This was the punishment leveled for challenging the Fates.
- Ancient Garralosian Ballad, declared Apagorevnéno under pain of death in 223 H.B.
A pair of workers grunted as they struggled with the weight of the crate they carried to the edge of the dock. Erolina slipped past them, carrying one on each shoulder.
With a heft and a slide, the final crates were placed inside, the cargo hold of the airship full nearly to bursting. Erolina slapped the sigil and doors swung closed and locked. The pilot above leaned out the window and gave her a salute. Erolina returned it and released the mooring lines, watching as the airship sailed up into the skies above Kólasi and headed north.
The sun still hadn’t broken over the crest of the ring of fog surrounding the island, but already dozens of fishermen were flying into position with their tiny, two-man fishing trawlers, ready to cast their nets into the mist once the schools of fish became active.
Erolina thrust her golden talisman into an awaiting pedestal and the dock slid open, clockwork devices raising up a small set of whisper rings before her. As the rings spun into a sphere, the green electricity resolved itself into the form of an older amazon, with tired eyes beneath a mane of salt and pepper hair. Burn scars covered the right side of her face.
Erolina knelt down on both knees in reverence. “Queen Erotas.”
The woman’s red eyes flashed with anger. “Again you call me, in defiance of my wishes. What do you want?”
“The next shipment just departed, it should arrive in two days.”
“You dishonor your bloodline with your words. Amazons stand alone, we do not need help from anyone or anything.”
“I am not asking you to accept charity, I am asking you to take advantage of a strategic opportunity.”
“You have spent too much time among the humans, your words drip of guile.”
Erolina had to take a moment to bring her anger under control. “I am not a human, I am an amazon, and I seek to honor the long and proud traditions of our people.”
“After all your sins, you would still seek to honor our ways? What good does your obedience do us now? It makes me sick just to look at you.”
Erolina gritted her teeth and looked up. “Then close your eyes and listen. Do amazons burn the spoils of war once earned? Do amazons raid the supplies of the enemy only to let them rot?”
“No, of course not. Doing so would be a waste of resources.”
“Exactly. It doesn’t matter where the goods originate, the fact that they may serve amazon needs sanctifies them for amazon use.”
Queen Erotas took a moment to consider her words. “You quote our scriptures true, but what you send us is neither hard fought nor hard won. I cannot accept Ambera’s trash.”
“It is not trash,” Erolina defended.
“Isn’t it?”
“This is timí afiéroma, and ten times more is to come if you will allow it.”
Queen Erotas was taken aback. “Ambera wishes to honor our tribe? For what purpose?”
“She acknowledges the strength of your huntresses.”
“As she should.”
“…and she wishes to send an envoy under flag of truce.”
“Another trade agreement?”
“A military alliance. With terms set by you, with amazons being the chief beneficiaries, with your glory as its goal.”
The queen’s eyes twinkled at the thought. “Very well. Your slave master may send her envoy, but you are not to be found among them, is that clear? Your banishment remains in effect. Return to our lands and you will suffer the pain of death.”
Erolina lowered her eyes sadly. “I understand. May I ask about Apollonia? May I see her?”
“No, you may not. Goodbye.”
The message ended abruptly and the whisper rings powered down, leaving Erolina standing alone on the docks.
“Goodbye…mother.”
Sorrowfully, she reached up and held the locket she wore, running her fingers over the worn surface. Carefully, she unfastened the clasp, and opened it, revealing a small lock of soft, thin baby hair inside. She held it close, trying to catch the scent without disturbing it.
“So this is where you’ve been,” came a voice from behind.
Erolina drew her scythe and spun around, the blade coming to a halt at Storgen’s neck.
“How long have you been there?” she demanded.
Storgen put his fingers against the tip and pushed it away. “Long enough. You’ve been sending secret shipments of supplies to your homeland for a while now.”
“Yes,” she answered honestly.
