Ambrosia Page 14

  “Hey, any chance we can go the long way around? I like to get the blood pumping through my legs before the fight.”

  “Enough of you.”

  Markus walked away, pushing past Storgen’s shoulder and clattering off down the corridor.

  Storgen inched his toes forward and stooped down to get a better look.

  Stairs.

  Stairs leading down into the darkness.

  The walls were so tight, water dripped in shallow puddles along the floor.

  Darkness.

  Darkness and water.

  He turned away and cupped his hands to shout. “Hey, Markus, is there any other way we could take?”

  “NO!”

  “You see I just washed my feet, and I don’t want to get them dirty again splashing around in that muck.”

  Markus went back into the preparation room and locked the door behind him, leaving Storgen alone in the corridor.

  “Right. It’s been a pleasure talking with you.”

  Looking down the stairs, Storgen tried to control his breathing. Already he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

  Why did the walls have to be so tight?

  Large open corridors he could handle for a while, but this…this was too close. Too familiar.

  He heard the crowd rumble through the stone again, and forced himself to descend into the darkness.

  He ran his fingers along the wall, using it to keep his balance, but already his senses were betraying him. The world began to shift from side to side. Subtly at first, but then with greater intensity. Shifting gave way to rocking, rocking gave way to swaying, swaying gave way to swinging.

  He took another step, nearly losing his balance. Sounds became muted and warbled, as if he were under water. Distant hollers and cheers bubbled in his ears, the dripping of puddles thundering like falling stones.

  Water, there was water touching his feet.

  He could feel the sweat forming on his brow. He wiped it away, only for it to return again. He took a step, then another, the water splashing on his ankles.

  The air was stale, so stale he could feel his lungs going dry in anticipation. They knew what was coming. They knew what was about to be forced down his throat, squeezing him from within, violating his insides, drowning him, with burning liquid rushing down his throat.

  Storgen stumbled. The water was rising up his ankles, coating him, clinging to him. He moved forward again, running from the sensation. The walls spun before him. He couldn’t tell which way was up, he couldn’t tell which way was down. Where was he going? Multiple corridors stretched out in every direction, each darker and blacker than the last. He lost his touch with the wall, tripping and falling into a puddle.

  It was on his chest now, crawling up his neck, searching for his mouth and nose. The water. The water was taking him. Bubbles, terrifying bubbles foamed up around him. And there they were. The eyes, those cloudy white eyes looking at him through the bars. Pink albino eyes forming the ice, shaping it, forcing it inside of him. It was happening again! They found him! He was back in the tower!

  No! He had to get out! He had to fight the cold. She was out there, she was out there somewhere waiting for him!

  At the end of one of the tunnels a dim light appeared. The silhouette of a young woman.

  It was her!

  Storgen reached out, the water pawing at his lips, crawling up his nose, slithering into his ears. The ice was coming, it was already at the tips of his toes. He tried to stand, but his legs had no strength. He couldn’t feel his feet! They were solid, frozen solid already.

  The image of the woman began to dim.

  “No! Come back! Wait for me!”

  Unable to stand, he crawled, hand over hand, slopping through the water. His fingers froze up, his wrists became useless. The water forced its way into his mouth, burning and swelling, tearing him apart.

  “I haven’t forgotten you!”

  The woman grew older, her hair turning grey, her back stooping, her skin wrinkling.

  “I’ll keep my promise!”

  The ground gave way beneath him, and he rolled forward, banging his head, his shoulder, his hip, his face.

  Then everything went dark.

  Nisi impatiently tapped her finger on the arm of her throne as Ambera read off the exceedingly long list of territories. The crowd’s enthusiasm waned in the tedium, and as they sat waiting for the fight to begin they applied themselves to consuming wine at a rate impressive even by their standards.

  “…The Tower of Theiótita,” Ambera read, pulling an intrusive feather away from her neck, “Anóitos Holm, The Diamánti Steppes, The Solomós Keys…”

  “If you won the war, stand up,” Nisi chanted to herself.

  Elated, the followers of Nisi all stood up and cheered, leaving the followers of Ambera to slowly realize what they were doing.

  Ambera’s brow twitched angrily. “…Okeánios Shoal, Velóna Rock, Korálli Island…”

  “If you won the war, stand up!”

  Nisi’s disciples stood up and cheered, while Ambera’s sneered in humiliation.

  Ambera’s voice became strained, the scroll crumpling in her grip. “…The Islet of Atsáli, Tría Mátai Isle, The Anatolí Atolls, Mitéra Island, The Énoplos Skerries…

  Nisi rose to her feet. “If you won the war, stand up!”

  The people of the war goddess stood up and hollered drunkenly. Many of Ambera’s camp had enough, and multiple brawls broke out in the stands.

  Ambera threw the scroll down. “You know what? All of you can just wither and die for all I care! One more word out of you and I’ll curse all your women with barrenness and all your men with blue testicles!”

  Her feathered fan got in her face for the last time, and Ambera yanked it out, tearing the collar of her dress to pieces. She gripped the offending plumage so hard they burst into flames in her grip.

  Nisi and her generals laughed heartily.

