Ambrosia

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  Gáta mewed happily and jumped up atop Storgen’s head.

  Erolina looked at him with loathing. “I envy people who don’t know you.”

  “You seem angry.”

  “Of course I’m angry. The situation has changed. I’ve been tasked to go with you to Kólasi.

  “Really? Why?”

  “To make sure you don’t wreck everything.”

  “It’s nice to see the goddess thinks so highly of me.”

  “I’ll be in charge of the transfer of power and authority. Your job is to stay near me and watch silently.”

  “It’s good that you are in charge of the festival. Your charms would be wasted as a duelist.”

  “Listen, I don’t like this any more than you do. So, let’s just ignore each other for the next few weeks and maybe you’ll survive to see the aftermath.”

  “Survive? This is a victory celebration, what could happen?”

  Erolina closed the door and lowered her voice. “Not anymore. The goddess has sold you out.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Then she sent me to protect you.”

  “That does surprise me.”

  “So, from now on, you go where I tell you to go, and you do what I tell you to do.”

  Storgen and Philiastra looked at each other, then burst out laughing.

  Erolina folded her arms. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

  Storgen wiped a tear from his eye. “Should I tell her, Phili?”

  “Go ahead,” she affirmed, unable to stop laughing.

  “Erolina, we’re friends, right?”

  “No, we aren’t.”

  “And we’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t we?”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “And in all that time, have I ever given you any indication that I am the kind of person who goes where he is told to go and does what he is told to do?”

  “No, you are stupidly defiant.”

  “I prefer gregariously individualistic.”

  “All right, well then, since you appear to have been born without a sense of duty, let me put this in terms you can understand, pure self-interest.”

  She leaned in close, her blood-red eyes cold and menacing. “You will stay at my side, unspeaking, or I will break you.”

  “Kinda conflicts with your mandate to protect me, doesn’t it?”

  “Not at all. I’m supposed to keep you alive. You don’t need limbs to live, now do you? I’ll break off your arms and legs and strap you to my back like a pack if I have to.”

  “Now there’s an image I didn’t expect to have in my brain,” Philiastra commented.

  Storgen stood up. “Oh, I just realized, you two have never met before. Erolina, this is my buddy, Philiastra. She’s here to be our crystal tuner.”

  Erolina didn’t even bother to look at her. “This is serious, Storgen. The ones who hunt you are not normal foes.”

  Philiastra frowned. “Hey, did you just ignore me?”

  Erolina stepped closer, a shadow falling over Storgen. “They’re sending people from the Alchemy Tower.”

  All of the humor and levity left Storgen’s face. He went pale as snow, stepping back and nearly tripping over a wastebin.

  “The tower,” he muttered.

  Erolina studied him closely. “You’ve sensed it, haven’t you?”

  Storgen nodded slowly, his blood running cold. “I’ve been having nightmares again. I feel sick inside, like something draws near.”

  Philiastra hopped down off the desk. “Hey! A second ago you told me you’d been sleeping like a baby.”

  Storgen sat down on the edge of the bed, his eyes distant. “Yeah, thrashing and screaming all night. I’m scared to even try and sleep.”

  Erolina tilted her head. “Interesting. I wouldn’t have thought humans were capable of kardiá kynigoú.”

  Tired of being ignored, Philiastra interjected herself. “What’s Cardia Kingo?”

  Erolina answered without looking at her. “Do not dishonor my tongue by attempting to speak it. There is no direct translation for kardiá kynigoú. We amazons understand that choice forms a bond, a connection between two souls. The decision to kill is uniquely strong. When one decides to kill an amazon, we can sense it, no matter how far away we are.”

  Philiastra put her hands on her hips. “Oh, really? So how many people want you dead, Scythe of Ambera?”

  Erolina looked at her sternly. “At the moment, seven, though only one has the guts to try.”

  She turned back to Storgen. “It was thought this was an ability unique to our kind, but clearly humans are capable of developing it.”

  “But, Storgen can’t use magic, so you must be mistaken.”

