Erolina stepped aside and Storgen stepped forward, his hands in his pockets. “Hey, name’s Storgen.”
Ambera held out her hand. “Prove your worth.”
Storgen looked around, unsure of what to do. With a shrug, he took out his hands and did a little dance, finishing off with a spin and raising his hands in the air. “Tah-Dah!”
Ambera stared at him. “Is he insane?”
“The jury’s still out on that one,” Erolina commented.
The goddess held up a painting of the moon. “Everyone knows it’s the man on the moon, why did you paint a rabbit?”
“Look at moon next time, the shapes look much more like a rabbit than a face.”
Curious, the goddess waved her hand and the ceiling became transparent, giving them a good view of the moon setting over the vouná.
“Huh, well I’ll be. It really does look like a rabbit.”
Acantha nearly dropped her slate when she finally recognized him. “It’s him,” she pointed, “the eunuch who disrupted the Harvest Festival.”
“Hey, totally still not a eunuch, priest lady.” Storgen said, pointing back. “Did you enjoy the chocolates I brought?”
“They were…pretty good actually.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Ambera looked back down and regarded him closely. “Have we met before? You seem very familiar to me, what familias do you belong to?”
“Just my own. Population of two.”
Erolina snapped her head. “You don’t belong to any?”
“You’re welcome to join mine if you like.”
Ambera leaned back, smacking her gum. “Fascinating. So, you’re not even a resident?”
Storgen glanced at his feet. “I reside.”
“Where do you live?”
“The sky is my roof, and the earth my mattress.”
“How do you eat?”
“With my mouth, normally.”
Ambera giggled. “Oh, of all the things great and small. I never thought I’d hear a mortal talk to a god like you do.”
The High Priestess was less amused. “If he’s not a legal resident, then he’s a criminal. Shall I turn him over to the hoplites?”
Ambera leaned forward, a sparkle in her eyes. “You know, human, normally I’d have you executed on the spot, but you’ve caught me in a good mood today. “In exchange for your services, I could grant you a title in my household. You could live here in the temple as my personal artist.”
Acantha covered her face. “Oh, please, no.”
Storgen looked around at the walls, growing uncomfortable. “That is very gracious of you.”
“So, it’s settled, then?”
Storgen scratched the back of his neck. “Look, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m really not all that interested in any honor or title.”
Ambera stared at him. “Why not?”
“Because anything that bureaucracy can grant, it can also take away.”
Everyone marveled at what he said, Erolina seemed particularly affected.
Storgen held out his hands. “No offense, but I’m only after things I can earn for myself.”
The gum nearly fell out of Ambera’s mouth. “So…what do you want?”
“Six hundred drachmas.”
“For an entire mosaic?”
“Is that too much?”
Ambera glanced over at her high-priestess.
Acantha checked her slate. “We expected to pay six hundred times that much,” she whispered.
“Uh, yes that would be fine,” Ambera stuttered. “Are you sure that’s enough?”
“I’m a man of simple needs.”
Ambera sat back and rubbed her head. This was the strangest conversation she could ever recall having, and she had spent a year working alongside the god of chaos. “You may begin immediately.”
Storgen gave a salute. “Right away your highness.”
“Goddess,” she corrected.
Storgen shrugged and threw his pack over his shoulder. “Sure, whatever.”
As Storgen walked over to the newly repaired wall and prepped his paints, Acantha leaned in to her goddess and whispered. “So, we’re not going to turn him in, then?”
Ambera tapped her lips. “Might as well get a free mosaic out of him first.”
The High Priestess sighed. “Send in the next family.”
Over the next few hours, Storgen sketched out his plans for the new mosaic, while Ambera feigned generosity and magnanimity to a stream of adoring humans.
Ambera dipped her golden chalice into the ambrosia, looking a little green as she took a swallow and created a beautiful golden urn, the handles shaped like fox tails.
“And for your service, I grant you this gift,” the goddess said, covering her mouth to suppress a small burp. “It is filled with the richest flour of my fields, and will never empty, no matter how many measures you remove from it.”
The old woman looked at it oddly as it floated in the air before her.
“Is something wrong?” Acantha asked.
“Oh, it’s just that I’m deathly allergic to gluten,” the old woman said sheepishly.
“Shall I give it to someone else, then?” Ambera barked.
“Oh, no, I’ll take it.”
The old woman accepted the urn, a little flour spilling out onto her hands. Her arms began turning red and swelling up as she slowly shuffled out of the sanctum.
The doors closed and Ambera slumped down in her chair, belching painfully. “Oh, I can’t take this anymore. My cheeks are so sore from smiling. I need a massage.”
Several slaves scampered forward and began rubbing her feet, placing them into silver basins of clear, warm water.
The goddess moaned pleasantly at the ministrations. “Please tell me we are almost done.”
Acantha looked over her slate. “Just a hundred more until we hit the half way point.”
“Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
“This was your idea, don’t forget.”
Ambera turned to her High Priestess, her eyes narrowing in irritation.