  Hoplites found themselves overwhelmed as they attempted to restore order amid the benches.

  “Are you all right?”

  As his vision returned, Storgen found himself at the bottom of a flight of stairs at the end of the narrow passage. The room he was in now was tall and vaulted. His breathing began to slow, his heart growing calm. He could feel the sensation returning to his limbs. Distantly, he could make out that someone was calling to him, but he couldn’t make out who.

  “Storgen!”

  He squinted. The woman with silver hair was hovering above him.

  “Hey, moron!”

  He shook his head and found Erolina kneeling over him.

  “Did you seriously just trip down the stairs?”

  Storgen looked around to get his bearings. The doors to the arena were at one end of the hall, individual rooms for the champions lining the sides. It was kind of like a big barn, really.

  He sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “Just hardening myself up for the fight.”

  She scooted away. “Ewww. You’re soaking wet! Why are you soaking wet?”

  He grabbed his dripping tunic. “Sorry, wanted to take a shower and didn’t have time to change.”

  He stood up and looked around. She was wearing her full armor, her war scythe at her back.

  “What are you doing here, Erolina?”

  “Well, someone had to be ready to fight when you didn’t show up.

  He rubbed his head. “You didn’t think I would show up?”

  She folded her arms. “Let’s put it this way, you just cost me three hundred drachmas.”

  “Well, I appreciate the team building, but I got this one under control.”

  She watched him as he stumbled and fumbled his way towards the gate.

  “Why do you call me that?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You’re the only human who doesn’t call me Scythe.”

  “Well, that’s your name, isn’t it?”

  She chuckled darkly and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes disaffectedly.
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  Storgen stood before the gate, straightening his tunic and shaking his hands to loosen up the muscles.

  “Ambera’s setting you up, you know?” she said, fingering the locket around her neck.

  Storgen glanced back. “Say again?”

  “There’s a reason no one challenges Nisi anymore. Her Shield is undefeated.”

  “So are you.”

  “The armor Shield wears is no trinket made from drinking ambrosia. It’s the real deal. Ancient magic. Beyond omega level. What the gods wield now is just a shadow of their former might. What he wears was the personal armor of Nisi herself. The armor she wore during the war in the heavens, before the Fates broke the gods and cast them down.”

  “So, it’s shiny, so what?”

  “It cannot be pierced, not by anything mortal or divine. It reflects elemental, astral, and even mental attacks. It can’t be beaten.”

  “And yet, the gods lost that war.”

  Erolina opened her eyes and stood up. “Don’t you see? Your life is on the line. This isn’t the time to act tough. Ambera wants you to lose, you don’t have a chance. I even overheard her say she plans not to give you any ambrosia. You’re going to go out there and you’re going to die. How can you not be scared?”

  “You know, it’s a good thing we’re champions, because you would make a horrible motivational speaker.”

  Her red eyes flashed with anger as she stepped closer, moving so fast she practically appeared right in front of him. “Don’t compare yourself to me. Never compare yourself to me. We are nothing alike. I come from a race of proud warriors, you come from the gutter, I was trained in the martial arts by the greatest masters of my people, you were trained how to hand out flyers at a pita stand. I was selected because I earned my title and deserved my position, you were chosen as a joke.”

  He tiled his head back and regarded her. He had to just to look at her face, as tall as she was. “You know, I just realized something.”

  “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “You’re right, Erolina, we really aren’t alike. You’re a duelist. When you go out there, you are protected by rules and protocol. You know who your opponent is, when he will strike, and from where. The ambrosia they give you means you can’t die during the fight, so when you think about it, you’ve never really felt what it’s like to put everything on the line.”

  “I risk everything! I risk my honor.”

  He threw his head back and gave a deep belly laugh. “As if that means anything.”

  She reached for her dagger. “How dare you!”

  Storgen stepped closer, looking her straight in the eyes. “Have you ever been jumped on by a pack of wild dogs in the middle of the night? Have you ever been cornered in a dark alley by a dozen thugs looking to show off to their buddies by stabbing a kid in the gut and watch him bleed out? Have you ever been so sick you could barely move, huddled under a bridge when some bored aristocrat decides to use you as target practice for his new steam rifle?”

  He waited for an answer, but she had none to give.

  He pointed to the gate behind him. “You think I’m afraid because I might die out there? Every single fight I’ve ever been in was to the death. This one’s no different. You either act and overcome, or you hesitate and perish. It’s that simple. When you live on the street, death is always around you. And the thing about death is, it doesn’t have rules, it doesn’t follow protocol. Death comes at you every moment and from every side, and it comes twice as hard when you’re not ready for it. When you win a fight for honor, you get fame and accolades. Do you know what you get when you win a fight to the death? You get to fight the next day. Your honor is meaningless on the street. You ask how could I not be scared? The answer is, why would I be scared? This is just an ordinary day for me. I’m always just about to die.”

  His eyes became distant. He turned away, rubbing at the scars on his arms.

  “But it teaches you something, he said quietly. “It teaches you to focus on what’s truly important.”

  “What could a human know about focus? My senses has been honed over decades of training.”

  “Oh yeah? Where’s your locket?”