He took out a cargo manifest. “Vast amounts of food, clothing, and medical supplies, but no gold. Why?”
“Gold is too soft a metal to be made into tools or weapons.”
“But it is worth a lot of money.”
“We have no need of your filthy lucre.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question. Why are you sending all this to them?”
She straightened herself proudly. “To keep you alive.”
He furrowed his brow. “What?”
“Tonight, after the key is handed over to us, I will announce that you will be leading an envoy across the black sea to Themiskyra in the morning to begin talks of a military alliance between Ambera and the amazons.”
“Why me?”
“If you stay here, it’s only a matter of time before the denizens of the tower find you. My homeland is a fortress, the tower would have to declare open war to strike at you there.”
Storgen folded his arms. “No.”
“No?”
“No, I don’t buy it. This is just an excuse to divert massive amounts of Ambera’s resources to Themiskyra.”
A curt little smile crossed her lips. “I prefer to think of that as fringe benefit in order to keep up appearances. The real goal is to throw the tower off your scent.”
“I’m not going to Themiskyra?”
“Of course not. While the tower scours the confederacy looking for you, you’ll be safely tucked away here on Kólasi with me. I did give my word to keep you safe, after all.”
“So it is true what they say about amazons; you’re a lot more cunning then I thought.”
“The basis of all warfare is deception. It makes perfect sense that I would send you to my people, so the tower won’t even consider the possibility that the envoy is a ruse. Lies are always easier to swallow when they make sense.”
“Right, because your people consider me valuable breeding stock.”
“Exactly.”
“Because they’d assume I’d be ecstatic to be treated like some stud animal, spending all my time impregnating your warriors.”
“If only that were true.”
Erolina put her hand on her hip. “So, are you going to tell Ophira what I’m doing?”
“Technically, you’re following Ambera’s commands, right?”
“Correct.”
“And giving away vast swaths of her supplies as tribute to your tribe is certain to upset Ambera, right?”
“Most definitely.”
“Then why would I turn you in? If anything, I wish you had included me sooner. I mean, it’s not like you violated my trust and tried to use me.”
“Ugh, are you still upset about that?”
“Of course I’m upset about that! I’m furious. You tried to drug me and violate me while I was unconscious.”
“Yes, but, it was with the best of intentions.”
“What intentions? To get pregnant with a champion’s baby and win honor for your tribe?”
“No! Not just any champion, THE champion. Storgen, you’re so thick-headed, you don’t even seem to realize what you’ve become. You defeated a minotaur with your bare hands, that alone is worthy of story and song. But you didn’t just stop there, oh no, you slew a demi-god. Don’t you see? No human has ever accomplished something like that. Did you hear those crowds cheering your name? You are a living legend. The whole world is talk
ing about you. If I was to bear your child, my bloodline would be renowned and honored until the end of time.”
“And nothing else matters but your honor?”
“Of course not. Everything I’ve ever done is for the glory of my tribe. I love my homeland; that is what justifies my actions, that is what drives me, and what gives me strength.
“You know, you play it cool most of the time, but you’re actually really a really passionate person, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am. I’ll do anything to save my people, and if some grass-eating man has to be persuaded to go along with what is necessary, so much the better.”
“Persuaded? You tried to assault me.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be so dramatic. You’re a man, you should be thanking me.”
“You know, the fact that you think what you did is okay just because I’m a man, that’s half the problem right there.”
Storgen reached for his quarterstaff. The act caught her off guard enough that she took a step back and put her hand on her hilt.
But he didn’t attack. Storgen took the weapon and threw it to the ground at her feet.
“What…what are you doing?” she asked in confusion.
“You can have this back,” he said coldly. “I don’t want it anymore.”
“Wait, you’re not kidding? You’re actually angry with me?”
Storgen turned away. “I’m not angry anymore. But I am disappointed.”
Her mouth fell open. “But…”
“I’m sorry, but I think you have a lot to learn before you can be anyone’s friend.”
