Ambrosia

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  Another stab of pain. The blood on his fingers was beginning to dry, becoming tacky now. Still, it was hard to keep still. Like touching a hot kettle, then forcing your fingers to remain in contact.

  Storgen bit the needle free and grabbed the wine pouch next to him.

  This was the worst part.

  Clenching his teeth, he poured the wine into the wound, letting off a deep, mournful groan.

  It hurt so bad his toes curled up and his hands shook. It felt like glass was passing through his skin.

  Storgen pinched the wound closed and tightened the thread, pulling the two sides of the cut tightly together, then tied it off as best he could.

  Pops ran up, looking like he might jump out of his skin. “I found her!”

  “Her?”

  “Duchess Charlotte! I found, her, I found her, I found, her, I found her, I found, her, I found her!”

  “All right, hang on, let me get this bandaged up.”

  “No, she might be gone by then, we have to go now!”

  Storgen rolled his eyes and slipped down off the thatched roof. Gáta followed loyally, jumping off the roof and landing atop his head as Storgen helped push the handcart full of Pops’ heroine figurines.

  A couple of brightly dressed ailuros walked by, but the minute they saw two grown men pushing a cart full of dolls, they shook their heads in disgust and crossed to the far side of the street.

  Amid the hustle of the streets, a mountain nymph danced before a small altar of theós.

  “A blessing upon you, all,” she sung amid a pirouette, throwing out cherry blossoms upon the small crowd of gaunt people.

  “What is this noise?” Pops wondered.

  “Those are the unpopular kids,” Storgen explained. “Instead of worshipping a single deity, they worship Theós, the pantheon undivided.”

  The mountain nymph leapt into a beautiful tour en l’air despite her ragged clothing, flipping and contorting her body as she slipped between the poor, starving people. They looked to her with their dry eyes, seeking hope.

  Storgen and Pops tried to go wide of her, but she performed a cartwheel, ending up directly before Pops.

  “Old man…” she said, reaching out and touching his hairy cheek with her stony fingers. Her eyes glowed beneath her closed lids. “You will find the peace you seek.”

  “I know that,” Pops grunted, trying to push past her. “She’s waiting right now for me to rescue her. I just have to get to the store before someone else buys her.”

  The mountain nymph skipped and rolled away into a grande jeté, beginning her song anew, but something startled her. She froze in place, then turned towards Storgen, moving closer as if drawn to him.

  “My Master,” she said reverentially as she bowed before him, her rocky dreadlocks flopping down to the ground. “You honor me with your presence.”

  “Thank you, crazy lady.”

  She prostrated herself, to the surprise of the crowd. “What may I do to serve you?”

  He pointed a finger and winked. “You just keep being your awesome self.”

  She looked up, delight on her grey stony face. “I can see your thoughts. You are looking for your true love. I can help you find her.”

  Before he could protest, she grabbed his hand, and her head was thrown back, light spilling out of her eyes like fountains.

  “Come on, lad,” Pops fretted, tugging on Storgen’s collar. “Duchess Charlotte awaits.”

  Storgen held up his free hand. “Wait a sec.”

  She fell to her knees, her arms hanging limply at her side. She opened her eyes sadly, and placed her hand over her heart. “I’m so sorry, my master, but I cannot help you.”

  Storgen looked at her oddly. “Are you okay?”

  “Come on, lad! Let’s get a move on!”

  Pops yanked Storgen away, and the two made their way down the street.

  “What did you see?” some of the humans asked. “What about his true love?”

  Tears rolled down her stony skin. “He doesn’t have one. Not anywhere in the world.”

  ~

  The shop they came across was little more than a shanty, buttressed between two far more stable structures. In fact, it was so reliant on them for support, it was obvious that it would tumble to pieces without them.

  The owner came out to greet them, a waft of cheap candles and wild herbs clinging to him like a haze. He had squinty eyes, and wore spectacles that had been cobbled together from a variety of different types of glass.

  “Mister Onat, this is Storgen,” Pops introduced.