  “What? My locket?”

  She looked down, but it was gone from around her neck.

  “When did you…?”

  Storgen chuckled and walked away, twirling it nonchalantly on his finger. “Guess you weren’t focused.” He held it up as if to open it. “What’s in here anyway?”

  “GIVE IT BACK!”

  Storgen began to gag. His hands came up to grab his throat, but half way they lost their strength and fell limply at his sides.

  “What’s…happening?”

  Ghostly flames of energy licked off his body, drawn over to her waiting hand where they coalesced into a glowing sphere. Storgen fell to his knees, struggling to breathe.

  “Among my people this is a simple spell,” she said coldly. “Even a novice could counter it. But you are just a worthless human. Humans cannot wield magic on their own, and do you know why? Because they have no connection to the natural world. You don’t belong here. You are a plague, an invasive foreign species, a fungus cultivated by the gods so they could harvest tribute from you.”

  Storgen gasped for breath as he fell forward to the floor, his body growing cold and limp.

  “It’s amazing what happens to the body when its life force is siphoned, isn’t it?” she taunted, squeezing the ball of energy in her palm. “Almost instantly, it begins breaking down into its base materials.”

  Storgen’s eyes went wide with panic, his skin turning bluish grey.

  She stooped in low and took back her locket. “The women of my tribe have a law. A healthy slave is more valuable than a cripple or a corpse, so never kill if you can wound, never wound if you can subdue.”

  She squeezed the life force in her grip and he moaned in agony.

  “But if you ever touch my locket again, I will break that law, do you understand me?”

  As his bulging eyes began to roll back into his head, she flicked her hand and dispersed the spell. Storgen jerked and coughed, gasping for breath, his muscles cramping painfully as he squirmed on the floor.

  Erolina placed the locket back around her neck. “In the end, you humans will always wallow in the dirt.”

  As he coughed and wheezed, he looked up at her defiantly, the color slowly returning to his skin.

  “Oh, so you still have that much bite left in you even after all that?”

  She knelt back down next to him, her voice playful and coy. “I like a man with fire in his eyes.”

  She looked him over, her red eyes simultaneously sultry and lethal. “I want to play with that fire. I want it to burn me, so I can carry the scar and relish the memory of the wound each time I touch it.”

  She shrugged. “But, I guess I’ll never get the chance, now.”

  She stood up and walked away.

  “Where are you going?” Storgen gasped, still unable to stand.

  “The duel is starting. I want to get a good seat so I can watch you die.”

  Chapter Eight

  Ferranus was the favored student of Aga, and spent many millennia among her household in the time before the first age. From her, he learned much wisdom and skill, assisting her as she created many things that would populate the world below. He is a master of all crafts, and few things that exist were created without his participation. But despite his service and pleas, the Fates would not teach him how to create something from nothing. It was he who first planted the idea in Sirend’s mind to betray the Fates, and he spent many long centuries stoking his pride and ambition. He delights in those who create through destruction, the axmen who fell forests to make walls, the strip miners who carve up the mountains to make roads, and any human who slaughters lesser beasts for their own pleasure. His sincerest desire is to replace all the creations of the Fates with his own. It was he who taught the ravaging secrets of fire to mankind, and the early tribes of humans learn
ed much from him, and admired his simple and pragmatic savagery.

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

  The announcer spun in the air, his staff leaving a trail of glowing lights as he corkscrewed over to Nisi. “With what weapon will you fight?”

  Nisi held out her fist. “I fight with my Shield.”

  The main gate opened and her champion stepped out. Giant cloven hooves cracked the ground, steaming breath pierced the air from its nostrils, a mighty spear and shield held in vice-like hands. The Minotaur was covered from head to toe in great thick armored plates, metallic silver fur poking out at the joints and seams. The material of the plates shifted as he moved, a spectral opal haunted by ghastly faces, forming and dissipating, crystalizing and fracturing, the air hissing where it touched the material. It gave off a sound like scraping bones as the various plates rubbed against one another. Even his horns were reinforced with the otherworldly steel, razor-sharp barbs affixed to each tip like a harpoon. A great bronze ring hung from his nose like a slithering dragon.

  The announcer raised his staff. “Ladies, gentlemen, and others, the Shield of Nisi!”

  Nisi’s followers cheered wildly, elated to see the undefeated champion take to the field once again after so long. He lifted his mighty arms, clanging his spear against his shield, encouraging them to cheer louder as he snorted and bayed like a wild animal. He tugged on the long braided fur on his chin.

  “Ambera thinks she can claim my locks,” he shouted, his rumbling voice carrying impossibly over the spectators. “What think the rest of you?”

  Nisi’s followers booed and hissed at Ambera, throwing wine onto her followers, and tossing rotten fruit onto the field.

  Ambera fumed in her throne, her ruined poofy dress bunching up and she sank deeper into the seat.

  “You’ve humiliated me for four centuries, cousin,” she said through gritted teeth. “I will humiliate you till the end of time.”

  Erolina managed to find an empty seat and sat down next to the high priestess.

  “Well?” Acantha asked, holding out her hand.

  Erolina rolled her eyes and handed her coin pouch over.