He left her standing alone on the dock, conflicting emotions running across her face.
* * *
The monastery of Nisi had not such a flurry of activity since it was constructed two millennia earlier. Gangs of artisans filled the cloisters, ridding the stone surfaces of mold with pressurized water from clockwork sprayers, and scouring away every single depiction or mention of Nisi with pressurized sand.
Many of the monks had never even been outside of the abbey, and recoiled at the outsiders delousing the dormitory, clearing out the cellarium, rebuilding the old granary, and repurposing the misericord.
A line of monks wound up the Night Stair and into the chapel, their faces hidden by habit and cowl as the Priestesses of Ambera processed them through a desk set up unceremoniously atop the sarcophagus of Maaravi, the Oracle of the East. The monks didn’t speak a word or make a sound as Pops came up from the infirmary, gargling a mouthful of rubbing alcohol, then spitting it out into what he thought was a spittoon, but was actually a sacred urn used for ceremonial cleansing.
Erolina walked by, carrying an armful of golden relics from the sacristy, and when Pops saw her, he made a point to gargle another mouthful right in front of her.
“Oh, get over it, old man, she protested. “I didn’t know it was you.”
Pops spit again into the urn, making the nearby monks wince. “How could you not know it was me? I thought you had some super sense of smell or something?”
She dumped the relics into a chest. “I do. But the place was so full of incense and those blasted scented candles, I couldn’t smell a thing.”
She reached over to snatch up a golden candelabra behind him, making Pops shriek with fear.
“Don’t touch me, foul temptress! I‘ve seen your kind before. You’ve seen my overly ripened fruit ready to fall from the tree and decided to claim it for your own, you brute!”
She grabbed the candelabra and tossed it into the chest. “Trust me, Pops, there’s not a woman in the cosmos who thinks that way.”
Pops turned to the monastery’s altar, where he had set up a few of his poseable figurines. “Oh, my poor wifus, please cleanse me, I’ve allowed my body to be sullied by the touch of a real life girl.”
He reached down and turned the head of one doll away from him and put out its hand dismissively.
“Oh, Crypt Mistress,” he whispered. “I beg you to forgive me.”
Erolina jumped up atop a statue of Nisi and found that the eyes were real sapphire gemstones. Whipping out her dagger, she began to pry them free while the horrified monks watched on.
“You really do owe him an apology, you know?” Philiastra remarked as she walked by, carrying an alchemic spike.
Erolina found leverage and the sapphire popped out into her hand. “I shouldn’t have to prostrate myself before a man praying to dolls.”
“They’re not dolls, they’re collectible action figures!” Pops wailed.
“I meant Storgen,” Philiastra grumbled.
“Next!” Priestess Ophira boomed.
The line of monks shifted one person forward.
“Name?”
“Almoner Ranald,” he wheezed, unaccustomed to speaking.
“Ah, Almoner Ranald,” she said happily, checking his name off the list as the priestesses beside her handed him his new kit. “Okay, here’s your new sacred vestments, and your holy calendar; make sure to memorize it. These scrolls outline your morning, afternoon, evening, and coitus prayers.”
“I’m…I’m sorry, what?” he asked, struggling with the pile of stuff.
“You know, coitus prayers. It’s like a holy vigil, except during sex.”
He stood there in agony, like he might die right then and there.
“Geeze, this other one is really stuck in here good,” Erolina grunted, jamming in her dagger as hard as she could into the other eye socket of the statue.
Ophira noticed a small but exceedingly intricate book hanging about Ranald’s neck.
“Oh, this is pretty, what’s this?”
He licked his dry lips. “I’ve been working on that for thirty-seven years. It’s a tome of Nisi’s holy testaments written in my own blood.”
“Neat.”
She reached out and cut the leather strap that bound it around his neck, tossing the book into the fireplace.
