Ambrosia

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  Storgen chewed slowly. “And you are?”

  “Lord Krýo Fidi, diplomatic envoy from the Godmother Reinala.”

  Storgen raised one hand and waved, but remained seated. “Storgen, champion of Ambera, nice to meet you.”

  “Champion? You feign ignorance of the laws of etiquette, yet declare yourself to be a champion before me?”

  Storgen took another bite. “My preferred pronouns are ‘Great One,’ and ‘The Mighty,’”

  “Do you not feel that your answer is too arrogant by far? Champion is a sacred title; may I ask what you have you done to secure it?”

  “Punched a guy.”

  “That is not what I mean. Have you worked tirelessly to serve the interests of your people? Have you labored long to proclaim the glory of your goddess?”

  “Mostly I just try not to get killed by her.”

  Storgen’s answers were clearly getting under Lord Krýo’s skin. “I’m sorry, but I cannot acknowledge you as a champion.”

  “’Kay.”

  “Did you not hear me? I said I refuse to acknowledge you as a champion.”

  Storgen looked around. “I believe everyone at the table heard you.”

  Lord Krýo couldn’t believe his ears. “I fail to understand, after being so denied. How can you continue to sit there?”

  “I like steak.”

  “Where is your pride? Does it mean nothing to you to have your honor challenged?”

  Storgen leaned forward and grabbed a glass of apple wine. “Let me ask you a question. If a gift is given, but not accepted, who does it belong to?”

  “The person who gave it, of course.”

  Storgen held up his glass in salute. “Likewise, I refuse to accept your insults, you may keep them.”

  Lord Krýo took a moment to regain his composure. “Very well. I respect your right to live as you wish, but I cannot acknowledge you as a champion.”

  Storgen took a sip. “I’m not asking you to.”

  With a bow, Lord Krýo walked away.

  ~

  Philiastra kicked in the door to the Verification Ingress Office, where Erolina was putting the finishing touches on a painting she was working on.

  “I don’t know if I want to kiss him or smack him, Scythe,” Philiastra complained as she shut the door behind her.

  “Why not do both?” Erolina suggested, scratching the scar on her face.

  Philiastra moaned in relief as she took off her sandals. “There is no way I’m going to be able to wear these things all night.”

  “If all goes well you won’t have to,” she said with a playful wink.

  Erolina stood up and smoothed out the dress she wore, her magic key hanging from her belt. It was elegant and graceful, but shockingly modest compared to what she usually wore. “I’m not entirely sure about this dress you picked out. It feels like you are trying to sabotage me.”

  “You’ve come on waaaaay too strong in the past, Scythe. Dressing more casually will help put him at ease. He’s never going to feel comfortable around you if he feels like you might try to jump him at any time.”

  “Now you’re giving me ideas.”

  “Reign it in, you nymphomaniac.”

  “You realize where that word comes from, don’t you, nymph?”

  “So, how’s the painting coming along?”

  Erolina leaned back to regard to take in her work. “It was actually easier than I thought. You were right, painting a canvas is not all that different from painting a face. I’m just not sure this is going to work.”

  “Well, the best thing would be to apologize to him.”

  “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

  “Right, because that would be the decent thing to do.”

  “Remember the truce,” she scolded.

  “Okay, sorry. So, the next best thing is to join in on his hobbies. All male friendships are based on common interests. It’s how they bond. Painting by hand is one of his favorite things; once he finds out you do it too, you’ll automatically move closer to being part of his inner circle.”

  Erolina looked over her painting skeptically. “Yeah, but he’s a fairly good painter. Won’t he dislike what I make?”

  “It doesn’t matter if your painting is good or not. Just the fact that you are passionate about it will endear him to you. In fact, it’s better if it’s bad.”

  “How is that better?”

  “Because if he pretends it’s good anyway, that means he’s protecting your feelings.”

  “That makes sense, actually.”

  Erolina became lost in thought for a moment, her eyes distant as she touched the locket around her neck.

