Ambrosia

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  “You are Ambera, elder sister to Jenala, also known as Aktinovólo Éna, the Radiant One. Weaver of the Seasons, Giver of Fruit, Empress of the Fall.”

  Ambera turned to her champion, enraged. “Where did you get that tripe?”

  Erolina pointed her thumb behind her. “It’s written on the plaque of your mosaic.”

  “Be silent, Scythe!”

  The other servants looked at one another in awe. They couldn’t believe Erolina could speak so brazenly and live.

  Her anger spent, Ambera sat down in the remains of her throne, her skin returning to a golden wheat. “Triple the ambrosia per acre, it’s absurd! What am I going to do?” She grabbed a fistful of chocolate from a cracked urn and began stress eating.

  Splattered with frosting and jelly, High Priestess Acantha emerged from the rubble. Trying to look as dignified as she could, she wiped the cream from her brow and did some calculations on her tablet. “We took in a full extra quarter barrel during the harvest festival, way beyond projections, but even that won’t come close to making up the difference.”

  “And how long will that last?” the goddess asked between gulps of chocolate.”

  “With this new level of tithe, our stores will last three weeks at best, and that’s if we cancel every gift and blessing we had scheduled to give out.”

  Ambera wiped her face and grabbed a bottle of wine. “That’s his plan, isn’t it? He wants me to default so he can give my position to somebody else. Why else would he ask for such an impossible amount of tribute?”

  The goddess threw her head back and began gulping down the contents.

  “But why would he do that? You’ve fulfilled the role better than any other deity who’s held the post,”

  Ambera exhaled sharply. “It must be Nisi. I bet she’s behind this. She’s been after my job for centuries. That sword-licker humiliated me in the succession wars and she’s keen to do it again. She’ll wait for me to default, then attempt a hostile takeover. She did the same thing against Theries a century ago.”

  “If we are to clash with Nisi’s armies, then we need to move you to a safer location,” Erolina warned. “You’re far too vulnerable here, and your security forces are laughably inadequate.”

  She turned her eyes over to the head guard Piers, who was sitting atop a piece of broken marble, his legs swinging as he read to himself.

  Noticing them, he looked up with an innocent look on his face. “What?”

  Ambera clenched her fist. “No, I’m not moving and I’m not cancelling any gifts.”

  The High Priestess tried not to sound exasperated. “But, my goddess…”

  “Call in my best artisans. We’re going to expand the west wing of the temple, turn it into a public bathhouse, free for all humans to use…except at night. I don’t want them in there when I use it.”

  “Like the bathhouse on Rock Spire?”

  “Bigger. I want it to be the most grand in the empire. “Summon all our best followers too, all the largest donators. We’re going to give them their holiday bonus packages early this year. Real gifts too, delta and epsilon level at least, no more of those crappy stationary sets.”

  “Is that really wise? We’ll burn through your ambrosia even faster.”

  Ambera took out a piece of gum and put it into her mouth. “I have to keep up appearances. If the other gods sense I’m in trouble it will be like throwing blood among sharks.”

  “That still leaves us without an overall solution.”

  Ambera sat down and thought, her floating hair rustling as if from a breeze as she smacked her gum. “I could use my Scythe to win some additional territories…something really juicy, like the Western Triangle. Who owns that right now?”

  “The problem is that with every new acre of territory we gain also increase the tithe expected of us.”

  “Why not reduce the number of acres?” Piers suggested.

  Everyone turned to look at him as he sat there reading to himself.

  “No one asked for your opinion, male,” Erolina scoffed. “You are paid to be a meat-shield, nothing more. Go back to your coloring book.”

  “I’ll have you know that this is the Ballad of Fire, a classic by the golden age philosopher Amystaclese.”

  Ambera threw back and laughed, already getting a little tipsy from the wine. “You forget I knew Amystaclese, he was a terrible drunk and a worse gambler. Now, hold your tongue before I turn you into a beast that defecates onto its own face.”