  “It’s not magic, it is a hunter’s instincts. My guess is that Storgen has seen enough of murder to recognize the trail that proceeds it, the spiritual stench.”

  “Like black smoke from a wound,” Storgen mumbled to himself.

  “The black breath, exactly.”

  They were all distracted by a distant jingling sound, a ringing and a ruckus vibrating through the hull.

  “What is that?” Erolina asked.

  Storgen furrowed his brow. “My trap went off?”

  “Is that a bell?” Erolina asked.

  Philiastra huffed. “So you did put a bell on it, after all.”

  They exited the room and followed the railing to the observation deck, where they found the crate fallen, a bell fixed on top ringing loudly as something inside thrashed and kicked.

  “What in the cosmos is this?” Erolina asked, drawing her scythe.

  “You mean to tell me you actually caught something with that stupid trap?” Philiastra asked in disbelief.

  Storgen inched closer and lifted up the crate, Erolina beside him, her weapon readied.

  A pair of aged eyes, withered hands clutching a doll close and firm could be seen.

  “Pops, is that you?”

  Storgen yanked the crate away, revealing the old man curled up in a ball.

  “I do not understand. Why did you catch this human?” Erolina asked.

  “Pops, how could you get caught in your own trap?” Philiastra blustered.

  “I missed my Emerald Empress,” Pops defended, rubbing the doll against his cheek. “I was trying to pull her out when I bumped the stick.”

  Philiastra covered her face. You must be the stupidest thing in the cosmos.”

  * * *

  Captain Theron entered his office and closed the door behind him. He locked the windows and pulled the curtains, stuffing rags into the cracks until the room was completely dark. He tapped his pipe against the table three times, and circuits of sigils began glowing along the surface, tracing lines so fine they were invisible until now. With a deliberate puff, the pipe crackled wildly, creating a glowing green ball of electricity that hung suspended in the air.

  Skotádi appeared in the ball, his albino eyes flicking around wetly.

  “This is not the scheduled time to contact me.”

  “We’ve altered course,” Captain Theron whispered. “We’ll make landfall on Dasikí Chará tomorrow. And the amazon is here with us now.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  As the light died out, Theron placed his fist over his chest.

  “For the tower.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Many gods dwindled and faded in the aftermath of the devastating war against the Fates. The few that remained were those who had managed to coax saplings out the charred remains of the celestial forests. Demi-gods without humans to worship and sustain them were particularly vulnerable. Without plan and without leader they gathered in the neutral waters between Agadis and Erotan and began to share their wisdom, researching new forms of magic to sustain them. What began as a collection of floating dirges rapidly grew into a sprawling complex of buildings and facilities.

  It grew over the centuries, reaching down to the seafloor and rising up into the clouds. Built by countles
s frenzied hands, many on the edge of madness, no one knows the full layout of the Tower, and even the most powerful residents rarely venture outside their own limited domains. Even today, untold thousands are born within and live out their entire lives without ever having seen the sun. Stairs that lead to nowhere, basements with no exits, rooms frozen in time. Doors that open to deep shafts, or to nothing at all. Dark constructs of flesh and metal wandering the depths, failed experiments escaped or set loose into the darkness. Windows with nothing but a stone wall on the other side, rooms without floors, upside down staircases and bridges, and canals of putrid water winding endlessly without source or destination. Blind chimneys that stop short of the exterior, horizontal shafts that extend for miles only to dead end abruptly, flooded sections covered with barnacles and haunted by dangerous sea-creatures. Closets that open to blank walls. Trap doors, double-back hallways, secret passages, maze-like expanses of tunnels containing the bones of those who starved looking for a way out. Walls that breathe, and ceilings that rain bile. Corridors that are inexplicably cold, or unbearably hot. Voices that cry out from empty rooms, and mirrors that cast reflections of bodies but not faces.

  This is the Alchemy Tower, and while it makes its discoveries free to all, the people of Agadis refuse to have any dealings with them, leaving the use of Alchemy exclusive to the magic-users of Erotan.