  “You okay?” Philiastra asked.

  “Hmm? Oh, just, something doesn’t feel right. Something has drawn very close. A murderous intent, one I haven’t felt for a while now.”

  “Should we…?”

  “Don’t concern yourself with it.”

  She pulled the veil down over the finished painting and tucked it beneath her arm. “All right, here I go.”

  “Remember, the point is to be casual and non-threatening.”

  “Hey, it’s me, when am I ever formal or threatening?”

  “Right.”

  Philiastra couldn’t help but shake her head as she watched her leave. Erolina was so different when she let her guard down. Beneath the warrior façade was a personality that was surprisingly playful, even a little goofy.

  ~

  Erolina scanned the room carefully for the source of the kardiá kynigoú she felt, her hunter’s eyes checking every nook and cranny, testing the behavior of each individual her gaze fell upon. The malice she felt was sharp, direct, focused. She knew it could only be one person...

  Storgen’s voice broke her concentration. He had moved to a new table, chatting with some of the former monks.

  “Did you hear about what happened to Abbot Tabani?” Ranald asked, clutching the magic key on his belt.

  “Yeah, poor guy. Just one day before retirement, too.”

  “Hey Storgen, I have something to show you,” Erolina beamed as she tried to return to her original purpose.

  Storgen looked up from the rib bone he was munching on. “Yeah?”

  “Yes. I painted something, and I want to know what you think.”

  This took him back a little. “Seriously?”

  “Yep.”

  “Like, by hand?”

  She shoved Ranald out of the way and unveiled her painting. It was a gruesome battlefield, tangled bodies and blood-soaked sands, blood pooling within the divots of the very rocks, with a few remaining amazons standing over the corpses.

  Storgen stared at it, aghast.

  “Do you like it?” she asked expectantly. “I’m really happy with the intestines hanging out there. See how I hid the brush strokes there?”

  Storgen had to force himself to swallow his bite of food. “You ask me if I like it? It’s a bunch of dead people.”

  “Not just any dead people, this is the Battle of Apids Bridge, a great victory for my tribe against the Dust-Clad. Look, these are the remains of Karna the Despoiler, see how his head is completely detached from his body? My great-grandmother did that.”

  “You realize I’m trying to eat here, right?”

  “Well, sure, what goes better with feasting than glory and revels?”

  Storgen’s eyes went wide with fear. “Maybe painting just isn’t your thing…” he trailed off.

  Erolina turned to see what he was staring at. There, entering the far end of the hall was a familiar figure, a great beastman of muscle and sinew, his metallic silver fur shining in the torchlight.

  “The Shield of Nisi, no one told me he would be here,” Storgen squeaked.

  As if sensing his presence, Shield snapped his head up and looked around, his sharpened horns whistling through the air. When their eyes met, he lifted up his great finger.

  “Yoooouuuuuuuu!”

  Shield pushed through the crowd of people, knocking
over an ice sculpture as he charged towards Storgen.

  Storgen slipped away. “Gotta’ go.”

  “Champion of Ambera, come here, I have words to speak to you!”

  Storgen leapt beneath the table and crawled away, surprised guests yelping as he brushed past their legs.

  “Come back here,” Shield bellowed, searching through the rows of tables.

  Erolina backed off, searching the room anew, but try as she might, she could not locate the source.

  ~

  “Well, that didn’t work at all,” Erolina complained as she stepped back into the office.

  “Well, what did you expect?” Philiastra asked as she massaged her feet. “You painted a gore-fest.”

  Erolina tossed her painting into a corner. “You said to paint something I was passionate about.”

  “No, I said paint something he’s passionate about.”

  “Well, I’m not going to paint a picture of his stupid siren.”

  Philiastra crinkled her nose. “Siren? You mean the girl with the lavender hair?”

  “Yeah, right, I meant her.”

  “But, why did you say she was a siren? Storgen’s never…”

  “Just forget it, okay? What do I do next?”

