Ambrosia

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  As soon as they left, Ophira gave Storgen a swift kick to the shin.

  “Ow, what was that for?”

  “What was that? What was that you told them just nyow, I mean, now? Geeze, now you’ve got me doing it!”

  “They were just fishing for another excuse not to turn the key over to us,” Storgen reasoned.

  “Since when do you care about the key? Or anything?”

  “Of course I care about the key, why do you think I won this island to begin with?”

  “What?”

  “Besides, what’s the big deal? He said it had to be a designated couple, that means it can be anybody.”

  “No, it has to be someone from our expedition.”

  “So pick one, I’m sure we have a few.”

  “Are you thick? We don’t have any married couples with us.”

  Storgen looked her over. “Wait, you’re not married?”

  She looked at him humorlessly. “I’m a fertility priestess, what do you think?”

  “Good point.”

  “Hey, there’s something in here.”

  All eyes turned to Pops as he sifted through the debris of the altar, yanking free a small locked box made of glassy obsidian.

  “Ah ha! I knew you old coots were holding back on us,” Ophira piped.

  “Those are forbidden items confiscated by the abbot,” Eban warned. “We sealed them away so they could never again be used to harm humanity.”

  Pops grabbed a piece of gravel and began pounding on the lock.

  “Hey Pops, when someone says ‘cursed chest of forbidden items’ you don’t just start cracking the thing open,” Storgen cautioned.

  “What? I’ve already been cursed by Warestus so I can never again go home; what’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Famous last words.”

  With a pop, the aged lock broke free and a collection of glowing, magical trinkets spilled out onto the floor.

  “Ooh, very nice,” Ophira praised. “Those should fetch a fine price on the open market.”

  “You would distribute them willingly back into society?” Eban wailed.

  “We’ll put a warning label on them. We’ll be free of any liability, it’ll be fine.”

  Eban let out a dry, musty squeak.

  Ophira turned back to Storgen. “That still doesn’t let you off the hook. What are we going to do about tonight?”

  “Calm down, I got this.”

  “YOU got this? The guy who refused to take a single class after becoming a champion. Oh, that makes me feel so much better.”

  Just then, Philiastra came walking up the stairs, carrying a long mauve crystal in her dirty hands.

  “Hey Phili,” he called out.

  “Yeah?”

  “You wanna be my wife?”

  Philiastra stopped in place, as if she had been frozen in time. Slowly, she turned back to face him, her face blushing greener and greener.

  “W-w-w-what did you say?”

  Storgen cupped his hands to his mouth. “I asked if you would be my wife.”

  The crystal clattered to the ground and she stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over Pops’ pack and arrangement of dolls.

  “W-w-w-why would you ask me that? I mean, this is s-s-s-so sudden. I mean, are you really sure about this? NO! Don’t answer that, I mean, h-h-h-how can you ask me that in front of all these people? I don’t know if my heart is ready for this. And have you even talked to my parents about this yet? Do you even have a ring? And I don’t have a thing to wear…”

  Storgen rolled his eyes. “Not for real, dummy. We need a married couple for the ceremony tonight, so I need you to pretend to be my wife.”

  “Oh…oh…” It took a moment for her heart to slow down enough to collect her thoughts. “I, ah, I don’t think I can’t do that.”

  “Why not? It’s just for one night.”

  “Because it would be totally inappropriate.”

  “Nah, it’ll be fine. Paliágáta has already seen us together a bunch, so he’ll naturally assume we were married the whole time.”

  “That’s not the point. It would be…” she looked around furtively. “…really weird.”

  “What? You already said that I’m just like a brother to you.”

  “You’re making it weirder, not less weird.”

  “Look, it’s not real, it’s all just dumb religious stuff, it doesn’t mean anything.”

  Ophira puts her hands on her hips. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re excused.”

  Philiastra tapped her fingertips together. “I…ah…I’m not so sure. I mean…what would I have to do?”

