This Journey Has No End

by Sir Slime

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Tragedy, Adventure
Length: 8753

A long time ago the pony world experienced a cataclysmic event. Things have calmed since then, but the remnants show themselves in strange powers that can be wielded by a selected few. Whether unicorn or not, and whether pony or not.

Centuries ago an awesome power was granted to the minority of ponies from all races. Sparhk, they call this power. In present day a young mare and stallion embark on a quest only in search of a long lost relative. However life won't turn a blind eye. Lyra, the cult leader. Cheerilee, the warden. Trixie, the revolutionist. And Twilight, the ruler of all. Two ponies will suffer through these adversaries and more on their quest for home. Friends are made and soul crushing secrets come to light as what started as a simple search for refuge tangles them up in matters way over their heads.

Cover Art by Austiniousi.

Some mature content in prologue.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-10-21 22:40:02 UTC

17 Years Ago (Prologue: Part 1 of 2)

           In the cold and empty hours after dusk, a stallion stirs out of his slumber. He isn’t thrilled to face the night, but he slides one eye open to peer into his drab enclosure casted in the thin shade of night. With still only one eye on the job, he forces his head to rise; a flimsy snort follows, empathizing his fatigue to an absent audience. Tonight is a pivotal step in a plan that had been thought up on the dime, but miraculously had not completely fallen through. They were alive, he and his… companion, all thanks to the very welcome assistance of a personal friend, choreographing every checkpoint in their endeavor leading up to the present. He knew though, luck tends to run dry when you needed it the most.

He rolls over, ignoring the morale robbing energies of the room they managed to rent for the past two nights. On the opposing half of the bed he is met with a mound, sloppily draped in... drapes. He tilts his tired gaze up to the gaping hole in the far wall, where the sky could be seen surround by the textures of peeling paints and cracked plaster. It was a weak source of lighting, but fugitives don’t get to complain. Peeling paint aside, one lost appreciation for the starry freckles once they caught sight of the building’s bits of wooden skeleton and asbestos musculature tucked along the rim of the "window" hole. It made the room feel darker than it had to. Above the hole, one could see the hollow rings that once held their "blankets".

Suddenly the hooting and hollering of drunken tidings from the bar below came back to him. Like that, the second eye starts to fall into line. Bringing his attention back downward he takes the drape-blanket into his teeth and peels it away. He is met with the sight of a purple flank with hind legs curled in, but facing away from him as they cradled a significant swelling below their owner’s torso. High above the haunch is a mark of the sun, smiling as it shines through clouds that grimaced and swept.

Letting go of the sheet-curtain, before he can give a wake-up nudge, he is met with a playing bop to the snout, feeling a supple tush and the flighty caress of a silky tail. He cringed but then opened his eyes to see the lively tail and rump facing upward, swaying "Come hither".

On any other night, this might have been tempting... but not tonight.

“Kiss my ass goodnight?” the torso chirps while hiding beneath the tattered stand-in sheets.

The stallion sighs and slowly pulls him himself forward, almost certain he can feel the skeleton fingertips of a few bed springs as they try to drag him back to the molding hug of the mattress. He sits up and shuffles off the drape folds that had snuck into a few of his crevices. Ringlets that were still looped in the fabric give a depressing jingle as he shimmies. Standing up slowly, he and peers over to see the baby blue tail still swishing about in anticipation, that backside giving that subtle “I’m waiting” wiggle again . Not one to prolong a response, his horn comes alight; the half-covered body is coated in a gray, wafting membrane. And with a quick shove, over edge of the mattress she went .

A muffled thud is heard followed by the irritated clattering of ringlets as a mare untangles herself from the drapes and hefts herself onto all fours bearing an acute pout on her lips. It doesn’t quite get her annoyance across, and only looks less serious with the wobble of her pregnant belly; the abrupt stand had given the baby berth a bit of a jostle. It was only a half-hoof of a drop as they didn’t have a bed, just the mattress.

And then came the whining.

“Owwwwww, that was mean. You coulda hurt me and,” she unfurls her wings and hugs them to her expecting bulb, “what if you’d roughed up our baby?”

“You fell on your back right?” the unicorn male asks, his voice matter-of-fact and lacking color.

“Yeahhhh”, the pegasus complies.

“Then I don’t think anypony important got hurt.”

“Pfft,” she steps past him, giving his snout a whip with her tail, “You’re such a wife beater.”

“For the last time we’re not married.”

