Ambrosia

by Aaron Lee Yeager

Paliágáta took a sip of sherry and looked over at the window again.

  “And I assume what we grow and clear will belong to your Godmother?” he asked pessimistically.

  “This is not Erotan. What you grow and build will be your own.”

  This caused him to take pause.

  “You will also have a voice in all policy and decision-making,” she continued. “We will construct a shrine here, which will allow you direct communications with the temple.”

  The ailuros looked at one another suspiciously.

  “And if we do not like a decision that has been made?”

  “Then you may leave. What my Godmother offers is voluntary worship, not slavery. The lands gifted to you will be an inheritance for your children and their children for all time. Mónos is Godmother to beastman and human alike. She wants your worship, not your servitude, and she knows that generosity breeds gratitude, the most pure form of worship.”

  This impressed them immensely, and the mood of the room immediately began to soften. One of the ailuros raised her glass in salute, and tails, which up until now had been strangely still, now began to wave freely.

  As they ate, Paliágáta asked several questions of his advisors in their tongue. Agaprei had studied up as much as she could, but could only manage to catch a few words here and there, as many of the vowels were outside her range of hearing.

  “These terms are more than we could have hoped for,” Paliágáta said at last in the common tongue. “I don’t mind showing my hand by telling you this.”

  Agaprei relaxed visibly. “It pleases me to hear that.”

  Paliágáta picked up his glass and drank it empty. “To be honest, if you were a human, I might have suspected some deception.”

  A couple of the others chuckled mirthfully.

  “I give you my word as a siren; these are the terms my Godmother offers.”

  “Are those long pointy ears of yours real?” he jested. “You aren’t a human parading as a siren?”

  Agaprei laughed warmly. “I assure you, they are quite real.”

  To make her point, she wiggled them up and down adorably. The ailuros laughed heartily and called for some stronger drink, which Kaia was happy to provide.

  “If I may ask, you have the most unusual hair color.”

  She grabbed her hair a little self-consciously. “This? Yeah, no one else in my family has purple hair.”

  “No other siren does,” Kaia added. “She’s the only one.”

  Agaprei chuckled nervously. “We don’t really know why.”

  The next few minutes were spent in pleasant conversation. Stories were told, some poetry was shared, and Kaia was asked to sing a traditional siren ballad, which she did so splendidly.

  “You must forgive me for doubting you earlier,” Paliágáta mentioned, enjoying a nice hardy bite of steak. “It has been so long since our kind have been treated as anything but beasts.”

  “Believe me, I know what you mean, but the humans in Agadis have made great strides over the past few years. They can be a little awkward at times, but they genuinely mean well.”

  Suddenly, his tall cat-like ears turned towards the window, and his eyes followed.

  “Is something wrong?” Agaprei wondered.

  Paliágáta set down his cutlery and ceased to make a sound. The other ailuros instinctively followed suit. Even the sound of their breathing disappeared, creating an immense and eerie quiet as they listened.

  “Are you sure we are alone?” he asked, his eyes focused on the window.

  “I have enchnted protective wards on every wall, ceiling, and floor,” Kaia explained. “If anyone were to enter, I would be immediately alerted.”

  Without making a sound, Paliágáta walked on all fours across the room. It was almost as if he floated, not even the faintest rustle of the carpet against his paws escaped.

  With surprising speed, he threw open the window and thrust his head outside.

  Cold air whistled into the room, scattering the starlight and blowing out the incense. Kaia grabbed her brightly-colored shawl and pulled it close.

  “Do you see anything?” Agaprei asked, her hands on her dagger hilts.

  Paliágáta looked around in all directions, but found nothing but the glassy exterior of the building and the bittersweet whistle of the wind.

  The tips of his ears drooped a little. “No. I’m sorry, I must have imagined it.”

  He closed the window, and Kaia went to fetch a candle to relight the incense.

  Agaprei pulled the curtains closed. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did your people come to live in Erotan? This place isn’t exactly known for being welcoming to beastmen.”