  Storgen waved his hand. “Don’t worry, it’s just a bunch of ceremonial stuff. We wave to guests, we throw some holy water or whatever, we accept the key, some idiots throw flower petals on us. Basically, it’s just a big excuse to get dressed up in really nice clothes, attend a really nice party, and eat some really nice food.”

  She thought for a moment. “Well…that doesn’t sound so bad.”

  Storgen reached out his hand. “Come on, Phili. It’ll be fun.”

  Looking into his eyes, she felt her heart skip a beat.

  “Sirend’s teeth!”

  Pops squealed in delight as he pulled a silver gauntlet out of the pile of cursed treasures. “This looks just like the gauntlet the Jade Empress gave to Oppolla in The Death of the Moon.”

  Eban reached out with his wrinkly hands. “Please, put that down. That is the Brigand’s Gauntlet. A magical relic from the dark ages. It allows the wearer to steal any item they desire.”

  “Neat,” Pops said, shoving his hand inside.

  “You’re going to lose that hand,” Storgen warned.

  Pops looked across the room to where one of his busty dolls sat atop his pack next to Philiastra. “Countess DeLire,” he called, stretching out his hand. “Come to me!”

  There was a flash of light that filled the room. When it abated, Pops was holding something soft in his gauntlet. He nuzzled it up close. “This is perfect. Now I can call my Legendary Heroines to me without having to get out of bed.”

  “I feel like we just enabled an addict,” Storgen remarked.

  Philiastra gasped, standing there in shock, as if she had just been struck.

  “You okay, Phili?” Storgen asked.

  Pops opened his eyes. “Something is wrong.” He uncurled his fingers, and found a soft ball of fabric in his grip. “This isn’t the Countess DeLire.”

  To double check, he glanced over, and found his doll still in the same place it was before. “Well, then, what did I steal?”

  Philiastra squealed and hunkered down in embarrassment, grabbing at her coveralls, her face blushing brighter and brighter with embarrassment.

  Pops uncurled the fabric, and found that he was holding a pair of strawberry-printed panties. “But whose are…?”

  “Give me back my panties!” Philiastra screamed, great roots rushing in thought the doors and windows from outside and wrapping themselves around Pops. Her eyes alight with blue fire, Philiastra reached out her hand and the roots slammed Pops against the floor, against the ceiling, and against the floor again.

  “So, this is what you desired, you dirty old man? HUH? This is the truth you hold in your heart?!”

  The giant roots threw Pops across the hall, where he came crashing at her feet, a bruised and mangled mess.

  “That isn’t what I wanted at all,” he coughed, a tooth falling free from his mouth.

  Philiastra snatched the panties away from his twitching hand and stuffed them in her pocket.

  “You saw nothing!” she shrieked, her roots gathering around Storgen like spear tips.

  “I saw nothing,” Storgen repeated, holding up his hands.

  “None of you saw anything!” she repeated menacingly, and everyone else in the room nodded in agreement.

  Steaming with shame, she stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

  A moment later, she kicked the
door open and stomped back in. “And for the record, the strawberry ones are an exception. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m into that sort of thing! I’m a mature adult, okay?!”

  She stomped away and slammed the door behind her again.

  A moment later, she kicked the door in again and stomped back in.

  “I forgot my crystal! I’m getting back to work!”

  Angrily, she snatched up the long spear-shaped crystal and tucked it under her arm.

  “Careful,” Storgen warned. “I’ve seen what those can do when they’re not tuned.”

  “What are you talking about?” she huffed.

  “Remember the boulders we blew up back on Ápinso?”

  Suddenly Philiastra’s eyes went wide. “Oh no!”

  “What?”

  She dropped the crystal to the floor and yanked on her pigtails. “Oh no, Oh No, OH No, OH NO!”

  “Again, what?”

  “I just remembered. The heating elements for Ambera’s bathhouse. You turned in the crystals for me, but I never actually finished tuning them all!”