  - Forbidden Apocrypha, author unknown

  Walls of stacked skulls, arches of backbones, doorways of femurs, tapestries of dried skin.

  Even roaches didn’t dare come to this part of the tower.

  Quick and light as a shadow, young Storgen slipped past a stack of human teeth as high as his waist and slid down the coal chute. He landed in waist-deep water and quickly scurried out, the liquid shifting as something lethal stirred within, lashing out at the spot where he had just been.

  He pulled himself across a rope bridge, rotted fivers sailing down into the darkness below, reaching a hall turned on its side, rotten furniture clinging to the wall.

  “There he is, over there!” came a beastly cry.

  Sweat beading on his shaven head, young Storgen scaled the rotten furniture, reaching a horizontal door that fell open into a narrow tunnel. As he sprinted down, a pit opened up before him, but he leapt over it. A curtain of fire fell down before him, but he tore a tapestry free and cloaked himself with it, discarding the acrid, flaming material after he passed through.

  His feet splashing through dark water, young Storgen was tackled from behind. He rolled on the ground, punching the pig-faced creature over and over, until it squealed in pain and slackened its grip. He wriggled himself free, but was then pounced upon by three more. He kicked and bit and punched like a wild beast, smashing their snouts until the cartilage snapped free from their skulls.

  Young Storgen jumped up and ran around the corner. Ahead was a balcony, sunlight creeping through the seams of the door, like a gaping mouth holding a light inside its maw.

  Three hundred more beastmen poured out of the barracks on either side of the balcony.

  Screaming, young Storgen plowed into them, flipping them over his back, smashing with his elbows, punching with his fists, bashing with his forehead, kicking with his knees.

  They piled onto him, four and five deep until he was flattened to the ground.

  He reached out, howling like a banshee, pulling himself towards the light, inch by inch, even with hundreds of pounds of pigmen on his back. Tears streamed down his face as more and more beasts blocked his path, blocking out the light and leaving him in darkness.

  Finally, they held him down, three to a limb as they reattached his chains.

  The balcony doors creaked open, but there was no sunlight beyond. Instead, they revealed a vast chasmed chamber, with wrapping upside down staircases, horizontal bridges, and a light falling snow of ash collecting along every surface.

  Skotádi stepped forward, revealing the sunlight to be a fire fixed atop the staff he held in his ghoulishly pale hands. The surface was studded with countless finger bones. He gripped it tightly in frustration.

  “XVII, again and again you try, and again and again I stop you. Surely you must realize how futile this is. You’re never going to leave this tower. Accept your fate, give in to despair. I can make your stay here much more comfortable. All you are doing is bringing suffering upon yourself.”

  He leaned over and held out his hand. “You will never be free.”

  Young Storgen spat in his face. “Yes I will!”

  The albino stood up. “Hmm. Then the suffering continues.”

  He lifted up his staff and brought it down, piercing young Storgen through the chest.

  ~

  Storgen sat up screaming, clutching the deep scar in his chest. He looked around, sweat dripping in his eyes, as Gáta sat up atop the cabin bed and looked at him worriedly. Outside it was still dark, Ambera’s airship sailing away to the north and out of sight.

  Storgen covered his face with his hands and tried to block out the horror, to lock it away in a corner of his mind, but it pounded against him, resisting every attempt to conceal it.

  ~

  In her cabin, Erolina awoke before the first rays of the sun reached her. Sitting up in her bed, she reached around her neck and made sure her locket was still there. Breathing a sigh of relief, she held it for a moment, her eyes closed in prayer. Then she tied back her long silver hair, and got to work.

  She flipped her bed on its end, grabbing the exposed leg and using it to do pull ups, counting off the repetitions each time she lifted herself up. After three sets of fifty, she hooked her legs across the bed leg and hung upside down, linking her fingers behind her neck and doing three sets of fifty sit-ups.

