Greyfeather

by Lysis

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure
Length: 2517

Short description to come.

"My name's Daring Do, but you lot know me as A. K. Yearling. Good storyteller, right? I’ve heard that joke before. My books are nothing. If you wanna hear a really good story, you've gotta hear it from the horse's mouth. Grab a drink and dig that wax outta your ears."

"One was a living ruby with the heartbeat of a loving soul. I watched as she plunged into the ocean, fizzling as she sank into the depths. One was a cold, grey stone that whispered nightmares and predicted impending doom for the world. I didn't get along with that one. This is the story of me and those stones, and a bunch of griffin treasure hunters under a mountain, and how I came closer to dying than ever before."

"Hey, it's me telling the story, so you know it's gotta be good, right?"

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-09-16 18:10:29 UTC

Ch. 0 – One by Sea

Prelude – One by Sea

“We’re comin’ up on the mainland now, Missy!” Captain Forester cries to me over the howling gale.

I step out of the cabin and onto the slippery deck of the Tenochtitlan Princess, waves of freezing, numbing rain lashing my face. I hug my worn, ripped jacket around my shoulders and breathe in the evening sea air. Even in this rain, I don’t really need my jacket for warmth, seeing as Liss is safely tucked in my pocket and happily radiating as much heat as a small campfire; but I’ve kept the jacket on since I boarded, even slept in it. The Captain doesn’t know I’m a pegasus, and I’d rather not be forced to answer distressing questions about why a pegasus would need a ship to take her home.

Ahead, past the sheets of rain and roiling waves, the lights of Baltimare twinkle merrily. They’ll be celebrating Hearths Warming Eve there in about two… no, three days, I guess. When I first set out on this adventure, part of me hoped I’d miss that particular holiday. Now though, if all goes well, I might even look forward to it. After what I’ve just been through, spending a night with my family should be easy.

I step away from the rail and turn back to the Captain. He’s a rough but happy type, a portly unicorn with a scruffy beard, wrapped muzzle to hoof in his oilskins. Throughout the storm he’s stood stalwart at the helm, and now he’s beaming cheerfully at me, his only passenger. As well he should. I paid in advance, and with far more bits than the usual fare. It’ll buy his wife something nice.

“Cap’n, when’s we gonna make port?” I say, slipping easily into the rougher Trottinghamese of my youth; it sits better with these sailor types. Captain Forester scratches his nose, belches, and checks the steam pressure.

“Give ‘er another hour, meybe two. Cain’t rush these things, girl.”

My ears droop with disappointment, but my smile doesn’t waver and the captain’s none the wiser. I turn and squeeze back into the cabin, and the noise of the blow outside dims considerably.

I wish we could rush things. Liss and I were safe while I was trekking back through the wilderness from Greyfeather—staying out of sight, not running across open ground, that sort of stuff—but this little boat’s been plodding along at a steady pace for two whole days now, totally exposed. Easy thing to follow, if you know what you’re looking for.

“Git some rest, why don’t ye?” Forester says through the speaking tube. “You look like ye ain’t had a good night’s rest inna week.”

More’n ye know, Cap’n, I think, lying down on my bunk. I reach for my hat to cover my eyes—but then I remember I don’t have my hat. My hat is over two hundred miles away, buried fifteen hundred feet under a mountain.

I grit my teeth and turn over on my side.

“We’re almost safe,” I whisper. “Once we get to Equestria, I know exactly what to do.”

That’s what I say, but I don’t really believe it, I really don’t. Nothing is ever that simple. In my pocket, Liss pulses comfortingly.

“It’ll be alright,” she says to me in her odd little voice that only I can hear. “We’ll get through this together. You’ll see.”

I’m tempted to kiss her for that, but I don’t. She’s safer in my pocket. I curl up on the bunk with her, rocked by the waves, the rain lashing on the windows.

The peace doesn’t last.

I hear him long before either of us sees him; a great pair of beating wings, audible over the roaring wind, bearing down on the little boat from above. I scramble to my hooves and burst out of the cabin. On the bow, Forester has a swivel-mounted spotlight trained on the sea; I grab it and clumsily rotate it so it points to the harbor instead.

“‘Ere now,” he barks, “what’re you doing? Put that back!”

“Shut up!” I hiss, scanning the inky-black horizon, my friendly accent forgotten. “He’s already seen us! If the Harbour Master sees us signalling, maybe he won’t come down…” but I already know he’ll come down. If he’s followed me this far, he’s going to finish the job. I turn the light to the sky instead.

Captain Forester, in the short time he’s known me, has never heard that note of high pitched desperation in my voice before. He stares blankly at me, no longer angry, just a little confused.

“...‘Who’s ‘e, Missy?”

I lick my salt-sprayed lips. My throat’s gone dry as sandpaper.

“Samson.”

The Captain looks up, sees what I’ve captured in the beam of light, and his face goes two shades paler.

The dark figure above us comes hurtling out of the sky like an artillery shell, crashing on the stern with so much force he rocks the boat. The Captain stumbles. I maintain my hoofing, just barely, and swivel the light onto our griffin attacker. The rain glistens as it drips off his enormous wings, his large and ugly pelican beak twisted in a open-mouthed grin. His legs are like tree trunks. His talons are big as dustbin lids. As he gets on all fours, he towers above me, above the Captain, he simply dwarfs the cabin; he’s gotta be bigger than a teenage dragon.

I can’t see his eyes; I never can. They’re buried under a mass of untidy grey headfeathers. I can imagine what they look like, though. Black, beady, like a beetles’, except hungrier.

“Thought I’d find yeh here,” he rumbles in a voice as deep as a coal mine, taking a step forward. The decking creaks under his weight. “Now, now, Daring, there’s nowhere to run. Give up quietly, an’ maybe I won’t drown yeh.”

“You’ll drown me anyway,” I say, taking an involuntary step back. Knees, stop shaking. Stop it now!

Water, water, everywhere, and no escape in sight—

“Oi!” shouts Captain Forester, pointing his hoof at Samson. “You’ve got a lotta nerve threatenin’ me passenger!”

My head snaps over. “No Captain, don’t! He’ll kill you too!”

But Captain Forester doesn’t listen to me. He wrenches a brass fire extinguisher from its brackets behind the ship’s wheel and brandishes it like a billy club, then rushes Samson, swinging it wildly over his head with his magic—I see what happens before it happens. Samson just reaches out like he’s catching a baseball, and yanks the fire extinguisher right out of Forester’s grasp. In one fluid motion he rears up on his haunches and brings his free talon up under his chin in a boxing stance. His jabs rip through the wet air, catching Forester twice in the head and once in the chest. Forester doubles over, gasping, forced against the rail.

Samson raises the fire extinguisher over his head like an executioners axe.

“Watch out!” I scream, not even sure the Captain can hear me anymore, but he can. He jumps out of the way just in time. The rail buckles under the force of the blow—it would have crushed his skull.

Samson chuckles. He tosses the ruined fire extinguisher into the sea and closes in on poor Forester. He may have dodged once, but that’s all his legs had to give. Samson’s toying with him. He doesn’t need a weapon, he’ll just use his fists—

Without thinking, I dash forwards and roundhouse kick Samson right in the bare flank. He doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t even glance in my direction. He rears up and raises his fists again. Forester sees what’s coming first and his eyes flash with fear. I jump on Samson’s back and lock my forelegs around his neck, try to strangle him, try to throw off his aim, but all it does is give me a better view of the uppercut that smashes into Forester’s jaw, lifting him clean off the deck. His teeth clack together sickeningly. His eyes cross. He coughs, and there’s a slight pl-plink as he spits out a molar.

Lightly, Samson pushes Forester overboard, and he vanishes under the waves.

“Feh,” sneers Samson, licking blood off his knuckle. “You ponies are weaker‘n I thought.”

Without ceremony, he reaches behind his head and roughly grips one of my legs and rips me off his back, holding me out at arms length. I squirm around like bait on a hook, taking empty swings at his smug face with all three free limbs.

“You miserable BASTARD! Lemme go! Lemme go!”

Samson considers for a moment.

“No.”

With his free talon, he starts undoing the buttons on my jacket. I try to bite his talon, but my teeth clamp down on empty air. He slaps me across the face. Not even a hard slap, the kind of slap a horrible person might give to a misbehaving dog. His grin widens as he gets the jacket open and sees the two lumps in my pockets.

“Oooh, ho ho. Let’s see… Which t’open first?”

“If you even think of taking Liss away from meeeeAAaagh!”

“You talk too much,” growls Samson, his fist drawing back for another punch. It hits me square in the liver and I almost puke all over the deck. The worst part is, I know he’s holding back. He wants me conscious for this.

He goes for the lump in my right pocket, first—not for Liss in the pocket over my heart—and brings out a small, round, whitish stone, about the size of a small apple, pinching it between thumb and foreclaw.

He’s no longer smiling.

“Huh. Figgerd either you or Jacky had it.”

The name Jacky gives me just enough sense, and enough hope, to raise my head back up. Jacklin’s alive? If he just said he figured he had it, and he didn’t know, he must be alive!

However, my moment of happiness over that news is short lived. Samson’s beak twists in a nasty grin as he rolls the little stone between his claws.

“Supposin’ I was to… y’know… tap you with this,” he says, bringing it up close to my forehead. I shake my head frantically. “Supposin’ I did that. Now, supposin’ I threw you into the ocean durin’ the vision. Whattda ya think would happen then, Miss Smartmouth?”

I’d drown, comes the answer. I’d drown, because I’d be helpless while in the vision. I’d drown while seeing myself die in an explosion of fire, just like I’ve seen every night in my nightmares for the past two weeks, ever since I first touched that hateful little rock to my forehead.

Samson cocks his head to the side, studying me. “Yer a real irritatin’ little nag. Why don’t ya ever cry like a proper girl?”

“Because I’d rather die than give you the satisfaction.”

For a moment, it seems like he’ll hit me again—but then he shrugs, and stuffs the little stone back in my pocket. He doesn’t care if I die with it on me. It just goes to show how screwed his priorities are.

No, his priorities are in my other pocket. He knows it and I know it, but no matter how much I thrash and swear, it doesn’t make any difference. He reaches in, touches the warm little bundle wrapped in rags inside, and grins a greedy smile of triumph. As he removes Liss from my pocket, the warmth surrounding me is sucked away by the wind and rain in an instant. My teeth start chattering.

Still holding me by the hoof, he uses his beak to sever the cord holding the package together, and like a blooming flower, the folds of cloth in his palm fall away to reveal a beautiful oval fire ruby, blazing bright red in the rain-soaked squall. The raindrops falling on her hiss and dissipate in little puffs of steam.

If Samson was Ahuizotl he’d start cackling now, or maybe declaring his victory to the open sky. Instead, he flicks  the cloth away and touches his bare claws to the ruby for the first time, caressing it, adoring it, completely oblivious to me, and… and as his claws close in around Liss, there’s a distinct hissing noise.

His scales are smoking.

I forgot! Liss doesn’t feel hot to me because she likes me, but to somebody she doesn’t like, she probably feels like an open flame!

Samson’s face contorts with pain and his talons clench, but he’s unwilling to let go of his prize, even now. His grip on my leg only gets tighter—but in his agony, he’s also bent the arm holding me, bringing me closer to his head. I ball up both my hind legs, and buck him right in the face.

That gets his attention.

He howls with pain and staggers back, tripping over the helm. He drops me and Liss at the same time. I try to stand, but my hooves buckle under me and I collapse. The punches were too hard. I can’t reach Liss in time. I watch, almost in slow motion, as the wave washes over the deck. I see the dark water swirl around my little fire ruby, sizzling and sputtering like tears. I watch the wave carry her over the side, and her warm, red glow vanish in the depths of Baltimare Harbor.

She’s... gone.

That’s when I start to cry. But with all the rain streaming down my face, nopony would ever know.

A shadow falls over me. Samson breathes heavily through his nose, like an angry bull. But he’sbeyond just being angry. The bones in his fists crackle from how tight he’s clenching them.

“Yew... snivelin…”

He doesn’t shout or scream. Not like Ahuizotl would.

“...connivin’...”

Not like a proper villain would.

“...good fer nothin’...”

Instead, he says it calmly. Like an angry father.

“...little broodmare.”

He’s going to kill me.

There’s no escape. I can’t fly, Samson made sure of that weeks ago. If I try to swim, he’ll pluck me out of the water. He laughs off my usual punches and kicks. I can’t beat him in a fight.

It was a good try. Considering my odds, I got farther than I had any right to.

Samson starts reaching under his wing. His fist closes around the hilt of a knife as long as my tail.

At least it’ll be quick. He knows I’d want it in the heart, not the stomach…

There’s a scream of rage and a heavy, wet thump.

...Thump?

I blink and turn around. Samson’s been knocked flat, and standing him over him is none other than a soaking wet Captain Forester, grinning bloodily at me. He holds aloft a bent, battered fire extinguisher shaking in the faint, flickering grasp of his magic.

It was a good blow, but it wasn’t enough to take out Samson. Ten of them wouldn’t be enough. He gives his head a little shake, as if throwing off the cobwebs accumulated during a good night’s sleep—

“Why’re you still here, Missy!?” shouts Forester. “Swim for shore! I’ll—I’ll distract ‘im!”

No!

“But you can’t take him on alone! You’ll—”

“He ain’t after me, it’s you he wants! Now, git!”

He pushes me over the side.