  “We have served here since the war of strife,” he explained.

  “When the gods invaded the underworld?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “My people were once great craftsman. Though our skills have dulled from centuries of service, there was a time when even the gods themselves commissioned works of beauty to be made on their behalf. Prior to the war, we created many wondrous items for Fovos, the god of the underworld…”

  The other ailuros lowered their eyes in reverence, for they knew this story well.

  “…The Crown of Wisdom, a circlet of unparalleled elegance, The Scepter of Courage, a remarkable emblem without peer, and the Necklace of Beauty, all of them worthy only to be worn by the most beautiful, wise, and courageous deity in the heavens. He told us they were to be gifts for his wife, Estia, but he never gave them to her.”

  “So, wait, that is why you were enslaved by Sirend? Simply for crafting gifts for Fovos?”

  “Sirend is many things, but merciful is not one of them. We fell prey to his choleric nature.”

  They all stood there for a moment in deep contemplation. Just the mention of Sirend’s name had the effect of bringing the room to silence.

  “But let us talk of more cheerful things,” Paliágáta suggested. “There is much left yet to discuss.”

  “Yes there is,” Agaprei agreed. “Shall we retire to the study for a more relaxed atmosphere?”

  “That would be most agreeable.”

  “I’ll make us some drinks,” Kaia offered happily. “What do you want, sis?”

  “How about a brandy and orange juice, hold the brandy.”

  “Ugh, you are so boring.”

  “I’ve been looking over your contract with Sirend, and I have discovered a clause I believe we can use to your advantage…”

  As they all filed back inside to the separate room that had been prepared, Paliágáta took one final glimpse back at the curtained window before closing the door behind him.

  Outside the suite, all was still in the cold air.

  Then the air shifted, as if a prism had been moved, a shaped glass in the form of a person, hooded and cloaked, jumped down off the wall next to the window.

  Ten stories it fell, barely a ruffle of heavy fabric, then the familiar chink of metallic boots as the nearly-invisible outline landed atop an outcropped gargoyle. The form scurried deftly along the glass side of the tower, clinging to a ledge barely wide enough for a fingertip, before turning the corner and vanishing beneath the shadow of a veranda.

  The clasp was unfastened and the spell was broken, Erolina pulling back the hood of the magical cloak that had concealed her. She sat there silently, in deep contemplation over what she had just heard.

  * * *

  “Cheers!”

  Storgen and Philiastra smashed their bottles against the newly-laid foundation, and the crowd went wild. Oath’s Hill was one of the few open places on Kólasi, and the crowds made it feel like they were in the middle of an ocean of people. Hands rose up like cresting waves, flowers were thrown like the spray of the sea.

  Priestess Ophira tapped a sigil on her choker, and the gemstone lit up, carrying her voice above the crowd.

  “When completed, the statue of Ambera will be the tallest structure built by human hands in
the eastern hemisphere. Two hundred thousand new jobs created, countless money poured into the local economy, and a proud monument that will draw pilgrims and tourists to your lands for generations to come.”

  The crowd bellowed even louder in jubilation.

  Storgen leaned over to Philiastra. “She’s good, she makes Ambera’s vanity project sound positively altruistic.”

  Philiastra laughed in spite of herself. Being the only beastman in a sea of humans made her feel a little uneasy, but her brand new dress was extremely cute with the short puffy sleeves she liked so much, Storgen looked amazing in the formal ailurosian waistcoat she had threatened him into wearing, and Erolina was nowhere to be seen.

  Everyone seemed happy to see her, every morsel of food tasted amazing, every sip of wine beyond compare. Through the daze and haze and noise and music, she could not recall ever having so much fun.

  The next family in line came up and bowed before the foundation. Philiastra could tell they were some of the wealthier humans, because their drab brown clothes only had a couple of holes in them.

  “A gift of flowers, fruits, and corn from the fields, from the farmers guild,” the father said, presenting a horn of plenty.

