A ripple of surprise rolled through the crowd.
* * *
In the glimmering caves, Reinala sat upon her throne of golden flame and pearl wings, watching as the image of Erolina making the announcement played out within the opal walls before her.
“Is this possible?” she asked. “I was told every tribe had agreed to our alliance.”
Lichas seemed uncomfortable at the question. “If you recall, the emissary from Themiskyra never arrived. Three times we were assured one had been sent, yet no representative from the amazons ever attended any of our councils.”
“This is most problematic,” Reinala surmised. “Our armies are building up for invasion from the confederate border; we can’t have a rogue tribe sitting in the center of our territory, spying and reporting our every move. The advantage of strategic surprise will be utterly lost, and that errant lewdster will have time to prepare to counter us.”
“My sources assure me that Sirend…”
“You are NOT to speak his name in my presence.”
“…yes, your former husband does not yet suspect the alliance between Agadis and the Confederacy.”
She reached out and batted at one of the great chandeliers of blossoming flowers that hung from the ceiling.
“I want this countered at once.” She looked around for a familiar face, but did not see it.
“Where is Lord Krýo Fidi?”
* * *
As Erolina’s announcement played in the air above the crystal array, a young woman cried out in pain over and over again. The lash whipped up once between each cry, bits of bone and stone embedded in the leather to puncture and tear the flesh, droplets of deep red amazonian blood flicking free against the putrid walls and ceiling.
The lashings stopped, and Lord Krýo Fidi stood up to clean the blood off his hands.
“Please,” the young amazon pleaded, her hands and feet bound to the filth-encrusted floor. “I am a diplomat from my tribe, come to you under flag of truce. I am protected by ancient law. You have no right to treat me this way.”
Lord Krýo shook his head as her blood pooled around her. “Do you know what an amazon is? An amazon is a bully. You attack, you enslave, you kill those that are weaker than you are. A bully has no rights.”
“I am a huntress of a noble house,” she said proudly. “You may attempt to break me, but it will be in vain.”
“Break you? No, you misunderstand. I am trying to cleanse you. I am trying to save you.”
“You sick piece of garbage.”
He looked down with his kind eyes. “I want you to know that this brings me no pleasure. If I killed you now, your soul would be unworthy to be reincarnated into a new body, and you would be condemned to the underworld. An amazon must first be purified. To kill you now would be a cruelty.”
“You are a monster.”
He took a moment to consider her words. “The two that came before you, the emissaries, they had each fought in over a hundred battles to earn that position. I assume you are no different.”
She spit as best she could, her foul spittle landing on his white boot.
He gently took out a handkerchief and cleaned his boot back to a mirror shine. “And in all of those battles, I suppose many people cried out to you for mercy. Many old men. Many children. Did you give it to them, even once?”
“No,” she hissed.
“Before the end, you will ask mercy from me, and when you do, I will grant it. I will send you to the next life with a pure heart and a clean conscience.”
The young amazon ground her teeth, the first glimmers of despair appearing in her eyes. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
He grabbed a vial of acid and threw it on her eviscerated back. The young amazon screamed in pain, her flesh sizzling as Lord Krýo took out his fine white gloves and carefully put them on, taking the time to adjust each finger to a perfect fit.
He glanced over at the message as it faded and vanished.
“So, that’s where you are, Erolina, daughter of Queen Erotas.”
His body became liquid light, rising up and filtering through the cracks in the rotten ceiling above.
* * *
Ambera taped her foot on the cracked floor as slaves pulled the last of the rubble off of her new throne amid her ruined sanctum. Piers quickly brushed off as much of the dust as he thought he could get away with without being cursed, and set down Ambera’s favorite tushy cushion.
The Goddess smacked her gum and sat down petulantly. The base of the throne gave way and the entire thing collapsed, sending her careening back with her feet jutting into the air.
“AHHHHHHHH!”
Ambera sat up, bits of rock clinging to her hair. Slaves fled in all directions as she threw out a bolt of golden lightning, turning three of them into toads. Only her highest ranking staff managed to hold their ground, their limbs shaking where they stood.
“Is it working?!” she hollered.
Several sparks emitted from the smashed whisper rings, and the image of Erolina appeared amid the static.
“Scythe! You have a lot of explaining to do, you clouted gudgeon!”
“I do?”
“Yes, I would say you do. What’s this I hear about you giving away massive stockpiles of my food and medicine?!”
“I haven’t given anything away.”
“You haven’t?”
“No, the amount I have gifted to my people is still far and away less than I was promised would be sent to them when I became your champion.”
“Why you treacherous little bat-fouling moldwarp! How dare you defy me!”
“I have not defied you, my goddess.”
“How do you figure?!”
“You commanded me to keep the human out of the hands of the tower, and that is what I am doing. After my announcement, they have already abandoned their plans to attack Kólasi and are instead patrolling the seas and skies between here and Themiskyra in an attempt to catch him as he travels. So, in addition to keeping him safe, I have prevented an attack on your new holdings. Does this not please you?”
“Of course it doesn’t please me! You have completely overstepped the bounds of my command!”