  Piers knew enough to take her threat seriously. The dungeons below were filled with those who didn’t. He put his book away and began helping the slaves clear the rubble.

  High Priestess Acantha stood up straight as if someone had just pinched her. “Wait, he might be onto something. We’ve been looking through the wrong end of the horn, here. Sirend didn’t demand more ambrosia, he demanded more ambrosia per acre.”

  Ambera began downing a second bottle of wine while her free hand groped around for a third. “I don’t follow.”

  “You could consolidate your holdings. You currently control hundreds of islets that are sparsely populated. If we were to move your followers into the main island cities, the amount of ambrosia they produce would remain the same, but the acreage would be drastically reduced.”

  Ambera frowned. “But I like my shrines on those islands.”

  “I know, but consider this, my goddess. If we cut the amount of territory you own down to a quarter of its current size, it’s functionally the same as quadrupling the current ambrosia intake. You would actually be paying less tribute overall than you currently do.”

  “Ooh, I like that.”

  Erolina yawned. “But how do you get rid of the empty territories? You can’t just relinquish control over them.”

  An impish smile crawled across Ambera’s face as she looked at her Scythe. “Nisi.”

  She sat up and giggled, breaking her bottle against the remains of her wading pool. “We’ll force Nisi to take them. She’ll inherit hundreds of thousands of acres of worthless empty land. She’ll be destroyed trying to pay her own inflated tithes. I’ll simultaneously advance myself and annihilate her at the same time.”

  “It’s been hundreds of years, are you really still holding a grudge?”

  Ambera wrapped her arms and hugged herself a hug. “I am so glad I thought of this!”

  Erolina unfolded her arms, unhappy at where this was headed. “Now it is I who does not follow.”

  The goddess tittered. “I will challenge Nisi, wagering all the evacuated islets.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Scythe will lose on purpose. Nisi won’t know what hit her!”

  Erolina put her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry, but, lose on purpose?”

  Ambera went searching for a fresh bottle amid the rubble. “Yeah, you know, let her champion beat you, or whatever. Tap out, surrender, I dunno, whatever you guys do.”

  Erolina shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you should know there is no way I could do that.”

  Ambera halted her search. “What? Why not?”

  “Why not? You’re asking me to violate my code, to cast aside my honor as a warrior, my pride as a duelist. To let some plebian shave my head and take my locks without vanquishing me? It’s unthinkable.”

  Ambera stared at her for a moment in disbelief. “Ohhh, oh, I get it, this is some amazon thing, isn’t it? Okay, what do you want? Better accommodations? A real salary? A hereditary title thingy? Some special magical gift? Go ahead, make me an offer.”

  “You misunderstand. I’m afraid there is nothing you could offer me equal in value to my honor.”

  Ambera dislodged a piece of fallen ceiling and found one of her muscular palanquin carriers moaning beneath. “Oh, hey, what about this guy? Huh? He’s got arms as thick as a house. I’ll give him to you, uh, what’s your name?

  “Jeris,” he groaned.

  “Yeah, you can have Jerry here. Your own personal man-slave.”
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br />   “I’m sorry, but losing on purpose is something I could never do.”

  Ambera stopped smacking her gum. “You’re actually serious, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am.”

  Ambera stepped over the man, her skin turning pink. “This is ridiculous. You are my tool. You don’t deny me anything. You swore an oath.”

  “Yes, I did, and I will fulfill my oath. I swore to fight for you with all my strength, mind, and heart. To carry out every lawful order given to me by you. It is you who are asking me to violate my oath.”

  Ambera’s skin flashed red. “You want me to be angry, Scythe? Is that what you want? Do you want me to curse your pathetic mortal hide?”

