Ambrosia

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  “Take my fastest airship, go catch up with the bureaucratic team headed for Kólasi. I am assigning you as personal bodyguard to the human. Don’t let the Tower take him. Do whatever is necessary.”

  “Medial errands, scrubbing filth, and now body guarding that idiot? Is there no end to the indignities you plan to heap upon me?”

  “You swore till death or dismissal, I don’t recall either of those things happening today.”

  Ambera balled her fist, and the armored collar of Erolina’s breastplate became razor sharp, bending inwards threatening to sever her throat.

  “Of course, if you want I could oblige…” Ambera smiled, her teeth becoming fangs.

  Erolina stood undaunted. “And my people? The winter fast approaches and the supplies you promised have not arrived.”

  “I’m afraid my resources are stretched thin looking for the human’s girl with lavender hair. But, if you keep serving me, I’m sure I will find the time before winter.”

  “You honor your deal with him but not me?”

  Ambera smiled cruelly. “Well, he was smart enough to get his deal in writing.”

  Erolina ground her teeth. “As you wish, my goddess. I will guard the whelp.”

  Acantha shook her head. “You want him dead, you want him alive, you want him gone you want him back, you want the tower to take him you want the tower to not have him. Just how many times are you going to flip-flop about this guy?”

  “As often as it takes to advance my interests.”

  “If you prevent the Tower from taking him, you could fall back into default.”

  “Why? I told Skotádi he could have him. If he’s unable to capture one little human in the middle of the ocean that’s hardly my fault, now is it? Believe me, I know him. He’ll only send a few of his puppets, Scythe will handle them easily. Meanwhile, I’ll be raking in barrels of ambrosia from every god in Agadis.”

  She leaned forward, her eyes darkening. “Maybe even enough to challenge Sirend himself.”

  “This is a very dangerous game you are playing, my goddess.”

  “Of course it is, but fortune favors the bold. You think I got this post by playing it safe? Hah! That fool Clarion didn’t even know what hit her. No, I am going to win this, you will see. I am Aktinovólo Éna, who tore the heart out of the great and powerful war goddess Nisi!”

  Acantha narrowed her eyes. “That was an accident.”

  Ambera waved her hand. “It only appears so to a mortal. If you were all-knowing you would see that this was my plan from the beginning.”

  “You are many things, my goddess, but all-knowing is not one of them,” Acantha whispered in disgust.

  Ambera put out her hands. “What are you all doing standing around like that? Let’s get going, let’s get moving, my glory awaits!”

  The goddess clapped her hands until everyone got to work, then fell back in her throne, giggling happily to herself.

  Erolina sneered. “A word of advice, my goddess. An open hand can hold more than a fist can. The harder you squeeze, the more slips through your fingers.”

  Before the goddess could respond, Erolina strode out of the sanctum.

  * * *

  Layers of cages, mangled arms reaching out, pleading for water, for mercy, or for some unfriendly hand to end their suffering by ending their lives.

  Air like foul breath, the stench of corpse worms and the chittering of lung beetles behind sickly coughs.

  Here suffering had a smell, an actual smell so pervasive one could actually detect it in the air.

  In many of the cages, stiff and lifeless limbs poked through the bars, black mist emanating from their wounded flesh.

  His head shaven, young Storgen struggled against the table he was chained to. His wrists and ankles raw from the burred metal, his face black and blue from repeated beatings.

  “Why, XVII? Why are you so different from the others?”

  Skotádi stood over him curiously, his albino skin looking wet and slimy in the dim light. “All the others accept their fate. All the others obey me. But you, you are defiant. You keep trying to escape.”

  Young Storgen raised his head and pulled against the chains anew. “I will never stop trying to escape!”

  Skotádi crinkled his nose. “Hmmm.”

  Grabbing a dagger, he pressed the tip against young Storgen’s abdomen.

  “No one has ever escaped the tower, and no one ever will.”

  Skotádi smiled and slid the blade across, cutting him open.

  He screamed so loud his ears burst.

  Storgen screamed and sat up, sweat dripping down his face. Gáta stirred in the bed beside him and looked up, concerned.

  He fumbled around in the dark of his cabin, finding his way over to the sink where he splashed cold water on his face. He felt sick, a pitted nausea, like his insides were clenching in fear. Reaching to his muscled midsection, he ran his fingers over the pale scar that ran across his belly.

  “Something’s not right.”

  The sounds of the ship were becoming erratic, clicks and catches marring the melody of the machinery, sparks and arcs intruding on the rhythmic thrum of pistons and cogs.

  He looked back at the pillow on the floor and shook. The very thought of trying to sleep again made him feel like throwing up.

  Gáta hopped down and yawned with her little maw, walking over and rubbing against the side of his leg. Storgen reached down and scratched behind her cheek, eliciting a happy purr.

  Rubbing his eyes, he looked out at the full moon settled over the horizon, the white-blue light reflecting off the lazily shifting waters of the ocean.

  “You wanna go hunting, Gáta?”

  The kitten tilted her head inquisitively.

