Free City of gods - Hellenica by Jonathan Maas Page B

small and gentle, with straight black hair and light brown skin that had been flushed pale by a childhood spent inside a suit. In the ride down to the Academy, Gunnar had heard the guards whispering that Tommy held virulent diseases in his body, but Gunnar sensed that Tommy would sooner die than let those sicknesses out. Tommy wasn’t a killer, and he reminded Gunnar of Tōfu-Kozō, a comical Yōkai spirit who befriended the bullied and was often bullied himself.
    “Ambrosia requires the power of a god to make it taste good,” said Tommy. “It’s a mental thing; you have to willfully make this substance into something edible. They gave us this on Lepros. I never got the hang of making it edible, but it’s good. It cures whatever ails you.”
    Tommy dropped his face shield down and took a mouthful of the blackened mush. He grimaced, but continued to eat. Gunnar followed suit; the food tasted worse than ashes. But Gunnar ate heartily; the hunger from the Agoge taught Spartans to eat anything short of human waste.
    As Gunnar ate, he felt stronger.
    “I cannot eat this,” said Saoirse.
    “You should,” said Gunnar. “I heard Heracles’s tone of voice. He speaks the truth; our training will be dangerous.”
    “I know I should,” said Saoirse, “I just can’t stomach it.”
    “I learned a trick on Lepros,” said Tommy. “Just wait a moment.”
    Tommy went to the far corner of the hall and gathered several condiments. He grabbed a bowl of Nahuatl chia seeds, a bottle of Hellenic fish-intestine garum and one Indian ghost pepper. He brought them back to the table and began to mush them into Saoirse’s food.
    “The key is to make the ambrosia wretched, but wretched in a way we can handle,” said Tommy. “This will be intense, perhaps too much to bear, so eat quickly before it gets too hot.”
    Saoirse ate it quickly, and then laughed as the spice took over. Tears came from her eyes, and she drank an entire pitcher of water.
    “Drink milk instead,” said Tommy. “And drink it slowly.”              
    Soon the whole hall took notice and was mixing spice into their food; everyone except for Asra  the ghoul and Rowan the Berserker. Asra preferred to eat it plain, and Rowan refused Tommy’s help on principle.
    “You should do as he says,” Anubis said to Rowan. “Fire is easier to stomach than ash.”
    Rowan refused to acknowledge the gesture and ate in silence. After a few moments he turned over his plate and exploded in rage.
    “I’ll not accept wisdom from Children of the Apocalypse,” said Rowan, “let alone from Pestilence .”
    Rowan stared right at Tommy. Tommy has no idea what Rowan’s saying, thought Gunnar, nor do I. Gunnar steeled himself in case Rowan attacked.
    “You heard me,” said Rowan. “You all heard me. There is good and bad in this world, the noble and the ignoble. Gods fall on one side only; never in the middle. And the likes of Frost Giants and Horsemen know naught else but destruction. Like the scorpion riding the frog across the river, they’ll sting us even if it means they drown as well. It’s in their nature.”
    “I think you’re mistaken,” said Tommy. His voice shook; he seemed unfamiliar with confrontation.
    “I am not,” said Rowan, “and by Thor’s own hammer, I’ll stop you before you can use that suit to destroy us.”
    Tommy had no response; instead his jaw began to quiver and a tear rolled down his cheek. Gunnar got up in a flash and pounced on Rowan. The young Berserker unsheathed a small axe from his armor and swung at Gunnar. Gunnar dodged the axe and punched the Berserker’s breastplate, denting it. It must be some strange alloy , strong yet flexible, thought Gunnar. That punch would have shattered Spartan armor. Rowan shoved Gunnar off, and the other students instinctively spread out around the periphery. Rowan pushed over the tables to clear some space and prepared himself.
    “Come at me, War,” said Rowan. “You’ve no armies to