  Many of the slaves and priestesses scuttled for cover, but Erolina held her ground. “You could curse me or kill me; that is certainly within your power. But don’t forget, it was your desire to have a non-human champion. You knew it would give you an edge over your competitors. I am undefeated in fifty-two duels on your behalf. How long do you think that winning streak will last if you get rid of me? The other gods will sense your weakness and take advantage of it, chipping away at your empire, stealing it from you piece by piece until you have nothing.”

  Ambera threw her head back and laughed. It was the most unsettling sound any of them could ever recall hearing. “Don’t you forget, my Scythe? You came to me. You practically begged me to take you on. You practically crawled on all fours like a dog. You knew that with every duel your renown would spread farther and farther, your glory tied to mine, so you could pick up the crumbs dropped from my table, and eventually return a hero to your people. And speaking of your people, I can rescind your trade agreements, set up a naval blockade, watch your tribe dwindle and starve to death on their islands. No more protection from war crimes tribunals. I’ll have your queen strung up from a tree for what she did to the north isles. Without me, you will lose all that you have worked for all of these years. You’ll lose everything!”

  Erolina straightened herself. “Everything…except my honor.”

  Ambera roared in frustration. The floor trembled, the walls cracked, the ceiling strained. Many of the priestesses yelped in fright in their hiding places. Erolina’s scythe snapped off her back and flew into the air, spinning above Ambera’s head like a buzzsaw. Her armor detached itself, clattering to the floor around the amazon warrior as she stood resolute.

  “What’s more important, your honor or your life?”

  The goddess threw out her hand and the spinning scythe tore a path across the temple, decapitating statues, shredding columns, and shredding furniture as it sped straight towards Erolina.

  The amazon did not move, nor made any attempt to defend herself. She looked at Ambera with red eyes that were as cold as the goddess’ were white-hot.

  Acantha watched in disbelief as two titanic wills of steel faced off against one another, neither one willing to back down, neither one willing to relent.

  At the last moment, the scythe stopped, the blade held at Erolina’s throat.

  “I will fulfill my oath to you, till death or dismissal,” Erolina said resolutely as a tiny dribble of blood ran down her neck.

  Ambera swore in the ancient tongue and flung the scythe into the wall, planting it deep in the mosaic.

  All of the humans breathed a sigh of relief. Piers crawled into the rubble and helped Jeris to his feet.

  “I want that mosaic repaired and repainted,” Ambera hissed.

  The High Priestess nodded. “Right away, my goddess. I’ll hire an artist and…”

  “No, I want her to do it,” she said in low tones, pointing at Erolina.

  Acantha chose her words carefully. “My goddess, sending your champion out on such a lowly errand is…”

  The goddess snapped her head. “Did you not hear me?”

  “Ah, yes, I did.”

  Ambera turned back to her champion with smug satisfaction. “Start right now.”

  Erolina’s eyes narrowed. “It’s the middle of the night, the art district won’t open until…”

  “GO!”

  With a spiteful bow, Erolina turned and walked out in defiant obedience.

  * * *

  Philiastra’s room only met the definition of room by the broadest stretch of the word. It was so stuffed with crowded shelves, bulging cupboards, teetering mantles, and various other organizational patterns her mother referred to as heaps. The room was so full that only a narrow corridor between canyon-like walls of treasure led to her bed and workbench.

  Each of her treasures was carefully labeled with a hand-made name placard, little hearts and stars added for decoration. Self-refilling water pouches, hands-free brooms, vocal quills, self-lacing sandals, clockwork canaries, and, of course, in a very special place on her heart-shaped headboard, an auto-brush.

  Philiastra sat on her bed, angrily shoving clothes and essentials into a knapsack. She barely acknowledged the noise when her door creaked open, and a stooped old man with large bushy eyebrows shifted in. He made no words as he slipped between the towers of treasures, gathering together his priestly robes to avoid having them snag on anything.

  “Hi, Grandpa.”

  “Hello, child.”

  She wiped her nose and looked around, making a final check to ensure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

  He slowly took off his tall hat and set it down on the bed, followed by a name tag that read “Gasper Thavma, Conductor of the Pools.”