  “Hey,” Storgen greeted.

  “I see you did not mislead in your description,” Onat appraised. “Your collection is very expansive, and quite well cared for. That is essential to maintaining their value.”

  Pops hooked his thumbs into his tunic in boast. “And the amazon said it was a waste to style their hair each night.”

  “You sure showed her, Pops.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Onat looked over the rim of his spectacles. “In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I would say this looks like a store’s inventory.”

  “We are not thieves,” Storgen insisted. “These belong to Pops, and he loves them dearly.”

  “See there those little braids in DeLire’s hair,” Pops said manically, pointing an untrimmed fingernail. “I did those myself.”

  “Did you?”

  Onat picked up the Countess DeLire and whipped out his knife, threatening to cut her braid off.

  “NO!” Pops screamed, looking like he might die.

  Onat smiled. “That’s all I needed to see. No thief would react that way.”

  He put the knife back away. Pops clutched his chest and gasped for breath.

  “I apologize for the test,” Onat mentioned, straightening his filthy robes. “I would have reacted the same way were I in your position, but I had to be sure. Now, may I ask what you seek in return for this bargain?”

  Pops pointed through the door, to the back of the shop, where a busty figurine with green hair styled into ringlets stood within a glass case. The glass case alone looked more expensive than the shop itself.

  Onat nodded. “You have a keen eye. This is the rarest heroine in the Anterberry Collection. Only eighty- seven were made before the artisan passed away. Even most people in the trade haven’t seen one.”

  Pops carefully removed his five favorite dolls from the cart. “I’m willing to trade them all, for her, save these five.”

  Onat was confused. “But, those five are not the most valuable in your collection. The Unicorn Princess, for example…”

  “It’s the only way to complete my collection,” Pops insisted.

  “How does giving away your collection complete it, Pops?”

  Onat began scrutinizing the dolls. “These are very nice. Very nice indeed.”

  Pops was insistent. “I only need these five, and her. After that everything will be fine.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense, Pops.”

  “Just, trust me, lad.”

  Storgen shrugged and gave Gáta a piece of pita. “All right. I mean, you won them, you can do whatever you want with them.”

  Pops put a rail-thin hand on Storgen’s shoulder. “Thank you lad, it means a lot to me, everything you’ve done.”

  “Hey, no problem. Just remember to put in a good word for me at the judgment scales.”

  “I will at that.”

  Onat looked up, clearly pleased. “Are you sure about this?”

  Pops nodded.

  Onat smiled with his one remaining yellow tooth. “Then we have an accord.”

  While the two men shook hands, Storgen scampered back up atop a thatched roof and looked out between the spires. He could make out the bulk of the guards and cat-people leaving the cave entrance, leaving only two behind.

  “Took them long enough.”

  Gáta mewed happily as Storgen looked down at Pops, hugging his new heroine.

  “Pops, grab you
r stuff, it’s time to get you home.”

  * * *

  The Eternal Gate sat like a round mammoth of clockworks against the black rock of the weeping canyon. The area around it was barren, the sands blowing dryly, wiping away the footsteps of those who had recently passed and leaving nothing behind but ripples and small dunes. Occasionally, sun-bleached bones would peek out through the sands, where they had remained for countless years since the final battle of the War of Strife, when Fovos was beaten back into the underworld and imprisoned in the deepest level.

  Ilíthiagáta yawned, revealing her sharp canine teeth as she leaned against her magical staff. The hawkish visors they wore shielded their faces from the sun, but did little to fight off the heat.

  “Hey Ypnilíagáta, you got all your stuff packed?” she asked.

  He flicked his ears. “Most of it. I mean, are we really sure about this? Do we even know if catnip grows in the Flamouriá lowlands?”

  “You shouldn’t mess with that stuff, it’s a gateway drug.”

  Suddenly, a small distant sound caught their attention. They looked out at the dry sands and the buildings beyond, but saw nothing. Then through the ripple of the heat, they watched in disbelief as a small kitten trekked towards them across the sands. Wondering if it was a dream, they did nothing as the kitten drew near and mewed at them.