"Yes yes, so says The Law," she mocking sticks out her tongue. "Who needs some fancy parchment. Don't you feel a spiritual wedded...ness between us?"

"Nope. Needs documentation", he smirks. She gives him stern pout this time. "Look at the bright side", she blew a raspberry at that comment, the bright side was her thing, "that fancy paper would entitle you to half my belongings."

"So pretty much everything we've been carrying in those saddlebags for the past few months?" She adds, "This gold-digger thing isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"You know I like to spoil you," he says.

“Fine, but you're a ‘baby mama beater’, Mr. Accurate”, she joshes as she circles around to give a gentle nuzzle to his neck. “But, it’s okay hubby”, her voice then flipped from a foalish teasing to a sob, “Just-just promise me that you’ll never assault another mare the way you assault me. Promise me!” She grasps his head with both hooves and pulls him into her mortified gaze.

He sighs internally. She was up to her usual foolishness again.

Real pregnancy, fake mood swings. With matters being so pressing at the moment, he wonders how she could be so irresponsibly… blithe these past months.

“I promise,” he just wants to get things in motion. They’ll have to leave soon. “But that aside Cherish we have-”

“And you’ll never remarry!”

“What?” She could so easily distract him: a power over him he had grown to resent. And like always, with his initial train of thought lost he complies with her witless banter.

“You mean in the event of your death?”

“… My tragic death”, she arches a brow, putting definite air to the phrase, but all at once hinting at some underlying inquisitive nature as if verifying his opinion on the prospect.

           “

Yes, your ever so tragic, unwanted death”, he assures.

She can’t contain a quick smirk at this “victory”, but quickly she remembers character. Not that this runaround was being taken seriously. She gives a humble nod, her long, blue mane briefly shadowing her visage; the once well kempt waves now frayed and angered from months on the lamb without the all too necessary trips to the hairdresser. Not to mention she could tell that her partner knew not the ways of “marely upkeep”. With his drab, but rugged grey coat not so much accented, but still going nicely enough with his bleachy-yellow mane and tail. He wasn’t a mess, but he could afford to care more, never so much as combing his mane even before they had to skip their home town. He had once offered to do her mane between treks… she almost miscarried.

“I can’t remarry if we’re not married now, can I?” he asks.

“Then you won’t re-baby-mama-beat another mare”.

He almost makes a remark to this, but seems to remember himself. He’s smarter than this, surely.

That in mind, he pulls his noggin out of the Cherish’s grasp and strides over to a pair of saddlebags slumped against the dimmest corner of the room and nearest to the door (with working handle and everything, shocker). The bag if flipped open with a tug of magic and he peers into the maw, the dark hour covering all the contents in a black pall. It doesn’t matter much since what he seeks is perched atop the scrolls and miscellaneous items. A token shaped trinket dotted in the middle with a craggily mineral of murky interior that seemed to house internal scratches.

His horn begets its dim grayish corona and the instant that it wraps around this not-so-much-of-an-amulet he feels a pinch wear his horn meets the curve of his skull as intangible forces seem to tug the invisible line of magic that connects the aura wrapping the amulet to his horn. The discomfort causes him to clench his eyes shut, the tension doesn’t outlast a moment and the ethereal thread seems to pop, letting his brain plop back into place. However, the migraine will last some time.

He watches as his magic is slurped up by the ugly gem, followed by the crackle of static as it spits out a scroll. The paper projectile nearly scores a blow to his snout, but he nicks it out of the air with his magic, only to drop it after his head throbs in protest. This correspondence method was convenient and undetectable, but it was a work in progress. Of course to limit access of this mailing marvel between him and his distant friend; the device would leech a sample of your magical signature, a headache then ensues. The only reason he doesn’t complain is because it was his responsibility as a former head of research to perfect such instruments for public use. Cut short in it's development, so far only unicorns could use it. However, since it was a prototype, the general public had no idea of its existence. The chances of another set being manufactured anytime soon were almost nil. The stone that housed the transmission ability, the sparokite; very few understood its energies like he did.

He picks the scroll back up, clamped between his teeth, and drags his hooves as he makes way to the window crater. Through the threshold you can see the rooftops of the humble seashore town, on a gradual incline sloping down toward the harbor.