“Here are your brand new scriptures,” she announced, handing him a thick book with a gaudy drawing of Ambera on the front. Ranald was so shocked, all he could do was look at it.
“We all have one,” she beamed, pulling out her own copy. “After five years of service, Ambera will even autograph it for you. See?”
She flipped open the cover to display the title page, where Ambera had written: “Aktinovólo Éna, the Radiant One. Weaver of the Seasons, Giver of Fruit, Empress of the Fall. Good job, whatever your name is.”
Ranald watched as his book burned in the fire behind her.
“But, ah…”
“Next!”
The monks nearly jumped out of their skins as the statue of Nisi came crashing down to the floor, shattering into pieces.
“That did it!” Erolina announced, sifting the second gemstone from the debris and tossing it into the chest. “Okay, this is everything of value I could find.”
“Is that it?” Ophira complained. “Go check the cellar, maybe they have some wine we can sell.”
Abbot Tapani scuttled in, terror on his aged face as he clutched his crozier. “Oh, there you are, Priestess Ophira,” he blustered.
“What now?”
“Your workers are throwing out all the chairs in the refectory.”
“Yeah, splintered wood teeming with weevils, I’m not sitting on that. My tushy needs goose down and velvet when I eat.”
“But, the coarseness strengthens the soul.”
“No, it chafes the skin.”
“But we’ve all taken a vow of poverty.”
Ophira snatched the crozier from his hands and snapped off the golden top. “Your vows are legally null and void as of yesterday. You belong to Ambera now, get used to a little opulence. Be grateful. There are worse things to be cursed with.”
Ophira tossed the jewel-encrusted top of the crozier into the chest Erolina carried. “Here’s one more. Oh, and cut down those trees in the courtyard, they seem kind of shady to me.”
“But I planted those trees when I was a lad,” Tapani blust
ered.
There was a horrible tearing sound as the enormous tapestry that hung from the vaulted ceiling was cut free, workers hacking and slicing through the intricate depiction of Nisi’s history and valor.
“Oh no, that is the Arras of Gallantry, my father worked on that his entire life, as did his father before him!”
Storgen cocked his head as he walked past, setting down an urn of coins from the hosteller. “Wait, if you all take a vow of celibacy, how do you have a father and grandfather?”
“It’s too bad Nisi didn’t make you her champion, Storgen,” Erolina jested. “A prude like you would have fit right in around here.”
Storgen ignored her completely.
She watched him curiously as he walked away.
Priestess Ophira made a mark on her slate. “Okay, Abbot Tapani, well, you aren’t the abbot anymore, so I guess it’s just Tapani now. Here’s your new sacred vestments, you’ll want to shave your back, by the way, your holy calendar, your new scriptures. Now, you’re required to dance for at least six hours each day during the festival.”
“But, I’ve never danced before.”
“No better time to learn. I’ll have Priestess Cailey setup a class, teach you the basics. You must also lie with at least one hundred and forty-four women during the high day of the festival.”
“But…in my sixty-two years of life, never once have I touched the flesh of a woman.”
Ophira tapped her chin. “Well, we can make exceptions under unique circumstances. I think you’ll find Ambera to be a merciful and benevolent ruler.”
“Oh, thank the Fates.”
“You can sleep with half today and the other half tomorrow.”
The old man stared at her. “Wha?”
She wrote out a scrap of paper and affixed her seal. “Here.”
“What’s this?” he asked, looking it over.
“A prescription for heart-root. Believe me, at your age you’re going to need it.”
Droplets of sweat got caught in the wrinkles of his face as he trembled in shock.
“Next!”
* * *
Her tasks complete, Erolina found Philiastra down in the cellar, setting up a series of crystal spikes around the monastery’s misericord. A dark room at the lowest foundations formerly used to punish monks who had broken the rules of the abby. Now, cleared out and cleaned out, it would serve as the housing for the new whisper ring hub.
Ambrosia Page 44