“You know, I’ve had more backtalk from my servants just this week then I have had the last hundred years.”
“My apologies, I was only…”
“I swear it must have something to do with the current generation. Now, your grandparent’s generation, they knew how to grovel.”
“Your humble servant would never…”
“We never should have stopped drinking ambrosia out of the skulls of the humans who displeased us. It kept your kind in their place. Who cares if Ouranos thought it wasn’t ‘politically correct’? It was fun and effective, and added a very pleasant, mellow flavor.”
The two were distracted by a small chuckle from Storgen as he squirted paints onto his palette.
“Something funny, human?”
Storgen turned around. “Hmm? Oh, don’t mind me.”
She clucked her tongue. “I see you over there, you’ve been eavesdropping on everything since you got here. It’s not a good idea for a craftsman to listen too well.”
“You have a singular wit, and I was enjoying it.”
Ambera smacked her gum once. “You think I was kidding?”
“I know you weren’t kidding. That’s what made it entertaining.”
She smacked her gum twice. “You think you know me, mortal?”
Some of Ambera’s servants began to be uncomfortable.
“I’m just here to paint, nothing more.”
She smacked her gum three times. “No, I want to hear this. Since you blithely fancy yourself a philosopher, let’s hear you preach, little scarred man.”
High Priestess Acantha slowly retreated. “I’ll be right back, I need to check on something.”
The air became thick with aggression. Several of the other servants excused themselves as well.
Storgen looked at the goddess, slowly mixing the paint on his palette with his brush. “Well, what do you want to know?”
/> “Do you think I’m evil?”
“The gods of Galados are not inherently good nor evil, merely powerful. Beyond that, they have all the same parts and passions as a human.”
Ambera threw her head back and chuckled coldly. “Oh, what delightful novelty, for a human to think that I, Aktinovólo Éna, could possibly have anything in common with a mortal.”
Storgen bristled a little at the word ‘novelty.’
“All right,” he said, setting down his palette. “Since you asked, I’ll tell you what your problem is.”
Ambera placed her hands on her knees playfully. “Oh, this should be rich.”
“You want too many things.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“You want to be respected, but you also want to be pitied, you want to be feared, but you also want to be loved. You want power, but you don’t want to make decisions, you want authority, but you don’t want to be responsible. You want to have a hand in everything, but you also want to relax all the time and not be bothered. You want so many things no one could ever possibly have them all. You want things that are mutually exclusive, and so obtaining one makes another impossible to possess. You’ve created a situation where you will never be happy, and so you aren’t.”
The atmosphere changed, the goddess sitting there in stunned silence. “And…you got that from just listening to me for a couple of hours?”
“Some people watch birds, others watch the stars. I watch people. It’s a little hobby of mine.”
She smacked her gum, unwilling to acknowledge how accurately he had profiled her.
“So, what is the solution, oh sagely one?” she asked.
He held up his finger. “Let it all go, save for one thing. Let there be just one thing you need to be happy, then go after it with everything you have. Then you never have to make compromises, you never have to settle. When you only need one thing to be happy, you can have it, and no one can ever take it away from you.”
She found herself oddly enthralled by what he was saying. “And what is your one thing?”
His expression became tender, and he looked at the woman he had painted atop the lighthouse.
“Her.”
Ambera stood up and floated over, looking at the picture. There was something strangely familiar about all of this. “This female in the painting?”
He nodded. “I’m going to find her…”
“…and possess her?”
He shook his head. “I’m going to find her, and I’m going to make her happy. I’ll search every town, every village, every house, until I find her.”
Ambera’s eyes went wide. “It can’t be…”
“Hmm?”
“Oh, uh, nothing.”
Ambera floated over to her chalice and took a quick swallow. Golden mist trailed out from her fingertips, forming into threads that knit themselves into a small pouch bearing her crest. “I notice you don’t use an auto-brush,” she commented as she worked her miracle.
Storgen picked up his palette and began painting. “I don’t like auto-brushes, they don’t paint how you feel, only what you see. Besides, it’s a poor craftsman who blames his tools.”
He looked down at his old, withered brush and cracked, chipped palette. “Of course, a rich craftsman wouldn’t have such crappy tools.”
“Here, catch.”
She threw the finished gift. He turned around just in time for it to land in his hands. “What’s this?”
“There’s a color I’d really like you to incorporate into the mural. I hope that will be enough.”
As he tugged at the string and opened it, the pouch stopped glowing.
“It’s empty,” he said, looking inside.
Her eyes got even wider. “Oh, is it?” she said, having trouble containing herself. Storgen tossed it back. When it landed in her hands, it filled with a golden pigment. “Here, I’ll be right back, I’m going to, ah, fetch some more.”
She floated away, looking like she might burst.
The priestesses in the administration offices nearly jumped out of their desks when Ambera floated in and slammed the door behind her.
“Aga’s Holy Teeth! Do you know who that is?” Ambera beamed.