The breaths of salted air do him nothing as he sighs and tries to put mild focus into his horn and unravel the parchment, angling the print into the silver vale of light coming through the window. Suddenly, the throbbing pressure melts away as the cushy pads of hooves pin to his temples and massage the aches away in slow circles below the ears. The bliss of it all, he puffs out a “Thanks”. But, he immediately thinks of taking it back when he feels nearly eleven months of heavy dough plop down onto his back. He saves himself from a fall with a last second flex of his stance before his chin hits the splintered planks underneath.

As he rises, Cherish can sense a glare though he dare not pivot his head, for fear of another headache. “My wings got tired”, she reasons as she keeps kneading away his soreness.

He sighs, but gets back to reading the parchment, periodically looking out the window to a lineup of ships that have docked themselves along the harbor. Eyes back on the paper and then the docks, he counts from the right, looks at the paper and then finally one last glance to shore. He points past the window’s battered frame, Cherish's weight is almost too much to bear on three hooves. There’s a proud schooner floating stalwartly in the wafting tides. Cherish marvels at the sails as she imagines setting off to sea, slicing the horizon as-

“The one next to that”, his hoof shifts over and falls upon a dismal sight: a smaller sham of a ship.

Cherishes hooves stop mid circle. One leaves its place and slowly latches on to his pointing limb. He feels her trying to shove it back toward the more handsome vessel. Sadly he doesn’t give and after she lets go he hears a soft “Noooooo.” She’s such a toddler, he thinks. He feels lighter as she slides herself back, the soft weight shelved on his hindquarters for a second before it just flops off. No matter how many times he reminds her, she just keeps jostling her carriage. He is almost certain she has damaged the poor foal with all her swinging. The baby  even more defective now than he has already feared for the past few months.

That thought is ushered to the end of his list of concerns. We don’t know for sure yet, he assures himself. Everything will be…

He shouldn't, in all honesty, use the word “will”; he was no soothsayer and even less than that, an optimist. But, words like “maybe”, “possibly”, “probably”...they all felt so prone toward the worst of outcomes. “… fine,” he finishes to himself, but so long after his initial thought that it doesn’t seem like lying to himself.

Then he feels soft lips wrap around his own. He sees those eyes; even when turned away from the stars, they seem to give off their own little glisten with sheens of magenta. They pull him into a calmness. As their lips part, he could almost feel her carry the worries away with her. She doesn’t stare, but watches him as he takes in the moment. Sometimes I swear she knows how to use sparhk, he thinks.

She then does what she excels at.

“Okay, now this time, put some tongue into it.”

Moment ruined.

He frowns as she closes in, swapping the face of angel for half-lidded eyes and a sloppy maw, barely holding on to its own tongue. Suddenly more awake than he’d thought, he slips past to let her ambush the air. “Let’s go,” he says. “Night Light’s letter says his acquaintances will make a brief stopover at the docks.”

“Well that was nice of-”

“A brief stop, they’ll be pulling out of here in about…” He stops at the saddle bags and telekinetically fishes out a strapless watch, “To keep schedule they have to depart at 2:12, so 45 minutes from now, just about. And it’s a 15 minute trot.” He picks up the sacs with his magic, by now the migraines are barely a murmur. Items float into the bag, flaps shut, straps tighten and the packs are fastened to his sides. When he turns from the wall, he sees the door is open and the Cherish is gone.

His eyes flare in shock and he sprints past the threshold only to be met with a feathery flick on the nose. He plops onto his haunches as Cherish giggles into a hopeless sigh. “That makes it the twelfth time you’ve thought I had been abducted for this entire trip.”

He’s flustered, but tries to feign calm in his voice as he mutters, “We’re on the run, not vacation.”

“Not the most relaxing romantic getaway I'll admit. But, small blessings Sole, enjoy these moments while you can. We might not get to laugh later on.”

He would never understand her levity. Sole Purpose sometimes wondered if he was born only to be perplexed by this mare's cheerful flippancy. Perhaps the question marks on his flank were a testament to his future confusions and not his liking toward research.

They’re standing atop a flight of weather beaten steps, long ago carved out of stone along the wall of the bar room that also supported their accommodations. It puzzled him to think that someone would rent out space above their place of work, but it was a cheap convenience they couldn’t pass up, if only for a two night stay. He starts to think of whether he should alert their "landlord" of their abrupt departure until he realizes that his travel buddy has already made into to the bottom of the flight. It’s a delightful surprise, he’d usually have to drag her from checkpoints A to B, but she… is making a right instead of left. No doubt, she was heading straight into the bar. He should’ve known better.