  Philiastra sighed. “We need to find something else you have in common. What do you amazons do when you’re happy?”

  “Normally, we bathe in the blood of our enemies.”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to work. Oh, I know. You need to become friends with his friends. That way he’ll see you as being part of his group.”

  “Does he even have any friends?”

  “Meh, not really. I mean, he does hang out with Pops a lot.”

  “Do dads count?”

  “I dunno, it’s worth a shot.”

  Erolina peeked out the door and found Pops sitting by himself, talking to his dolls.

  “I’m really not comfortable with this.”

  “Do you want my help or not?”

  ~

  Women screamed as The Shield of Nisi flipped over a table, revealing Storgen beneath. “There you are, hiding like a little bug.”

  Storgen moved to scramble away, but Shield caught him by the ankle. Dangling like a fish on a hook, Storgen was lifted up until he was face to face with a pair of ferocious bovine eyes.

  “I see that your eye grew back,” Storgen observed.

  “Of course, ambrosia heals all wounds of body. But wounds of pride, that is different.”

  Suddenly, Shield flipped him over and wrapped his arms around Storgen, squeezing him tightly.

  “You fight very well, I never had chance to congratulate.”

  Storgen was frozen in place as the minotaur gave him a bear hug. “You mean, you’re not mad at me?”

  Shield set him down. “Mad? I was furious. My reputation shattered like sparrow’s egg. Beaten by little human. I was devastated. I planned to rip out spine from your body while still alive.”

  “Graphic.”

  “But then, I find out you are not little human.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No, I learn secret, you are special weapon, bred by Ambera, with special power, unlike any other.”

  Storgen chuckled nervously.

  The Shield of Nisi slapped him on the back. “Now, my reputation restored. No champion can stand against Ambera’s special weapon, so is no big deal that I lose.”

  “Glad to see you landed on your feet.”

  “Ha! Before you, dueling had become boring. Was too easy to win, I see that now. Now, you give me new purpose. Now, I train three times day, so that next time we meet, I will not lose again.”

  “Well, I hope that never happens.”

  The minotaur leaned back and gave off a great, animalistic laugh. “You are very funny. Come, I buy you drink.”

  Before Storgen could protest, Shield picked him up by the scruff of the next and headed over to the wet bar.

  ~

  Pops took a moment to pour the tea into the miniature cup set out in front of The Countess DeLire figurine. “Now, I made sure to sit you and the Emerald Empress opposite one another, so no feuding like in the Ash Chronicles.”

  He carefully set down a bowl of cherries, which was difficult, wearing the bulky Brigand Gauntlet, and used a pair of serving tongs to place one on each tiny plate.

  Erolina stepped up, feeling disgusted with herself.

  Pops yelped when he saw her and backed away. He held out the magical gauntlet and the bowl of cherries vanished, reappearing in his hands.

  “What do you want? Are you here to take my cherries?”

  “What? No.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  Erolina stood there, at war with herself. Whatever was stalking her was moving, and it made her feel like prey to sit out in the open.

  “Come on, you can do it,” Philiastra’s voice came through her earrings.

  “I uh…wanted to know if I could join you.”

  Pops reached out and his dolls magically appeared in his hand. “I’m sorry, but this table is reserved for heroines. No real life women are allowed.”

  “You’re still wearing that thing?”

  Pops looked down at the cursed artifact. “It ah…won’t come off.”

  “You’re such an idiot.”

  “I’m getting better at it. Watch this.”

  Pops reached out his armored hand, and across the hall, a ladle disappeared from a woman’s hand just as she was about to fill her bowl with soup.

  The ladle appeared in Pops’ hand. “See?”

  Across the hall, a woman screamed as a ladle’s worth of scalding soup suddenly splashed into her lap.

  Erolina couldn’t hold her tongue. “This hall is full of beautiful women, why would you waste your time with these things?”