  Ilíthiagáta bent down. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

  The kitten mewed again.

  The two ailuros looked at one another.

  “She says she’s sorry for distracting us.”

  Suddenly Storgen dropped down between the guards from the rocks above. He pointed a thumb at the door. “Is this the bathroom? Never mind, don’t tell me, imma pee in it either way.”

  “It’s the human!”

  “Alert the goddess!”

  Storgen held up his hands. “Okay, I didn’t mean to startle you…”

  Ilíthiagáta slashed her staff at his head, but he slipped beneath it.

  “…but I really need to get in there…”

  She cast a spell, a wave of sonic energy that churned up the sands as it struck out. Storgen rolled forward, allowing the wave to pass him.

  “…and I’d rather do it without having to hurt you.”

  “As if you could, human germ!”

  Storgen landed right before Ypnilíagáta. The ailuros stabbed with his weapon, the end becoming a bladed tip of vibrating air as he attempted to gut him alive, but Storgen let it slip beside him, grabbing the shaft with his bicep, and then spinning the weapon free to the surprise of his disarmed opponent.

  Ilíthiagáta roared and cast another spell, the air pumping in a silvery blast of sonic energy.

  Ypnilíagáta held up his paws. “Wait, Ilíthiagáta, don’t!”

  But it was too late. Storgen leapt aside and let the blast strike Ypnilíagáta, sending him flying backwards, cartwheeling and skipping across the sands.

  Storgen came to his feet, twirling the staff in his grip. “Why can’t we just be civilized?”

  “You think you’ve won? In the hands of a human that’s nothing more than a worthless stick.”

  Storgen rested the staff across his shoulders, and playfully spun it around his neck. “Is it?”

  She cast a second wave, but Storgen had already moved. He rolled up underneath, then jumped to the side, barely avoiding a sonic blade as it buried itself where his head had just been. Storgen hooked the back of her knee with one end and yanked hard, pulling her off her feet, then bashed her across the face in the same fluid motion. The staff continued like a whirlwind as she fell, striking her chest, smashing her in the gut, then cracking her across the back of the head. By the time she hit the ground, her body was completely limp and unconscious.

  “Congratulations, you just got beat up by a worthless stick.”

  “Ilíthiagáta, you rat-munching moron!” Ypnilíagáta swore, kicking himself upright. He held out his paw and the staff was ripped from Storgen’s hands, flying across the sands and landing in his grip.

  “Ah, crap.” Storgen charged towards the ailuros, but Ypnilíagáta sprouted wings of vibrating air and launched himself skywards. Pointing his staff, he fired a blast of sonic energy. Storgen was hit by the bolt as the sand exploded in a fountain of dust. The ailuros fired again and again, until the ground beneath him was completely obscured by the cloud of dust he had created. He fired four more times just for good measure, then waited patiently for the dust to settle. He trained his senses, his pointed ears twitching back and forth, but he could find no trace of the human.

  Suddenly there was a rocky sound of a pebble clattering against stone from the cliffs beside him. He turned just in time to see Storgen scaling the rocks, his clothes shredded, his skin lacerated.

  “How did you…?”

  Storgen leapt from the rock face, grabbing Ypnilíagáta’s ankles. The ailuros struggled as he was pulled down by the extra weight, his spectral wings flapping as they spun. He kicked Storgen as hard as he could, but the human held tight.

  “Let go of me, you hairless monkey!” He kicked him again and again, cutting Storgen’s face and neck with his claws, but he would not let go. Storgen opened his mouth, biting down hard on Ypnilíagáta toes, and the ailuros hollered out in agony as they came crashing down to the ground.

  Storgen climbed on top of his opponent and punched as hard as he could, but his fist came short, pinging against a humming barrier of sound. He punched a second time and a third, but the barrier grew, creating a sphere of energy around Ypnilíagáta as his staff glowed brightly.

