doing things your own way. You didn’t need me. But now, you come to me and you say, ‘please exempt me from the tithe, please let me stay in my hovel,’ but you don’t ask with respect. You don’t ask to join my familia. You don’t even think to call me Godfather. You come here with requests but offer me nothing in return.”

  “What Reinala asks is not fair.”

  “And so, you wish for the other deities to bear your burden, to pay your tithes to finance the war while you cower safely beneath your hill and reap the rewards of victory you did not earn. That is not fair to them, is it? That is not justice.”

  There was a scream from down in the arena, and the well-oiled man was flung like a discus, sailing over the heads of the drunken spectators.

  Mónos’ eyes darted around desperately. “Is it money, then? How much do you want?”

  He gave off a smoky chuckle, rings of fume spilling out of his mouth. Mónos, my niece, what have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully? If you had come asking to join my familia, then I would begin arming my disciples to take the place of yours this very hour. And if in the future Reinala were to ask something of you that caused you trouble, then your troubles would become my troubles, and then you would have someone to speak for you at the counsel table. Then you would be treated fairly.”

  Her head drooped, her shoulders slumped. “I don’t see any other way out of this.”

  He held out his hand, his large ring glowing with power. A blue topaz with a heart of whirling crimson, impossibly fine runes etched into the band. “You know what to do.”

  A raven cawed as if flapped by, landing on Lichas’ fuming shoulder.

  “That was ominous,” Mónos said nervously.

  “Thank you,” he said, creating a few kernels of corn in his hand to feed to the bird. “You have no idea how long it took me to teach him that.”

  Mónos dropped to her knees in resignation. “Please Godfather, may I join your familia?”

  He nodded graciously and she bent forward to kiss the ring. When her lips touched it, runes whipped around her in the air, combining and welding into one another, then pushing themselves into her flesh. The Godmother winced at the sizzling touch, but kept her lips pressed until he removed the gem and sat back, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

  “Good,” he praised.

  ~

  Down in the pits, Kaia feasted on the smorgasbord of rippling oiled muscle on display as she helped her sister prepare for her debut.

  “Wow, look at the biceps on that guy,” she said, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Holy cow, look at his back! It’s all rippley and bumpy. I didn’t know a back could even look like that.”

  A long-haired barbarian picked up his axe and tested the weight, his pecs flexing taught.

  “I am so glad I came here today.”

  Agaprei rolled her eyes as she bandaged her knuckles. “I don’t know why you bother. We both know you’re going to end up with Orrin.”

  “No way! He’s got fish lips!”

  “Here, help me apply this.”

  She opened a pouch and scooped out a handful of salve.

  Kaia reeled back at the scent of it. “Ugh, it smells like a zoo burnt down!”

  “It’s just distilled vróma root.”

  She dropped a dollop into Kaia’s hand, then began spearing the white cream across her arms.

  Kaia pinched her nose. “So nasty.”

  “Just help me.”

  Kaia began spreading the salve across Agaprei’s back, mostly to get it off her own hand. “So, Lichas owns like, a ton of mead halls. If you become his champion, does that mean we get free drinks?”

  “I’m not here for him.”

  “What, seriously? But he’s the one holding the tournament.”

  “Trust me. I’ve been researching this for a while now. I’ve got a plan.”

  “Like your plan to transplant your vocal chords?”

  “That would have worked if you hadn’t stopped me. No, this time I’m ready, I’ve been studying the entire pantheon. And the godmother I’m here for is her.”

  Agaprei pointed up to the celestial box, where Lichas and Mónos were talking.

  “You’re serious? Mónos? That loser.”

  Agaprei took out her daggers and checked them for any fractures. “She almost never leaves her temple, but the rumor was she’d be here today to talk to her uncle. It looks like the rumor was true.”

  “She’s the Godmother of Shut-ins and Cat-ladies! Why would you want to serve her?”

  “Because she’s the most prominent Godmother in the pantheon currently without a champion.”

  “So what?”

  Agaprei leaned in close. “So, I don’t have the credentials to serve someone like Lichas yet, so instead I’m gonna’ start at the bottom and work my way up the ladder. I’ll be the best champion Mónos has ever had…”

  “You mean the only champion she’s ever had.”

  “…I’ll expand her territories, increase her glory, streamline and revolutionize her entire empire. As her standing amongst the rest of the pantheon increases, the others will take note of me, and I can apply to become champion to an even greater deity, and from there, a greater one still.”

  “This ambition of yours just never ends, does it?”

  She smiled and sheathed her daggers. “It ends when I get what I want.”

  Kaia sat back and pouted. “This sucks. Champion to the Godmother of Cat-ladies. Probably get something lame like free cat litter or a lifetime supply of flea collars.”

  “You’re too young to drink, anyway.”

  “Says you.”

  A lamia slithered up to them, her long tail flicking about as she looked over her slate. “Are you miss…Aah-guh-pry?”

  “Ah-gah-pree,” she corrected.

  “Yeah, whatever. Let’s see your graduation crest.”

  Agaprei proudly held out her pouch and gave it a shake. “I didn’t graduate from an academy, but I have twenty-four instructor’s crests.”

  The lamia turned her nose up and flicked out her tongue. “Oh, one of those, eh? What about the entry free?”

  “Gotcha’ covered.”

  Agaprei tossed over a fancy embroidered money pouch with a large “C” stitched across the front.

  As the lamia slithered away, Kaia leaned in close. “Where did you get all that?”

  “Cleo.”

  “That muscle head gave it to you?”

  Agaprei tapped her fingertips together. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Meaning what?”

  Agaprei looked away sheepishly. “It may have fallen off his belt…and into my hand when he was asking me out the other day.”

&nb
sp; Kaia stared at her, mouth agape. “You’re a little thief, aren’t you?”

  “I’m gonna’ pay him back.”

  Kaia grinned from ear to ear. “Okay, maybe we are sisters after all.”

  ~

  Back up in the celestial box, Mónos stood up regretfully, reaching up to touch the raven-shaped brand on her neck. “So, how much of my tribute am I to give to you, Godfather?”

  Lichas took another long puff. “You misunderstand. The tribute you bring in belongs to me. But you are family, and family deserves generosity. And so, I will allow you to keep eighty percent of my tithes that you bring in for your own personal use.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but decided against it. “Thank you, Godfather, you are most generous.”

  He placed his smoky hand on the side of her cheek tenderly. “Now you are learning. Now you speak with respect, and in return you will be dealt with justly. I will arm and train as many of my followers as necessary to fulfill Reinala’s demands on your behalf. Consider it a gift to you. And in return, if in the future I ever require you to perform a service, and keep in mind that time may never come, but if it does, you will fulfill it and you may not refuse.”

  “Yes, Godfather. And, the beastmen?”

  “That you must still do.”

  “But…”

  “You have always been part of my family, but now you are part of the family business. That means that if you look weak, I look weak. Above all else, you cannot embarrass the familia. You can’t just hide in your little temple anymore, you must emerge and act, even if it is uncomfortable for you, and bring in the beastmen to your worship.”

  “So, how much did I just give up and what did I really gain in return?”

  The raven on his shoulder cawed menacingly.

  “That, my niece, is an excellent question.”

  The atmosphere in the earthen arena changed as the first non-human applicant walked into the ring. People whispered excitedly and a few cheered her on, happy to see her participate. The giant chained to the far end snarled and strained against the chains that held it, but she seem to pay it no attention, venturing close enough that it took a couple of swipes at her as she stood just out of reach.

  “You fight for the honor to serve me as my claws, siren?” Lichas asked, showing clear interest.