  * * *

  Ambera lavished the attention of the adoring crowds gathered outside her new temple. Nearly everyone on Ápinso had come out to cheer her on. Many of them had brought their own towels and bath kits, having heard rumors that while the bathhouse itself was free to use for all, even residents, the amenities were obscenely overpriced. This loophole had already been noticed, and behind the scenes a few dozen artisans were busy creating signs in various languages that read: “No outside towels or soaps allowed.”

  Ambera was ravishingly beautiful, her long golden hair floating around her in the air like endless fields of wheat, her long ethereal robes curling and flowing like the roots of trees. She blew a large bubble with her gum, and when it popped, fruits of all types rained down on the adoring crowds. She was the harvest’s bounty personified.

  “A blessing upon my household!”

  “The Empress of the Fall!” they shouted, shielding themselves as heavy melons and pears struck them from above, their cheers mixed with hollers of pain as apples and oranges pelted them at high speed.

  High priestess Acantha was furious as she stood next to the goddess. From a distance, she seemed to have a healthy sun-kissed glow about her, but those up close could see that Ambera had actually doused her with several gallons of honey, so that any flies nearby would land on her instead.

  A dozen slaves crossed the ornate bridge, carrying a huge pair of glimmering, silver scissors.

  “What happened to the golden scissors?” Ambera complained as she hefted them up and gave them a menancing test snip.

  “They had to melt them down to make your bathtub,” Acantha explained, a fly landing on her face and becoming stuck. “They were following your commands.”

  The goddess gave a disapproving sniff, then spun back out over the crowd, leaving a trail of golden radiance like liquid sunlight in the air behind her.

  “Ambera!” they shouted. “The Radiant One!”

  Standing before the lavish bathhouse, she opened she scissors and held them over the giant red ribbon.

  “I now proclaim my new temple open for business!”

  The crowd became absolutely thunderous as she cut the ribbon, many people pushing forward to get to the water sooner. At the signal, the clockwork mechanisms were activated, and the fountains and waterfalls came to life.

  Suddenly, the bathhouse erupted in a titanic explosion, spraying water for miles in all directions. The crowd of humans screamed, trying to push back against those behind as the water came raining down on them. The explosion brought down two of the new temple spires, and collapsed the bridge over the river as terrified humans scattered as fast as they could.

  When the smoke cleared, only a large crater remained where the magnificent bathhouse had been only moments before. The rubble stirred, and Ambera poked her head out, soaking wet and covered with mud, her makeup melting off her face and dripping down onto her mangled gowns.

  Acantha floated past her, face down in the muddy slurry, bubbles coming up through her burnt hair.

  Spitting an apple out of her mouth, Ambera noticed the charred remains of one of the faulty heating elements that Storgen had delivered to her.

  “I’m going to KILL HIMMMMMMMMM!”

  Chapter Twenty

  Fovos is the Forsaken One, a deity worshipped by no one. He has no temples, he has no shrines, he receives no prayers. There is no pantheon that he can call home, nor lips that kindly speak his name. He is the doomsman of the gods, the lord of the underworld, who guards the Undying Bastille, the endless prison that houses souls of those humans who did not earn enough glory in life to merit reincarnation. No one knows the depths of despair and pain that exist within his domain, save those who are condemned to it, for to comprehend it is to experience it. Aga prophesied that only twice would the cages of the damned be opened, and the legions of the underworld set loose to extract their revenge upon the realms above. The first was the final battle of the Great Betrayal, when the forces of heaven and hell joined as one. The second would be Olokáftoma, the breaking of the Gods.

  It is unknown how Fovos has managed to maintain his presence in the physical realm without ambrosia, and there are none who dare to ask, but dark rumors whisper of foul arts and the darkest of magics practiced in the depths of the world, away from prying eyes and free of censure. Who knows what madness has been concocted in the deep? His wife was Estia, daughter of Desmas.