  The ailuros planted his staff into the sand and sphere expanded outwards, throwing Storgen back and pinning him against the gate. Storgen fought and struggled, but the harder he pushed, the harder he was pressed against the clockworks.

  “So, THIS is the great human champion?” Ypnilíagáta asked. He flicked out his claw, and the air whipped with a silvery sound. Storgen winced, and a deep cut appeared on his shoulder.

  “The great secret weapon of Ambera?” He flicked his claw again, cutting Storgen across the cheek, then again across the thigh. Storgen gritted his teeth from the pain.

  “The human who lifted the Shield of Nisi above his head and shattered his back over his knee?” He flicked his claw again and a long cut appeared across his midsection. “I’m not impressed.”

  “I really only knocked him out,” Storgen grunted.

  Gáta hissed and swiped at Ypnilíagáta’s boot.

  The ailuros looked down. “I don’t care if he gave you pita.”

  Gáta hissed again.

  “And I don’t care if he’s a champion.”

  Ypnilíagáta yanked the staff free, a vibrating spike of energy summoning from the tip as he walked closer.

  “I’m going to enjoy this. After all this time serving humans, I finally get to see what they taste like.”

  He held it like a spear and pointed it straight at Storgen’s heart. Storgen coughed, his bones creaking as the barrier pressed him further.

  “Powerless human. Look at you, so helpless you can barely breathe.”

  He thrust the staff forward, but the magical tip dissipated, doing no harm.

  Ypnilíagáta looked down in confusion. His staff was gone.

  His spells evaporated around him.

  Storgen dropped to the ground and looked up, wiping the dribble of blood from his cheek. “You think I’m helpless?”

  The ailuros reached for his talisman to call for help, but it was too late. Storgen punched him in the throat. The cat-warrior bent forward, hacking in pain.

  “You think humans are powerless?”

  Storgen brought up his knee, bashing him in the chin. Ypnilíagáta’s head flicked back, lost teeth spinning lazily in the air.

  “You think you’re better than humans because you have magic?”

  Storgen grabbed his tail and yanked him off his feet.

  “Well if I’m so powerless…”

  Storgen brought his heel up and kicked down,
slamming Ypnilíagáta into the sand.

  “…then why are you lying on the ground bleeding?”

  Ypnilíagáta coughed and hacked in wretched pain as Storgen took the man’s own dagger and held it up to his throat. “I could kill you right now if I wanted to. I would be well within my rights. You attacked the champion of your goddess.”

  Ypnilíagáta spit out purple blood onto the sands. “Then do it. I would rather die than bear this shame.”

  Storgen pulled back the blade, then punched the ailuros in the face, knocking him out cold.

  “No. No, you live with it.”

  Storgen threw the knife aside as Pops came walking up, holding the staff in his Brigand’s Gauntlet

  “Wow, I can’t believe it. Thanks for the assist, Pops,” Storgen praised as he picked up Gáta.

  Pops threw the staff aside as he waddled up. “What’s with that look? Is it really so surprising that I could come along and save the day?”

  Storgen thought as the kitten mewed in concern and licked the cut on his cheek.

  “Well…yeah, actually, it is.”

  “Bah, you’ve forgotten your lore, lad. Don’t you know the wise old sage always saves the hero?”

  “You are hardly a wise old sage, and I’m no hero.”

  Storgen set Gáta down and began rummaging through the pockets of the fallen guards. Finding a brightly colored pouch, he began sprinkling the pungent contents over the ailuros.

  “What is that?” Pops asked, pinching his nose.

  “Catnip. If anyone comes by, they’ll assume these two got high and brawled it out.”

  Storgen took a moment to position the bodies in a way that looked convincing, then took out the Kleidí Ailuros. The etchings along the golden key began to glow with an ethereal light as Storgen placed it into the lock and turned. For a moment, nothing happened, then ancient cogs and gears began to turn, antiquated pistons hissed, and timeworn spinners began to whirr.

  “I’ve changed my mind, lad,” Pops whimpered, turning to run.

  “Hang on Pops,” Storgen bade, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck.