Ambrosia Page 6

  She placed the bag in the safe underneath her desk, then tapped a couple sigils on her slate. There was a sharp chirp, and the letters turned red.

  “Uh-oh.”

  His old eyes flicked back and forth. “That’s a good ‘Uh-oh,’ right?”

  “There’s no such thing as a good ‘Uh-oh.’”

  She tapped a few more times. “Ugh, this has been happening all day. The file is incomplete.”

  “Incomplete?”

  “We lost a lot of the records in the fire last night.”

  Pops glanced over at the smoldering remains of the east wing of the temple. “What happened?”

  “Warestus and Raelyn had a…disagreement.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  “Okay, so I can see here the conditions of the curse. Crops die, creek dried up, unable to set foot on your lands, painful boils on your thighs…”

  “I’d really rather you didn’t say that one out loud.”

  “…I also see the offering required to end the curse. But…

  “But what?”

  “But I don’t see anything here on how to actually remove the curse.”

  “But, you can just do it yourself, right?”

  “If I had the cryptic, yes. Without it, only the god who cursed you can remove it.”

  “Okay, well, where is he?”

  Naamah looked around furtively. “He’s ah…not available at the moment.”

  “Not available?”

  “He’s been…reassigned.”

  “Reassigned? To where?”

  She clenched her teeth in embarrassment. “The underworld.”

  “He got banished to the underworld?!”

  “I know, right? Raelyn totally overreacted. Luckily, it was only the first level of the underworld.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Ah, let’s just say we found out I may have a new half-sister…”

  Pops dropped his face into his hands. “I don’t believe this.”

  “…or four.”

  “So, where does that leave me?”

  “Well, I’ll give you a receipt of payment, and I’ll put a note in your file that you wish to petition Warestus to remove the curse post-haste factum.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Two to six weeks to process…”

  “Two to six weeks?!”

  “...another month to file, five weeks to post, and then at that point, it’s just a matter of waiting until Warestus is released from his prison.”

  “This is unbelievable.

  “I know, I could get in trouble for helping you this much…”

  “You haven’t accomplished anything. I still can’t be freed until he gets out. Could I at least have the money back in the meantime?”

  She pointed up at the sign above her window. “No refunds. I’m sorry.”

  “I sold my entire heroine figurines collection. I even had Diana in the alternate formal wear costume.”

  From deep within the temple, there was a crash of breaking marble. Naamah jumped in her seat.

  “Look, I’m sorry I can’t help you more…”

  “Naamah!” came a dark, booming voice from within the temple. “Where are you, you little half-breed?!”

  “…but it’s almost my lunch break, and I have to close up.”

  Pops looks around in amazement as she quickly gathered up her things. “Well, what about me?”

  From somewhere nearby, came the sounds of shattering glass.

  Naamah flinched. “In the meantime, be careful not to fall behind in your tithes or you will be cursed.”

  “How am I supposed to pay my tithes? I sold everything!”

  The vault door behind Naamah opened, and the goddess Raelyn leaned in drunkenly, a broken wine bottle in her hand.

  “There you are,” she slurred. “Come here before I curse you like I did the amazons!”

  Naamah turned around and hit the door mechanism. “This office is now closed.”

  Pops stood there in disbelief as the copper shutters came down and locked into place.

  “Come on, everyone, disperse!” the guard shouted.

  The line of waiting people groaned, then sadly went about their business.

  Pops shuffled down the staircase, carefully and sorely edging over each step. In the plaza below he sat down at the edge of the fountain, a gallant looking statue of Warestus holding out his hand magnanimously. The inscription at the base read, “Excellence through bureaucracy.”

  From atop the mesa, he could see all the way to the plains far below to the east, where the land met the sea.

  “What am I gonna do now?” he whispered to himself.

  For a moment, his eyes became tired, glossy, and colorless. All around the plaza people walked, talked, and laughed, while he sat there motionless.

  “Pops, how’d it go?”

  A familiar voice shook him out of his thoughts, and life returned to his eyes.

  “Storgen, my boy!”

  Storgen ran up, his clothes scorched, burns dotting his arms and legs.

  “What happened to you, lad?”

  “Had a barbecue, you should have been there.”

  “Ooh, was there pork?”

  “Tons of pork.”

  Pops slapped his hand against his knobby knee. “Awwww, I miss everything.”

  A group of hoplites ran by. Storgen ducked away to keep out of sight.

  “Come on, Pops, we gotta’ go. We gotta’ get off this island.”

  “But I thought you still had a district to go?”

  “Yeah, well, I may have kinda, sorta maybe started a little trouble with the local law enforcement. We need to get on a ship as quickly as we can.”

  “Well, I hope you have something saved up for a rainy day.”

  “No, I spent every last drachma on those chocolates. I wish I hadn’t, I really want a strawberry crepe with caramel.”

  “You’ve had like, four of those this week. You got a problem there, lad.”

  “I can quit whenever I want. You got any money?”

  Pops shook his head, his long white beard flapping about. “Nothing. I even sold my heroine collection.”

  “Even the swimsuit line?”

  “Yes.”

  “Aww, those were your favorite.”

  “I know, where am I ever going to find another Dragon Empress in a bikini?”

  “All right, well, right now we need to get off the street.”

  “There you are!”

  Philiastra ran up, breathing heavily. “I knew I’d find you here.”

  “You were looking for me?”

  “You big dummy, the whole city is looking for you.”

  Philiastra held up a wanted poster, Storgen’s face featured prominently in the center.

  “Blast, they spelled my name wrong.”

  Pops grabbed the poster. “Whoa, twelve and a half million drachmas? I’m tempted to turn you in myself.”

  “Will you be serious?”

  “I’m always serious.”

  They watched as a hoplite placed another wanted poster against the railway entrance.

  “Hey, Phili, we need a place to lay low for a while till the heat’s off, you know anywhere we can go?”

  Philiastra thought for a second. “Um…”

  There was a distant roar, and the sound of fireworks as the crowd at the colosseum screamed energetically.

  Philiastra perked up when she heard it. “I may have a place.”

  Chapter Four

  Reinala, the Lady of the Earth, is given credit as the lead sponsor and teacher to the emerging race of humans. It was she who separated them from the animals, and taught them of their own mortality. Now able to comprehend that they would one day die, humans became an industrious and energetic race, building tall buildings and great bridges, everyday living in the shadow of the fear of death. All substances of which the earth is made are under her governance. More than any other deity, she adorns
carvings and paintings professing her beauty, and her domains are noted for their countless statues and reliefs. She loves the plain and the unassuming, swearing in her jealously that any mortal who attempts to rival her beauty shall be forever cursed. Her husband was Sirend and her sister is Nisi.

  - The Powers of the World, a Pocket Guide to the One True Pantheon. Published in Agadis 391 H.B. to present

  The Ápinso Colosseum was one of the jewels of the empire. Like a great dish of layered benches, the dueling field rose up on a plateau of clockwork, rotating slowly so that all could enjoy the view from every angle. curved barriers rose up into the sky beyond the bowl edge, supported on immeasurably strong arms of metal and cable, like great flattened pincers rotating like a sundial to shield all from the glare of the sun. Music vibrated from the enfiladed crystal towers, the very air rippling like the surface of a pond, the waves colliding and bouncing off one another in crests of cyan and magenta. Light filled the air as rockets from the east exploded into the shapes of hippogriffs, lamia, and centaurs. Flocks of harpies flew around in cute little mini-skirted uniforms, a small sleeve hat stylishly tilted to one side, selling snacks and wine to the heaving throngs of people drunkenly singing and cheering.

  Along the rim were the best seats, a series of private balconies, each lavishly furnished with their own loungers, kitchens, bathhouses, and dining areas. From here, the view was impeccable, shielded from the noise and the smell of the masses, the elite of the empire could truly enjoy themselves in isolation.

  Storgen stepped up into the balcony and looked around. “Wow, I’m afraid to even touch anything in here.”

  Pops walked in next. “I can’t believe your family has its own personal skybox. This reminds me of the epic poem of Jayseen. Remember, when the hero Thyannus visited the golden city at the edge of time?”

  “Yeah, that was a good one, I just wish they hadn’t rebooted it, kinda spoiled the franchise.”

  “It’s not just ours, it’s really more of a time share,” Philiastra explained as she came in, closing the gate behind her and activating the locks. “My mom got scammed into it, along with half the stores on our block.”

  Storgen looked over the banquet table, already stocked with delicious vittles. “Still, this is really nice.” He took a moment to wiggle his toes through the soft mink furs lining the floor, enjoying the sensation.

  Pops’ mouth went agape. “Hey! You have a White Lotus doll.”

  “What?”

  Scampering like a starving man, he jumped behind a carved chair of opal and held aloft a doll that had been hiding behind it.

  Philiastra tilted her head. “Huh? Oh yeah, some kid left that here.”

  Pops ran his fingers over it as one would inspect a gemstone. “This is a limited edition. Can I have it?”

  “Um, sure, why not?”

  “Ah ha ha! The Fates have blessed me, my collection begins anew.”

  Storgen gave him the thumbs up. “Keep chasing that dream, Pops.”

  Philiastra rolled her eyes as she pulled out an apothecary kit. “Sit down, let’s get you fixed up.”

  She took out a roll of synthetic skin. As she touched the run in one corner, the magical circuits crawled across the flexible material, warming it gently. She held it out over the burn on his leg, but when she tried to apply it, the circuits dimmed and disappeared.

  “Come on, you knew that wouldn’t work,” Storgen chided.

  “Shut up, I had to try. Looks like we’ll have to do this the mundane way.” Rummaging through the kit, she found a roll of woolen bandages.

  Storgen linked his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but how bad is it?”

  She looked him over as she dressed the burn. “It’ll heal, but you’ll probably have some scars.”

  She finished his leg and looked at the burns and scars on his arms. “You have so many scars,” she said quietly.

  “Do I?”

  “Did you get them all from fighting?”

  “Not all of them. He pointed to his elbow. “This one I got when I tripped down the Never-Ending Staircase on Misoféngaro Island.”

  Pops snorted. “You know, I visited that place once. False advertising, that is.”

  “I know, I was there with you, Pops.”

  “Were you really?”

  Philiastra took Storgen’s hand and looked over the burns on his arm. He acted like it didn’t bother him, but she could feel his fingers tremor from the pain.

  “You know, you really are a big jerk, you know that?” she whispered.

  She bit her lip, her eyes growing moist. “You made me think you were dead.”

  He sat up in concern. “What? Me? Come on, you know me better than that,” he said reassuringly.

  “I saw them take you,” she whimpered. “They were going to kill you, and I was going to have to watch you die.”

  When he saw the tears gathering at the corners of her innocent green eyes, he looked on her sympathetically.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She sniffed and wiped her cheek. “Don’t ever make me worry about you again like that, okay? If you do, I’ll never forgive you.”

  With a smile, he reached out and patted her on the head tenderly.

  “I promise.”

  ~

  If the crowd was excited before, they went absolutely bonkers when the announcer strolled out onto the field. He was crooked like a vulture, bald headed and beady eyed. In his hand he held a clockwork staff, and when he twisted the handle, his voice carried out over the winds as if he were sitting right next to every man, woman, and child, whispering into their ears.

  “What is truth? Truth is that quarrels lead to fights, and fights lead to wars. And don’t we know wars were just about the death of us all.”

  The crowds all nodded in agreement.