“You did tell me to do whatever is necessary, did you not?”
Ambera gritted her teeth and snarled. “Watch your tongue, Scythe.”
Erolina put her arm across her chest and bowed. “I have only followed your orders, my goddess.”
“Oh, spare me.”
Erolina stood back up, and a smug little grin crossed her lips. “If I may make a suggestion, my goddess?”
“WHAT?!”
“Next time, might I suggest you give my orders in writing?”
Ambera’s eyes flashed red. “Why, you goatish, rump-fed canker-blossom, I’m going to…”
The image of Erolina flickered and vanished.
“Wha…did she…? Did she just cut me off?! Get her back right now!”
The whole room went dark, the fiery braziers extinguished themselves, the sun eclipsed in the sky above.
“No, it’s the whole temple,” Piers said, his breath misting in the suddenly cold air. “Everything.”
Feet pitter-pattered closer as the high priestess ran up the columned pathway to the sanctum.
“My goddess,” she huffed, steadying herself against a column. “We have a visitor. A cyclops.”
“A cyclops?”
“He has come to take you away. You have been summoned.”
“Summoned? By who?”
“By Sirend, Lord of Waters.”
Ambera’s floating hair fell down limply to the floor, and her face went as pale as death.
“Oh, no…”
* * *
Erolina gave the whisper ring a trio of swift kicks, creating some satisfying sparks but not restoring the device to functionality.
“Blasted piece of junk,” she cursed, kicking it again as Philiastra walked up.
&nbs
p; “Oh good, you’re here,” Erolina noticed, “I was talking to the goddess when the thing stopped working. I need you to get it fixed before she gets even madder than usual.”
“Scythe, I need your help,” Philiastra whispered.
Erolina turned to her incredulously. “Wait, what was that?”
Philiastra looked away, her cheeks flushed. “I’m in love with my best friend.”
Erolina laughed and folded her arms. “Well, yeah, obviously. Took you long enough to figure it out.”
“I need your help,” she whispered again.
“Oh, you want MY help?”
“Storgen only sees me as a friend, but I don’t know how to be feminine or charming. I don’t know the first thing about perfume or makeup. I barely know how to use soap.”
“And so you came to me? Oh, this is rich.”
Philiastra threw her a hateful glance. “You seduce men all the time, I want you to teach me.”
“You expect me to help you, after what you said to me?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You said I was toxic to him. You said…”
“Yeah, I remember what I said, I don’t need to have it repeated back to me like I’m some kind of…”
“You told me you’d rather die than help an amazon.”
Philiastra looked away. “I’m desperate, okay?”
Erolina looked her over thoughtfully. “Hmmm. A useful enemy is an ally.”
Philiastra looked up. “What does that mean?”
“A temporary truce. You teach me how to get in close with Storgen, and I’ll teach you how to get in bed with him.”
She blushed brightly. “That’s not what I want!”
Erolina lifted up a silver eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”
Philiastra looked away. “I mean, not right away, anyway. I mean, eventually…if my heart is ready…and he wants to…and we get married first…AHHHHHH, this is so embarrassing. How can you make me say such a thing out loud?!”
Erolina laughed and put her foot up on a stool. “First rule of hunting a man, young one. Know what you want and own it. If you can’t even be honest with yourself about your objective, then there’s no use starting.”
Her armband flashed encouragingly.
Philiastra took a moment and made her resolve firm. “Fine, I love him, and I want him to love me, too.”
“Better.” Erolina held out her hand, and Philiastra clasped it firmly.
* * *
Erolina flung open the door to the oversized closet, and Philiastra was privy to a grand spectacle of haute couture. Hundreds of dresses and gowns of every size, shape and description lined the walls, three stories high, each with their own matching collection of shoes and accessories.
“Whoa,” Philiastra said as she looked around. “What is this?”
“Special one-of-a-kind creations from dressmakers and tailors from all over the empire,” Erolina explained. “Gifts from Ambera’s followers.”
“This is probably the girliest place I have ever seen.”
“Oh, this is nothing. You should see the one back on Ápinso,” Erolina mentioned as she skimmed through a few choices. The fashion catacombs beneath Ambera’s temple stretch on for miles.”
Erolina snapped her fingers and lit the candles around a mirrored vanity. She then unrolled a tool kit unlike anything Philiastra had seen before. Vials of creams, pouches of powders, tweezers and crimpers, curlers and primers, brushes of every shape and size. Foundations and blushes, lipstick and pomade, eye liner and mascara, and a bevy of devices that simply defied description.
Erolina pulled out a stool and set down her subject, who was clearly beginning to have second thoughts. With a flick of her wrist, she snatched up a dozen brushes, fanning them out like playing cards.
“Okay, basic principles. Men are visual creatures. The continuation of their bloodline depends on finding a mate who is young, healthy, and fertile. If they don’t find one, their bloodline ends, so they have developed powerful instincts to look for those things as a survival trait.”
Philiastra watched as a tiny jar of transparent cream was produced. “But, I have green skin. Will makeup even work on me?”