  ~

  In her cabin, Philiastra woke up when the first light settled gently on her face. She sat up in her bed and stretched lazily, scratching the small of her back, and smacking her mouth.

  She held out her hand and activated her alchemic tattoos, the handles in the shower turning at her command, and filling the bathroom with relaxing hot mist.

  ~

  In the temple of Mónos, Agaprei awoke to the gentle pattering of the water-clock she had built, the drips of liquid landing gently on her cheek so as to wake her without disturbing the others. Quiet as a mouse, she grabbed her spectacles and got out of bed, working her way across the room, tip-toeing past the hundreds of sleeping cats, deftly finding each step in the darkness to avoid stepping on any stray tails or paws.

  Making her way to the temple kitchen, she prepared a basin of water and scrubbed each of the large bronze saucers clean before wiping them dry, humming a little song happily to herself as she did so. When they were ready, she placed all three of them atop the altar in the main hall, and began filling them with the highest quality cream donated from the local dairy guild. One by one, the slumbering cats began to stir, their little noses twitching to the smell of fresh cream and meats.

  By the time Agaprei returned from the kitchen with a basin of cutlets, the saucers were already populated by herds of happily lapping tongues and mews of delight.

  ~

  In his cabin, Pops lay sprawled askew across his bed, hundreds of busty heroine figurines surrounding him as he snored embarrassingly loudly. Feeling a bit of chill from the morning air, he reached out and pulled a pile of the dolls over himself like a blanket, a bubble of snot inflating from his nose as he drifted back into a deeper sleep.

  ~

  In his cabin, Storgen took out a little wooden bowl he had carved from a piece of driftwood and set it down before his happy kitten. Fishing around in his pack, he found a few morsels of food, and set them down in the bowl. He sat and watched as Gáta happily ate up, Storgen stroking her back and tail as she purred. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and went over to his desk, double checking his calculations, charting the shortest route to visit the remaining five pins on his map. Interlocking his fingers, he prayed to the Fates for success.

  ~

  In her c
abin, Erolina dropped free of the bed, her milk-chocolatey skin glistening with sweat as she picked up her scythe. Carefully, she attached weights to the haft and blade, tripling the weight of the weapon. Holding it vertically, she began her routine.

  Like a dancer she moved, elegant and graceful, her weapon leaving ribbons of energy in the air as she spun and twirled it around her. She balanced on one toe and leaned forward, stretching out her other leg behind her to balance, allowing her to strike out much farther than seemed possible, the edge of her glowing blade passing over an incense candle and igniting it.

  She flipped over, extending one leg out in front of her and slashing behind, lighting another candle. She jumped upside down in the air and spun around, lighting two more.

  When she landed she closed her eyes, standing there calmly as she held her weapon. Centering her heart, clearing her mind.

  When an ember broke loose from one of the candles, her weapon flashed, leaving a glowing trail as she cut the cinder in half in mid-air. The candle flickered out from the wind as she returned to her starting position.

  Two more embers broke free and arose, and without opening her eyes, her weapon slashed twice more, bifurcating the tiny dots of light and silencing their candles.

  She stood there patiently waiting, like a statue of feminine beauty and power. In her mind, she recalled herself reclining in the bed in Ambera’s temple, Storgen walking away from her.

  The final candle released an ember, and she slashed her weapon, missing the spark and cutting the candle in half.

  Her brow wrinkled with frustration as she opened her ruby eyes, the detached segment of the candle burning limply on the floor before her.

  In her cabin, Philiastra sat down refreshed, carefully brushing her leafy hair as she opened up her alchemy grimoire, memorizing formulas and making calculations. She took out her abacus and began working on a particularly sticky equation that had eluded her for some time, writing down results in her little notebook filled with proofs.

  ~

  In his cabin, Pops choked on a heroine figurine that had managed to insert itself into his mouth as he rolled over, the pile of dolls covering him shifting slightly, creating a mini-avalanche of busty dolls. Opening his aged eyes, he found a pair of silky legs sticking out of his mouth.