……

Compared to their room the bar was a palace lounge. Clean tables, polished mugs and would you believe it, glass panes on their rectangular windows. I bet they have lovely drapes in the back, Sole grudges. Cherish was some ways in, pregnant belly smooshed against the counter as she perched herself upon a grounded stool, aiming to squander money they didn’t have. She seems none the wiser as she wears the poor bartender down. He gets closer.

“Look lady, I'm begging ya. Think of your foal before you go ordering anything here,” a gruff stallion asks as he polishes off a glass, ever committed to the cliché.

“Yeah, maybe I should two," she coolly rebuts. "Do you have something like a kiddy-shot?" She then feels the stool swivel under her until she’s facing Sole looking stoic but fringing on annoyed as always.

“What happened to worrying about our baby?”

“He-slash-she can take it.” She pets her belly and coos  to it, "Mommy didn't make a lightweight did she?" Like that, she’s picked up in a grey aura and carried to the door.

Sole only stops to fish out a big mockery of a key that he floats onto the counter before the bartender. “Tell your boss we tried to appreciate the room,” and through the double doors they went.

…......

They walking in silence for a few minutes.

Counting: three, two one.

“Look-"

Dammit

“-here was my thought process,” she says. He mentally scoffs and the word ‘thought’. “You said the ship would leave in like 45 minutes and then it would be a 15 minute walk. So 30 minutes. Yeah that’s right. Math!"He had put her down after leaving the bar and now she was keeping pace with him and what’s more, walking backwards with total disregard for what may rear-end her as she eyed him down. “So I figure that’s good a 10 minutes to get plastered-”

“It only takes you ten minutes?”

“Well I am drinking for two nowadays”, she gives a dignified snub.

Sole eyes her tummy, The sooner we get you out of there, the better.

“Then-” Cherish is stopped as he levitates her off the ground and angles her down the next right turn, leading down a long street that points to the harbor. Then they press on as they were, still facing each other.

She continues as if uninterrupted. “Then I’d make a 10 minute spectacle of myself, losing my lunch periodically between intervals of no less than 1 to no more than 3 minutes over the course of the remaining 10 minutes.”

For a while she kept quiet peeking over his wither from time to time to see all they had passed. Still, he had to ask, “So then-”

“I’d pass out and you carry my drunk carcass to the S.S. Dream Crusher. That would’ve been 30 minute time killer option one”.

“And how would I have carried you there on time? It takes 15 minutes without the extra-”

Her eyes snap into a steel buckling glare that presses into his forehead.

“-gravity”, he finishes.

“I’m as light as a pegasus with the added lightness of an unborn foal. That’s twice the amount of not heavy,” she sounds almost professorial as she explains.

“That logic would only work if one possessed the complimentary sparhk, which both of us lack”, he says tritely as if he’s been down this route before.

“Pfftt”, she slaps at the air, “I’m starting to doubt you even have one of those things at all”.

“Mine allows we to analyze, transmogrify and renegotiate the existential underpinnings of another’s sparhk under the condition that I establish a tactile connection”, it’s not rehearsed, he knows what he’s talking about. After all, he was leading studies on this phenomenon that had afflicted ponies for the past few centuries. There was still so much more to be understood.

Cherish then chimes in, “And meanwhile there are earth ponies out there who can blow up a mountain with a sneeze or what about that one pegasus who can turn into lightning. My love. You. Got. Jipped”.

Least I have one, pest.

“What was 30 minute option two?” he dares to ask.

She puts a pause on her back-trot and flutters her eyes as she leans in close to blow a hot breath into his left ear. It flicks in response. She pulls back letting the satin coat of her neck brush along his muzzle. “Maybe we can rock that boat before we shove off,” she pivots toward the other direction and restarts her pace.

After the brief flush has left his cheeks he moves onward. Oddly, he feels a slight pep in his trot as he catches up. The walk carries on quietly for some time. They’re about 100 meters or so from the docks, the moon looming behind them as copper glow of the street lamps toss their shadows to and throe along the cobblestone aisle. The farther they ventured from the bar the more lifeless the air became. Eventually only the sound of hoofsteps bounce against the walls of shipwright themed architecture where the less industrious majority of the town lay snug and sound asleep. The only problem being, a few extra hooves were tapping along the walkway. It wasn’t necessarily a cause for alert, and he plays it off, keeping a nonchalant demeanor to his stride. However he receives all the conformation that he needs.