Erolina held it next to Philiastra’s cheek and tapped the lid, the cream inside taking on the exact shade of Philiastra’s skin. “Green or pink, the principal is the same. We want to create the illusion of smooth, unblemished skin, a sure sign of youth and health. Sickly and old people are wrinkled and pockmarked. All we have to do is use your natural skin tone as the baseline, then shade and highlight accordingly.”
Like a skilled painter, Erolina mixed the shades she needed in a small cup strapped the back of her hand, and began applying the first layers. Philiastra felt the tickle of the brushes against her skin. It was so strange watching Erolina focus so intently as she worked. Her face was so close, her red eyes focused, yet she wasn’t actually looking at her, more like the way one might look at a canvas. It felt very odd. “So, it’s just an illusion, eh?”
“Actually, your skin is already really good, probably because you essentially sleep in a mud bath, so we’ll skip over concealing and focus on emphasizing what you already have. High cheekbones, warm cheeks, a cute button nose, a healthy feminine blush. Natural beauty achieved with unnatural means.”
Erolina snapped her fingers and the eyeliner brush floated over into her hand.
“Are you really going to put that stuff in my eyes?”
“Not in your eyes, around your eyes. It increases the contrast. The purpose of eye makeup is to make your eyes seem bright, and we do that by complementing your eye color, and making the white part of your eye to seem even whiter.”
Philiastra tried really hard not to wince as the eye liner was applied. Makeup felt so strange to her, it stretched and tugged with her skin when she moved. The mascara made her eyelashes feel heavier, and when she blinked and she could feel the lashes at the corner sticking together. “What do you mean the white part of my eye?”
Erolina switched to the eyeshadow brush. “Dull, yellowish eyes are a sure sign of sickness. Men may not realize that is what they are responding to, but they respond nonetheless.”
She flinched a little when the tweezers began sculpting her eyebrows. “Do amazons teach their daughters all this stuff?”
“Pfffft. No. Not at all. No, the only thing they teach their daughters is how to not be an utter disappointment.”
“So, why do you know it?”
“A champion has to be more than a mere warrior, she has to be a diplomat and a representative of her goddess. You can’t be a champion to a fertility goddess and look like a disheveled mess.”
“So, did the priestesses teach you all this?”
“Some of it. I actually learned most of it at an Aisthitikís I ran.”
“Wait, like a beauty salon?”
Erolina waved her hand. “Long story. Okay, now stand up straight.”
“I always stand up straight.”
“No, you slouch like a pterra sloth. Slouching is a sure sign of fatigue and illness. Good posture shows off your vitality and your curves. Here, I have some special sandals that will tilt up your heels.”
Erolina slipped them under her feet, and Philiastra almost immediately fell over.
“I can’t stand in these.”
“Yes, but they make your butt look amazing. You’ve actually got a really nice figure hidden under those coveralls, you know that?”
Philiastra felt like she would die of shame as Erolina slipped the delicate evening gown over her head and draped it down. The fabric was like nothing she had ever felt before. Soft and smooth beyond belief, every inch of her skin tingled where it touched, as if being gently caressed by feather tips.
Tapping a sigil, the dress resized itself to a perfect fit. As Erolina laced up the back, it became more and more snug, sculpting her body like a luxurious second skin.
“This dress is too tight,” she worried. “It shows off my chest.”
“
Large breasts means plenty of milk for his offspring,” Erolina explained. “Remember until recently most humans didn’t have access to clean water, so producing enough milk for a newborn is paramount to having a healthy baby.”
Philiastra tugged at the hem. “This skirt is so short, it’s embarrassing.”
“Actually it could stand to be shorter. A woman’s legs are longer than a man’s, and the short skirt makes them look even longer. But very short skirts require special practice to know how to stand and how to sit, so I went with a longer length. Throw out your hip to one side.”
“Like this?”
Erolina touched her thumb to her chin. “Yeah, very nice. A shapely backside and nice wide hips means you’re more likely to survive childbirth. Again, looking for a woman with an hourglass figure is a survival instinct in men.”
“Do men really think about all this?”
“Of course they don’t. They just see a women who has those things and think, ‘wow, she’s sexy,’ they don’t know why they respond, nor is it really important for them to know, if you think about it.”
Philiastra felt her leafy hair fall loose as one of her wrenches was pulled free.
“Hey, what are you doing?” she said, leaning away.
“Doing your hair up, er, leaves, or whatever this stuff is.”
She took the wrench back. “Don’t touch it, I can do it myself.”
“Fine, whatever. A woman’s neck is longer than a man’s. Styling your hair up like this will show off the nape of your neck. Very alluring to a man. The low back on this dress will show off the feminine curve of your back. Your small delicate hands, your long eyelashes, your long legs, all of these are small pieces of a puzzle, components of a wordless message, a silent poem that tells the men who look at you that you are a young, healthy, and available female. They may not understand why, or appreciate how much work you put into it, but when they look at you, they will desire you.”
With her hair done, Erolina mixed a few ingredients into a mini distillery, and added them to a perfume bottle. She sprayed the mist into the air, and with a little coaxing, she let it close and settle upon Philiastra.
Ambrosia Page 48