  “I did not see your friend at the soup kitchen today,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “I’m going after him,” she stated, throwing the sack over her shoulder and crawling over towards the window. “He’s a big idiot, completely useless without me.” She paused as her fingers touched the latch. “Are you going to stop me?”

  Gasper shook his head. “May I tell you a story?”

  She closed her eyes. “Will it take long?”

  “I will tell you the short version. When I was younger, there was something I was desperate to do. Someone I had to save. People I loved were suffering.”

  She turned around and put her hands in her lap. She knew this story well. Ever since Estia, the goddess of medicine had died, humans had suffered from plague after plague with little power to cure the diseases. The worst had occurred on the forest haven of Dasikí Chará, where the humans were nearly wiped out completely.

  He reached up and wiped the sweat from his bald head. “I was so desperate, I swore I would do whatever it took, go to any length.”

  “And what happened?”

  His eyes became weary. “I succeeded. I saved them.”

  Philiastra didn’t ask for details. He never gave them. Instead, she asked a new question this time.

  “Do you regret what you had to do?”

  With sad eyes peeking out beneath his eyebrows, he reached up and lovingly placed a wrinkled hand on her cheek. “I have regretted it every moment of every day, young one.”

  She pulled back a little. “So, what? You’re saying I’m just supposed to sit here and do nothing while Storgen gets captured and imprisoned? The only reason they’re after him is because he saved me from that disgusting lord in the first place.”

  “I’m not asking you to do nothing. I’m asking you to accept his gift.”

  “His gift?”

  “He left to protect you, to protect this family. Honor his sacrifice.”

  “But if I…”

  “You must trust in the Fates, my child.”

  She pursed her lips. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s rude and callous, he has no sense of style. He’s lazy and clueless, and so defiant he’d cut off his own nose to spite his face.”

  Her shoulders slumped, and her sack fell off her shoulder. “I’m not worried about him,” she whispered. “I’m not.”

  “I know. It’s all right to be concerned.”

  She leaned forward and allowed him to embrace her.

  “I do not believe that imprisonment is his destiny,” he said so
othingly.

  He held her gently until she drifted off to sleep in his arms.

  He looked up at the distant temple of Ambera on the horizon.

  “I fear his destiny may be far worse.”

  Chapter Six

  Formerly the Goddess of Grievance, Desmas was elevated to the Goddess of The Forest in the first age, after her cousin Absyrtusis betrayed the gods’ plans to the Fates, and was no longer counted among them. She is master of all trees, and few things happen in her woods that are unseen by her. It was she who first transplanted celestial trees to the earth below, and it is primarily because of her skills that the gods did not vanish forever. She is a lover of the weak-willed and the timid, and delights in dominating the wills of others. Of all the gods, she most hungers for worship and blind obedience, and few are her servants who manage to fully escape her ire. All flowers bow as she passes, and close in reverence if she turns her gaze to them, and all animals flee at her coming. She delights in solitude, and meditates in her forests among gardens of eternal winter.

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

  As the first rays of sunrise broke over the vouná peaks to the east, the dark crystal shingles on every rooftop began to stir in color, swirling bits of dark green within the alchemic material, growing steadily stronger until they began to flow like raindrops on glass, gathering together the energy from the sun. Trickles of jade merging into brooks of juniper, flowing into streams of shamrock, finally rolling into lime and emerald rivers, flowing through special pipes along each rain gutter, and rushing down beneath the streets, where great torrents of energy turned the mighty gears and pistons beneath the city streets.

  The front door of the Kyría Asími inn opened up and Erolina stepped out into the chilled morning air. She took a moment to adjust the clasps that affixed her traditional priestess robes over each shoulder, and to straighten the locket around her neck. Even without her armor and weapons, she had a mix of martial strength and feminine beauty that was positively alluring to behold.