  Pops laughed as he set out tiny cutlery for his party guests. “What do real life women have to offer me? My heroines love me. Do those real women out there love me?”

  “How could they? They don’t even know you.”

  “And if they did, would they love me?”

  Erolina struggled with the answer. On the one hand, she was trying to ingratiate herself, but one the other hand, it was just too big of a lie to try and pull off.

  “No, they wouldn’t,” she admitted honestly.

  Pops smiled. “So you do understand, after all.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Erolina groused as she reached into her bag. “I ah, have brought one with me.”

  She pulled out an amazon doll. It was made of bundled burlap, with markings over the heart and in other vital places, but Pops reacted to it as if it were a grand work of art.

  “Ah! You have a legendary heroine too?”

  “Well, it’s really more of a training dummy.”

  Pops was off like a rocket, ambling over and grabbing a chair just as a man was about to sit down. The man fell to the floor as Pops came waddling back with it.

  “Please, sit down. Join us. “This is the Lady of the White Lotus, and this is the Dragon Empress. You already know the other two.”

  One by one, he set the dolls back in their chairs, bowing them as if they were introducing themselves.

  Erolina looked at the empty chair as if it were poisonous. “I don’t know if I want to join you.”

  Pops laughed and grabbed her wrist. She plopped down in her seat, and watched as Pops set out a tiny tea cup and platter for her doll.

  “I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, Scythe,” Pops said enthusiastically. “We should spend more time together. Oh! I’m having a parade tomorrow in my room. You can bring your heroine with you.”

  “See? It’s working already,” Philiastra praised. “He’s warming right up to you.”

  Erolina watched as Pops placed a cherry on the tiny dish.

  “Yeah, but it’s like nuzzling up to a porcupine,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “So, what are these tattoos she has?”

  Erolina loo
ked at the doll. “They’re not tattoos, they’re targets. They show the lethal points, the heart, the brain, major arteries. It’s to teach young girls how to make a clean kill. Here, I’ll show you.”

  She reached up and pulled a hair pin out, her silver hair unraveling into its usual long pony tail. Wielding it like a tiny dagger, she pierced the doll, releasing a dribble of red liquid.

  Pops was mortified. “Oh no, she’s injured! Here, take this napkin, NO, I’ll make a bandage, NO, I’ll have her heal it.”

  Pops rummaged frantically through his pack and pulled out a busty figurine with angelic wings.

  “This is Apothica, the Healer of the South. She’ll bind your wounds.”

  Pops held the figurine over the doll.

  “Heal!” he encanted. “Heal!”

  “You don’t actually think that…?”

  “Heeeeeeaaaaalllll!”

  The burlap doll stopped dribbling.

  Pops held up his figuring in amazement. “Wow, it actually worked.”

  “It didn’t work, the reservoir just ran out.”

  “Oh.” Pops sat down and looked at the pool of red liquid soaking into the tablecloth. “Wow that is really realistic fake blood.”

  Erolina tilted her head. “Fake blood?”

  Pops’ eyes went wide as saucers.

  ~

  At the bar, Storgen tilted up his glass, draining the glowing liquid as Shield finished his story.

  “…and then I say, if you will not marry, I will not kill.”

  They were both distracted by an old man screaming. They watched as Pops ran by, his figurines gathered up in his arms as he sprinted across the hall as fast as his thin little legs would carry him, disappearing with a shriek into the purging chamber.

  ~

  Erolina strode into the office and threw her burlap doll to the ground. “I’m not helping you anymore. This is getting nowhere. Your tutelage isn’t worth spit.”

  Philiastra stood up. “My advice was to apologize, but you wouldn’t take it.”

  “So, you admit you are intentionally giving me bad advice instead.”

  “I am not! I may not be some high and mighty amazon pride-bucket like you are, but I do have scruples. I would have done the same thing and it would have worked.”

  “Oh please.”

  “Don’t you ‘oh, please’ me, what about your advice? You’re old, you’ve slept with hundreds of men.”