  Inside Philiastra’s cabin, the bed was unoccupied and freshly made, the moonlight spilling in through the porthole atop a large planting pot, filled with fine-grain silt and sparkling water. Outside, a pair of voices spoke in hushed tones, followed by a mew and a happy chuckle.

  The silt stirred, and Philiastra poked her head out sleepily, her green eyes searching around, unsure if she had imagined the voices or not.

  Another voice laughed, and this time she was sure she heard it. She stood up and shook herself off, grabbing her robe and throwing it around herself before poking her head out the porthole.

  There she saw Storgen and Pops hiding behind a trio of barrels, holding string in their hands and looking intently out over the observation deck.

  “What are you two doing?”

  The pair nearly jumped out of their skin. Pops squeaked in fright like a little girl.

  “Geeze, you scared the pants off of me, Phili,” Storgen said, the kitten perched atop his head.

  “It’s the middle of the night, why are you out here?”

  “Shhh, we’re hunting moon sprites.”

  She followed the string with her eyes out to the deck, where a crate had been propped up by a stick, a bundle of items placed beneath.

  “Did you seriously prop up a box with a stick? What are you, five?”

  Pops put his bony finger to his lips. “Quiet, these are trade secrets, proprietary knowledge.”

  “What are you using for bait?”

  “Shhh, you already know too much.”

  She squinted her eyes out at the trap. “Is that one of your little busty girlie figures?”

  “Sprites are drawn to whatever you love the most,” Storgen explained.

  “And no one loves The Emerald Empress more than me,” Pops boasted.

  “That is not how you catch a moon sprite.”

  Pops sniffed. “I’m going to have to ask you sign a non-disclosure agreement. We could sue you for theft of intellectual property.”

  “How could you sue me? You live in an alley.”

  “See? I have nothing to lose, making me the victor.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Calm down, Phili, Pops is helping me do this for you.”

  “Wait, you’re
doing this for me?”

  Storgen shrugged. “Well, you’ve been mad at me ever since yesterday…”

  “Of course I’ve been mad at you.”

  “…and the flowers I gave you only made things worse.”

  “You gave me mutilated plant parts. What makes you think I would appreciate that?”

  Storgen scratched the scars on his neck. “Well, human girls seem to like that sort of thing, so I just figured…”

  “Imagine if someone gave you a box of severed limbs, would you appreciate that?”

  “Depends on the type of limb,” Pops surmised. “Leg of lamb for example…”

  “Storge, can’t you shut him up?”

  “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  Gáta hopped down from Storgen’s head and raised her leg, yawning as she tinkled onto one of the barrels.

  Philiastra looked on repugnantly. “There’s something wrong with that thing. I don’t think cats are supposed to tinkle like that.”

  “She’s just unique, that’s all,” Storgen defended.

  Pops raised his hand in a sagely fashion. “You still have much to learn about the world, you do, young one.”

  “Did you just quote Mika the Sorcerer?” Storgen asked.

  “I did, and you totally caught it.”

  Pops and Storgen gave each other a high five.

  She raised her eyebrow. “Okay, old man, if you’re so smart, how do you plan to contain the sprite once you lure it in?”

  “Well, naturally we're...” Pops trailed off, scratching his balding head. “Huh, I guess we didn't think that far ahead.”

  She gave an exasperated moan and pulled her head back inside. “You guys are idiots. Good night.”

  “No one asked your opinion, pooping real girl.”

  “SHUT UP, POPS!”

  * * *

  Captain Theron took a long draw on his pipe, crackling green sparks rising up and leaving scorch marks on the bronze overhead. The sky was growing darker as storms approached, a thick blanket of fog proceeding the broiling clouds beyond, as if the heavens themselves were bearing down on them. It was strange to see such storms this time of year, and every experienced sailor onboard was uneasy because of it.

  “She’s flying our colors,” the lookout called, adjusting his spyglass.

  Theron took another deep draw. “Let her dock.”

  A trio of lines were dropped from above, securing the sleek airship as it glided down through the murky clouds and settled above the steamship. A rope ladder was unfurled, and Erolina descended, fully armed and armored.

  “You’re lucky to have found us, Scythe,” Theron noted. “This fog is blazin’ unnatural.”

  “That’s because you are being hunted,” she reported. “This is no natural weather, but a broil of fume emanating from the Alchemy Tower.”

  Theron took another puff on his pipe. “The tower,” he said gravely. “Do you bring any good news or only ill?”

  With the help of a couple of sailors, she secured the lines, the airship towing above them in the air like a kite. “Did the goddess inform you of my orders?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I am taking full command of this quest. Inform Priestess Ophira immediately.”

  “Right away, Scythe.”

  “Disable the whisper ring. From here on out we travel without communication.”

  “Is that really necessary?”

  “The Alchemy Tower is not to be trifled with. They have spies everywhere. The sooner we depart from our planned route the better. The goddess has ordered me to do whatever is necessary. I assume her priestesses are safe?”

  Theron chuckled darkly. “Safe? If you ask them they’d say this was a pleasure cruise. Sunbathing, tanning oils, dancing, singing, carrying on. They’ve already gone through half my stock of fresh water just bathing themselves.”

  “Who needs to bathe that often?” the lookout complained.