  “Thank you,” Philiastra said, taking it in her hands.

  The youngest girl came up, her voice an adorable lisp from her missing front tooth. “You’re very beautiful. Can I give you a hug?”

  “Awwww, of course you can,” Philiastra cooed. The girl ran up and wrapped her arms around her, and the two shared the sweetest little hug that Philiastra had ever had.

  Ophira took the gift and added it to the growing pile on the table behind them.

  Philiastra adjusted her white gloves and took out her fancy fan to cool herself.

  “Okay, you were right, this was a good idea.”

  Storgen gave a handsome smile. “See? When are you going to learn that I am always right and you are always wrong?”

  She thought for a moment. “I think you’re right.”

  “You do? Well, I mean, yeah, of course you do.”

  They both bowed and received the next gift from the family in line.

  As they passed the gift on, Storgen furrowed his brow.

  “Wait…If you’re always wrong and you say I’m right, does that mean I’m wrong?”

  “Well, since you can’t be wrong, I must be right for agreeing with you.”

  Storgen scratched his neck in confusion. “But, you can’t be right, but if you agree with me you must be, which would mean I was wrong in the first place, but if you agree with me when I’m wrong, does that make you right or wrong…?

  Ophira and Philiastra looked at one another in amusement.

  “I think I just broke his brain,” the priestess observed.

  “It wasn’t that hard.”

  The crowd of humans obediently parted and Paliágáta approached with a group of dignitaries, all dressed in bright floral skirts in contrast to the brown rags worn by the humans. In their paws they carried a golden key of indescribable beauty. As long as a forearm, the smooth metallic surfaced was etched with hairline lettering and ancient runes, the entire history of their people wrapped in a single object of purest golden workmanship.

  “May our voices whisper to you from the ageless stone,” Paliágáta intoned.

  “I nyever get tired of hearing that,” Storgen responded.

  Paliágáta’s tail flicked about harshly. “You two are the married couple?”

  Storgen put his arm around Philiastra and pulled her in close, jostling her a bit more than she would have preferred. “Yep, that’s us.”

  His cat-like eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I present to Ambera, Kleidí Ailuros, the greatest treasure my people have to offer.”

  Storgen reached out his hand, but the key was withdrawn.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Paliágáta twitched his whiskers. “Surely you know the chosen couple must kiss before the key can be given.”

  Philiastra’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “K-k-k-kiss?”

  Storgen tilted his head. “I was not aware of this law. Can you show me where it is written?”

  “It is an unwritten law, one of our most sacred traditions,” Paliágáta smirked.

  “You told me we wouldn’t have to do anything,” Philiastra hissed.

  “Well, I didn’t know about this,” Storgen snapped back.

  “I knew this was a bad idea! Your ideas are always bad.”

  “How is this my fault?”

  “Shh, quiet. Everyone is looking.”

  Paliágáta stepped closer. “If Ambera has no intentions of honoring our traditions, then I cannot hand over the key in good faith,” Paliágáta mused. “And if it were found out that her emissaries attempted to deceive us…”

  Priestess Ophira steadied herself against the edge of the foundation. “Ambera is going to eat me alive. I’m dead…I’m a dead woman.”

  Storgen cupped his hands over Philiastra’s cheeks and moved in close. It happened so fast, she didn’t even realize what had occurred at first.

  His lips were touching hers.

  For a moment she panicked, her hands coming up in shock as if to strike him, her muffled voice eeking out between their faces.

  His hands felt so warm and strong against her face, his lips felt so soft. His strength felt so gentle, his touch felt so exhilarating. His very smell flooded her senses, his presence heady and stimulating, washing over her like a mighty river, swallowing her whole. Her heart fluttered, her eyes closed, her shoulders relaxed. His kiss was soft and slow, calming, comforting beyond all reason.

  She kissed him back, leaning into him, her body so responsive, her heart pounding in her chest. With one hand, she reached up and touched his cheek, her skin electric with sensation as her fingertips traced over his delectable stubble. Her other hand came up, resting on the side of his neck.