  “It’s been nearly four and a half centuries since Heaven’s Breaking. No longer do armies clash and trumpets sound. No, bureaucracy has shown us a better way. Now, when the gods fight, it happens here, and it finishes here, so that we may serve them and they may protect us, and we may all enjoy the sweet fruits of peace!”

  He spun around, his staff lifting him up into the air.

  “Welcome ladies, gentleman, and others, to duelist court!”

  The crowd cheered so loud the very stone trembled.

  The goddess Ambera came out first, her golden hair floating around her like shimmering fields of wheat. She lounged, seductively twirling a lock of hair with her finger, while she chewed her gum. She was supernaturally beautiful, radiant like a rising sun above golden fields, transcending anything a mere mortal could achieve. When she placed her fingertips against her lips and blew a kiss, one of the men in the crowd fainted.

  The cushioned litter on which she lay was carried by a dozen of the most muscular men anyone had ever seen, their tanned and oiled skin glistening as the women in the crowd fawned over them. When she felt they began to draw too much attention away from her, Ambera reached over and slapped one of them playfully on the backside.

  Ferranus was a being of iron and steel. Molten seams hissed out vapor and fume where his iron skin cracked and flexed. Gears and pistons whirred faster as he passed, enlivened by his presence. His followers cheered in adoration, holding up their talismans and swearing out their oaths of fealty.

  The announcer floated to the center of the field and set down a golden book on a pedestal. “Please state your claim.”

  Ferranus held up his molten fist. “My shipyards are operating at one hundred percent capacity. My forgemasters put a new warship into the water every single day. At this rate, I will deplete my supply of veridian ore long before I complete Sirend’s order. A deep vein has just been discovered in the pellenial hills, northern province, but this stubborn numpty refuses to sell it off.”

  The golden book flew open, his words etched without hands into the metallic pages.

  The announcer turned to Ambera. “Counter-claim.”
r />   Ambera lazily blew a bubble and let it pop. “Those hills are the breadbasket of the province, rich farmlands beyond compare. There are no lands in his possession that are their equal to me, not by an order of magnitude.”

  “So state your exchange,” Ferranus said, growing impatient.

  Ambera smiled impishly. “I wager my lands, you wager one barrel of pure ambrosia.”

  The crowd gasped in shock.

  “That is absurd!” Ferranus hollered, the colosseum shuddering. “No god has ever wagered an entire barrel!”

  Ambera threw her head back and giggled, enjoying herself immensely. “What’s wrong? Too rich for your blood?”

  Ferranus gritted his metallic teeth, sparks flying free. “When I take your lands, I’m going to pull your temples apart stone by stone, just like Nisi did in the War of Wrath.”

  Ambera took offense at the remark, and it required nearly a whole goblet of wine to restore her good mood.

  The announcer looked on furtively. “It is agreed, then?”

  Ferranus balled his mighty fist. “Agreed.”

  The terms completed their etchings into the book. The page detached itself, spun into two identical copies, and each flew into the hand of their prospective god. Ambera and Ferranus placed their seals upon the contract, and the air grew thick with power as each party was bound to their word.

  The two gods retreated to their private viewing booths at each end of the field, slaves and attendants fanning, feeding, massaging, dancing, and singing for them in the hopes of brightening their mood.

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

  Ferranus held out his hand. “I fight with my arsenal.”

  The main gate opened and his champion stepped out. He was lithe like a runner, tight muscles with the bronzed skin of the men of the south isles. He wore his silver dreadlocks long, the tips held aloft by glowing beads, giving him the appearance of a gorgon. He wore light armor for a champion, armored greaves and a war skirt, and a pair of vambraces. His chest he left exposed, as if taunting his opponent to dare and strike him in the heart. In his hands he held a pair of gladius swords. They had no separate hilt, grip, or pommel like a mortal weapon. Instead each was composed entirely of one solid piece of metal that flowed like mercury.