“He’s a wanted felon,” Acantha answered, pulling out a wanted poster from a stack she was looking through. “He’s the one everyone’s after. The one who attacked Lord Demos and escaped from the constabulary. What’s more, he’s XVII, the novelty that escaped from the Alchemist Tower!”
“He’s Tharros,” Ambera squeaked.
Acantha paused. “The god of courage? The one who was killed for treason?”
“Yes, I just tested it. I gave him a paint vessel that never empties, and it didn’t work for him.”
“So, what does that mean?”
“It means he can’t use divine gifts. He’s cut off from all magic. It’s part of the punishment given Tharros when he was cursed to be reborn as a mortal.”
Ambera jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “Oh, this is just too perfect.”
“I’ll say, the reward for his return to the tower would go far to replenish your coffers.”
“What? Who cares about a few lousy drachmas? I’m going to make him my champion.”
“Your champion? But…but, you already have a champion.”
“What? I can’t have more than one?”
“I mean…technically, there’s no law against it. It’s just not done that way.”
“Don’t you see? It’s brilliant. I’ll challenge Nisi with her own son as my champion! Not only will I destroy her empire, I’ll do so by having her kill her own flesh and blood. Oh, this is sweet, sweet irony. Oh! I’m going to need a new dress, a special dress, the best ever made to mark the occasion.”
“But, if you’re going to call a second champion just to lose, you could call anyone.”
“No, it must be him, I have to have him. Oh, I can see it now. His corpse lying in the middle of the arena, I’ll step up in my pretty new dress and declare to that shield-muncher exactly who it was she just executed. Ohh, I just can’t wait to see the look on her face!”
“But, if you were to choose someone else, you could have the reward from the Alchemist Tower and still destroy your rival.”
Ambera’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t about money. You humans don’t understand us at all. This is about rubbing Nisi’s nose in my revenge and holding it over her for an eternity.”
Acantha rubbed the side of her head. “A-all right, I’ll have work begun on your dress.”
Ambera straightened her divine robes. “You do that, I’m going back in there to tell the human the good news.”
The Goddess tried to compose herself as best she could, but she was clearly brimming with enthusiasm as she came back into the sanctuary where Storgen was busily painting.
“Human, I have some good news for you.”
“You found the paint?”
“Even better. I have a new deal for you. An excellent deal, the best one ever.”
“A new easel?”
“What? No. Focus, human.”
They were interrupted by a knock. The main doors parted and Erolina stepped in.
“Pardon the intrusion, but there are a great many people out here waiting in the sun, and you have not opened the doors for some time.”
Ambera waved her hand. “Let the bacon roast, Scythe, I am busy calling this young man as my new champion.”
Storgen’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“WHAT?!” Erolina hollered.
“Don’t you just love it? There can be no higher honor for a mortal.”
Storgen stammered. “Um, I…”
Erolina stood there, aghast. “You’re calling HIM as your champion? After all my victories on your behalf?”
“Is that not what I just said?”
Erolina stood there, at a complete loss for words. Finally her lips parted.
“Am I…being dismissed?”
Ambera’s face darkened.
“Oh, please. Didn’t you bring him to me in the hopes I would be angered?”
Erolina bit her tongue.
Ambera smacked her gum. “Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice that. You’re about ten thousand years too young to slip something past me. Now, get out of here, I don’t want to see you for the rest of the day. Come back tomorrow and I’ll give you some toilets to clean.”
The proud amazon warrior stood there, her body practically trembling with rage. Her face flush, she slowly bowed, then turned and walked out through the open door.
The goddess instantly brightened up again. “So, tell me you love it.”
Storgen blinked. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you have actually left me speechless. I…don’t know what to say, and that never happens to me.”
Ambera chuckled. “No, no, silly human, I told you to tell me you love it.”
She put her glowing hand to her ear in anticipation.
“I...I’m really not that interested. Thanks anyway, though.”
The goddess grinned impishly. “Ah, but this time I have a little leverage so you might want to reconsider.”
“It’s a little freaky when you grin like that.”
She held out her hand and his paintings appeared in her grip. “This female you’re looking for. I can help you find her. I have a vast empire of servants, a highly sophisticated network of communication, a treasure trove of records and resources. As my champion, they would be at your disposal. No more wasting time walking street to street. No more wasting years in a fruitless search. Fight for me, and I’ll use my immense resources to find her for you.”
Storgen froze in place. There was a clatter as his palette fell to the floor.
Ambera leaned back, a satisfied smirk on her face. “You see, there are downsides to only wanting one thing. When it is offered to you, you cannot decline, no matter the price.”
There was a faint shuffle at the door as Lord Demos peeked in sheepishly, his face bandaged.
“My apologies, the door was left open, were we meant to enter?”
“No, you were not.”
Lady Demos came in, frantically waving her fan as she tried to cool off the kitten in her arms. “Oh, Katsaros, my poor little baby. She’s just sweltering in the heat.”
The kitten struggled and spat, desperate to remove the frilly dress it had been forced to wear.
Ambrosia Page 12