  She felt like she was floating, her soul alight, her heart ablaze. There was no thought or decision, no calculation or weighted judgment. Her heart accepted his touch and she returned it threefold. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in tighter, closer, more forcefully. She pressed his body against hers, enchanted at the sensation of his scrumptiously chiseled chest, and when she felt his heartbeat, her own heart squealed in delight. It was as natural as soaking in sunlight, as effortless as drawing in water. Even the anxious little voices in the back of her mind went silent, washed away like footprints in the sand as if they had never existed at all.

  She felt her mind drifting, as is she floated in a sea of starlight. Warmth radiated between them, as if a miniature sun had been created by their touch. It was more magical than anything she had ever experienced, transcending every sensation and eclipsing every pleasure.

  She let out a low moan and lost herself completely in that moment. Time faded away and evaporated into a mist of euphoric bliss, the crowd and buildings became a shadow that fled before their light. The two of them existed in a realm devoid of time or others. The only sound she could hear was the beating of their hearts. The only thing she could feel was the radiance of their souls. She could hear her heartbeat synchronize, changing its rhythm to beat in time with his, matching his cadence, orienting itself as a compass to the draw of the earth.

  She felt her heart changing, but she did not resist. No, she encouraged it. She longed to belong to him, she desired to be his, mind and soul, body and spirit. She wanted it more than anything she had ever wanted, more than anyone had ever wanted anything. She felt her old self slip away, like the shedding of buds during a blossom, the petals of her heart unfolding out around them like long, radiant wings.

  Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was over. Storgen pulled away, the lingering heavenly bliss of his kiss still resting on her lips.

  “Satisfied?” Storgen asked, and the dignitaries looked at one another in annoyed capitulation.

  Priestess Ophira grabbed a set of scriptures and fanned herself. “My, my…that was
one powerful kiss.”

  Paliágáta let slip a low growl and placed the key in Philiastra’s hands. Without parting words or ceremony, he and the other ailuros turned around and left, leaving the two at the center of the celebration.

  Storgen leaned in to whisper, and Philiastra obediently tilted her head, ready to accept a second round of kissing.

  “I’m sorry you had to play along with that, Phili,” he apologized. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

  “Wha?” she asked perplexedly, her eyes dreamy and distant.

  He gave her a friendly slap on the shoulder. “You’re a pretty good actor, you know that?”

  She furrowed her brow, her brain attempting to kick-start itself through the haze of intoxicating rapture.

  “Acting?” she mumbled.

  “And now I’ll take that,” he said reaching for the key.

  “Oh, yeah, she’s a regular thespian.”

  They turned to find Erolina leaning against the foundation.

  “How long have you been there?” Storgen wondered.

  “Oh, NOW you’re talking to me?” She snatched the key away before Storgen could take it and handed it over to Ophira. “Let’s get that locked away immediately.”

  “Yes, Scythe.”

  Storgen didn’t even try to hide his disappointment.

  Erolina took out an orb and twisted the top to bring it to life. “I’m linking to the new crystal array you built, I trust it isn’t going to explode, nymph?”

  “Hmm?” Philiastra mumbled, touching her flush cheeks.

  “Never mind.” Erolina threw the orb into the air, and it burst into an explosion of crackling fireworks. The individual sparkles drew inwards and formed themselves into an enormous image of her face.

  “Subjects of Ambera, guests and allies,” she said, her booming voice seeming to come from the heavens themselves. “I am the Scythe of Ambera. I invite you all to come to the Acropolis. It is open to all, brimming with wine, women, and song. Confirm your oaths to the Goddess Ambera this night, or find a new land in the morning.”

  The majority of the crowd cheered, but a few grew concerned when they realized she was serious.

  “Tomorrow, I will travel to Themiskyra along with Ambera’s second champion, to begin talks to bring my people into the fold, and form an alliance between our two great nations.”