  Erolina turned her nose at the man. “Do you not shower every day, human?”

  “Well, the thing is…”

  “No, your answer to ‘do you now shower every day’ should never be, ‘well, the thing is.’”

  The lookout turned away abashedly.

  Erolina turned back to the captain. “And the human? The other champion?”

  “Oh, him? He’s skulking about somewhere with his old man.”

  Erolina had trouble hiding her distain at the mention of Storgen.

  “I had to circle back to find you,” she noted. “You missed your last port of call.”

  Theron nodded. “Something is wrong with the alchemic furnace.”

  “What exactly?”

  “It’s getting weaker, like the fire is going out, but there’s no reason for it to do so. It’s been getting worse ever since we left Ápinso.”

  “The tower will be searching all along your planned route. They’ve probably already started. Will you need to put into port for repairs?”

  “Not immediately, but I wouldn’t recommend crossing the vathýs strait as we are now.”

  “All right, alter course to north by northwest. There’s fresh water and food on Dasikí Chará, we’ll stop there to make repairs.”

  “But it’s...”

  “Exactly, the tower won’t be searching there.”

  “Aye, Scythe.”

  Captain Theron nodded to the navigator, who turned the dials on the alchemic compass, and spun the ship’s wheel to the new course.

  “If you need me, Captain, I’ll be tracking down the whelp.”

  * * *

  Storgen could barely keep his eyes open as he tried to make sense of the navigational charts and textbooks he had sprawled across his desk. He took out the dividers and opened the arms until the touched two of the remaining pins, then walked it towards a third, writing down the distance, checked the compass in the corner of the charts, then realized with some consternation that he had forgotten to adjust for the scale of the chart.

  He leaned back and rubbed the dark bags under his eyes when there was a light tap on the door.

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I come in?” came a soft little voice.

  “Sure, why not?”

  Philiastra opened the door and poked her head in.

  “Hey,” she asked awkwardly.

  “Hey, Phili.”

  “Whatcha doin?” she asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “Teaching myself to chart a course. Turns out the stuff they teach you in school you totally need to know after all.”

  She frowned sadly. “Because I wouldn’t help you before, huh?”

  “Don’t sweat it. It’s not like it’s your job or anything.”

  She looked over the compass and sextant lying on the desk. “Where did you get all this?”

  “Captain’s cabin.”

  “Did he say you could?”

  “He was sleeping, I didn’t want to wake him.”

  “I should have known.”

  Storgen yawned, and she noticed how pale he looked.

  “Are you all right? You look terrible.”

  “Nah, I’m fine.”

  She looked over to his still-made bed. “Have you been sleeping okay?”

  “Like a baby.”

  She took out a plate of food from behind her. “So, I brought you some food.”

  “It’s a little early for breakfast, isn’t it?”

  “Are you kidding, its past midday.”

  She pulled open the curtain, the light coming in from the porthole made him wince.

  “Whoa. When did the sun come up?”

  “Here.”

  She set down the plate and hopped up on the desk, watching him as he ate voraciously. He downed the potato soup in half a gulp, then shoved three sausages in his mouth at once.

  “Whoa, slow down there, big guy,” she cautioned. “You’re gonna make yourself choke.”

  He forced himself to chew slower.

  “Sorry,” he said, his mouth full of sausage. “And sorry I ba
rged in on you without knocking.”

  She looked at the scars on his arms. “You always eat as if you’re afraid someone will snatch it away from you at any moment.”

  “Do I?”

  She nodded. “Yes, you do.”

  She wanted to ask him why. She always had so many questions she wanted to ask him. But, try as she might, she just couldn’t work up the courage. She tried to justify it in her mind, reasoning that she was simply being a good friend, and avoided asking him so as not to bring up painful memories. Or maybe she just had a good innate sense of etiquette, and she knew there were some things one just didn’t ask.

  When she was really honest with herself, she realized it was because she was afraid to know the answers.

  “So…I’m sorry I screamed at you,” she said.

  “It’s all right, Phili,” he said, swallowing the food.

  “…And threw you through a wall.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “…And tossed you into the ocean.”

  He laughed and grabbed his mug. “I said, it’s all right.”

  “And dislocated your shoulder.”

  “It always pops right back in,” he said, talking a draught.

  “…And put that curse on you.”

  He spit out his water all over his charts. “Wait, what?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I removed it already.”

  “Yeah, but…I mean, what would it have done?”

  She leaned back and grabbed her knees innocently. “It’s a secret.”

  “A bad secret.”

  She looked around. “What are you doing in here, anyway? I thought you were hunting moon sprites.”

  “Ah, don’t worry, I got it covered. I rigged up an automatic alarm system.”

  “You put a bell on it, didn’t you?”

  “No!”

  The door opened again and Erolina stepped in, bending over to avoid hitting her head on the door frame.

  “Well, hey, look who it is,” Storgen greeted her. “When did you get here?”

  “I’ve been looking all over the ship for you,” she complained. “The last place I expected to find you was actually in your cabin.”

  “Nice to see you, too.”

  She sniffed abhorrently. “Why does it smell like cat in here?”

  “What are you talking about? There’s no cat in here.”