  - Get to Know Your Pantheon: A Handy Guide to Avoiding Damnation. Published in Erotan 389 H.B. to present

  The wind whistled around the tall silver spire of the Chrysós Hotel, so high that the hustle and bustle of the city, mid-festival, seemed peaceful and serene from this distance.

  Inside, Agaprei checked over the palacious penthouse suite for the fifth time in as many minutes. The finest cutlery was set out, the various dishes kept warm at the perfect temperature by swirling musical spells.

  She got out her folding butler stick and triple checked the measurements of the place settings. A width of the stick between the table edge and the plateware, the center of the setting through the center of the dinner plate, the dessert spoon and the patisserie fork at the five and a half marks on either side, the dinner knife and the dinner fork at the six and a half marks, with the bread plate and water glass directly above, the soup spoon at the seven and a half mark with the wine glass directly above, and finally, the shrimp fork on the far right, set at a 45-degree angle to give visual flare.

  She touched the side of a tulip-shaped crystal sherry glass with her finger.

  “They’re late,” she surmised. “The sherry is losing its chill.”

  “No problem, sis,” Kaia comforted. “I got this.”

  Cupping her hands, Kaia sang a quiet little song, the notes gathering around her and forming into a spell. The magic gathered in her hands, like droplets of amber rain. When it was complete, she opened her hands and the spell flowed freely, winding themselves around the glasses and orbiting them in pleasant little wisps of light.

  “Thank you,” Agaprei said, crabbing over to the next place-setting.

  Kaia stepped behind her and put her hands on her shoulders. “Hey, hey, its fine, you’ve got this. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried. I have planned out every detail, rehearsed every contingency. This is going to be flawless.”

  Kaia turned her sister around and looked into her eyes. “Hey, you don’t have to pretend, I know you, okay?”

  Agaprei took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “Okay, you’re right, I’m super nervous.”

  Kaia took the butler stick and folded it back up. “Just remember, they already want what you are offering.”

  “It’s a song of success, all I have to do is follow the melody,” Agaprei assured.

  “Now, there’s the confidence I saw when you took down a giant.”

  Agaprei chuckled and tucked a lock of lavender hair behind her
ear. “This would be so much easier if I could just drug the food.”

  “That’s not a bad idea, actually. Is it too late to do that?”

  Agaprei gave his sister a rebuking glance.

  “I’m just saying!”

  There was a rhythmic knock at the door, and the sisters went over to meet it.

  Paliágáta and his entourage of ailuros entered the room, clearly pleased that the traditional incense had already been lit.

  “May our voices whisper to you from the ageless stone,” he said, stroking his long grey whiskers.

  Agaprei and Kaia bowed, flaring out the bright floral skirts they wore in a curtsy. “And may we listen to the wisdom they offer,” they responded in harmony.

  Paliágáta looked around the room at the traditional decorations, focusing on the closed window at the far end. “Thank you. I am honestly impressed that you took the time to honor our ways.”

  The ailuros took their seats. They didn’t need to be directed, the arrangement made it obvious. Paliágáta took the highest chair, opposite Agaprei, with each of his attendants taking successively lower chairs by rank in a semi-circle. Kaia remained standing, singing a song that filled the air with beautiful points of light, like fireflies as their guests sampled the almond salmon pate.

  “Mónos wishes to do more than honor your ways,” Agaprei explained as she took her seat. “She wishes to bring you into her familia.”

  She watched Paliágáta’s feline eyes to give any hint of his reaction, but she found his expression difficult to read.

  “As servants?” he asked.

  “As honored equals.”

  Kaia changed her song and the firefly lights became starlight, arranging themselves into a map above them, a forested area glowing brighter than the rest.

  “This is the Flamouriá lowlands, held by my Godmother in receivership on the eastern steppes. It is currently uninhabited because of its proximity to the forest. The soil is fertile. With some work, your people will find it most prosperous.”