Cherish tilts into the crook of his neck, but still keeps her trot, taking opportunity in the romance of the gesture to whisper, “They look mean.” She’s obviously referring to their entourage. He can feel her body keeping its calm with no shiver of panic or huffing of her breath, but her voice betrays an absence of enthusiasm that is unsettling when paired to her character.

He’s tempted to peer over his shoulder, but that’d be a giveaway or did it matter at this point? “How many?” he asks. His voice unfazed as ever.

“Three”, the first time he’s heard her leave one word to its lonesome.

“I can only feel one, so the other two aren’t sparhk users.” After a thoughtful pause he asks, “Their demographic?”

Cherish peeps a “What?” She wasn’t stupid, but the situation was making her tense, it was best to keep it simple.

“What race are they?”

“I only peeped at them, but I think two earth ponies and a pegasus”, she’s pressing into him now. “And I think they know I peeped."

There’s a helpless whine beneath her tone and it surely affects his mood, making him pick up the pace a little. Why did he do that!? However, deep down he believes that it doesn’t matter whether he acts like he’s none the wiser or if he waves a flag with the words “We’re thinking of a way to give you the slip. Just give us a minute. Promise we won’t disappoint!” These ponies have come to put an end to their journey. No doubt promised a healthy sum by a stallion who should have passed away far too long ago. It was unavoidable: he knows, even in the Outer Lands the old stallion’s will was sure to carry. He doesn't know whether they are bounty hunters or your run of the mill thug group raring to hit it big. All he assumes is the worst, he and Cherish are a thrashing away from being bound, gagged and shipped off to the terribly aged High Hierarch Supreme himself. He looks at Cherish, her eyes desperately withholding panic as she tries to fight off thoughts of her most intimate vulnerabilities. If they were lucky the gagging is where they would stop.

Hooves pick up speed behind them, but at the same time maintain a fluid rhythm to their gait. Things grow heavy in the damp night air and in their hearts. Weight upon weight is let down upon their minds, with a gentle touch, but an imposing pressure. The hoofsteps are still closing in. Tilting into Cherish, he whispers a plan. Needless to say the proposal doesn’t sit well, but she could never stop him when he set his mind to something. He pulls the warmth of his breath away from her ear and she peers up. Her eyes shimmer as they threaten to overflow into rivulets. She keeps her stride and with every sullen trot he swears that he can see the moisture ripple over her pupils as if the tears have blanketed her eyes, coating them with saline ponds. Yet not a single drop lines her cheek.

Those hoofsteps are oh so near.

Cherish, in her fear of a farewell, forces her lips into a pucker, about to lean for a parting peck. Sole, mirrors her sentiment. Both close their eyes and draw near for a soft connection.

Almost there.

Three stallions, two earth ponies  and a pegasus are a tail’s length away. The two travelers show no concern, however. The instant they connect its magic, in more ways than one. Sole’s horn begets its glossy vapor and all sight is wiped clean by a blinding flash. Everything goes white, but one can hear the resulting shock as three grown males holler from a searing likeness of the sun’s razor sharp intensity and a mild incineration of the retinas. Amongst the confusion, one could barely hear a gallop and maybe a sad attempt to flap one’s wings, followed by a thump on the ground and an “Ow”, then more galloping.

For a while, the world was so blank and white, but it takes less than a minute for the photons to retire; the street once more fading back into color in glum patterns of greys and shades of brown.

Sole opens his eyes and looks upon his would be assailants. The entire time he’d basked in the veiny red-orange tint behind his eyelids as his spell shone through. Now, he's gazing at three stallions on the ground, hooves rubbing at shut eyes as they tried to buff out the sting. He has to admit, the sights are a little blurry on his end, even though his eyes were shut the entire time. He doesn’t want to imagine the wonderful world of blots and blobs they'd experience.

Finally one stallion comes to his senses and opens his eyes, but noticeably easing into it, though only managing a half-lidded gaze . He surveys the area momentarily before his  focus comes to a stop upon the grey stallion-like blur wavering before him.

Sole is as a statue, neither a breath nor so much as a twitch of the ears. He’s putting a theory to the test as his legs fight the right to shake him off balance. Nothing is said between him and the near-blind earth pony. Waiting, waiting. His plan seems to have worked. He’d sigh in relief if it weren’t imperative that he kept a firm hush, for as long as he played upright-possum this guy couldn’t-

“I can see you, asshole!” the stallion says, with a rude grumbling undertone.

It was a half-baked strategy anyway; a mental smack from Sole to himself, with love.

There’s a burst of anger begging to unchain itself from his mouth, “Where’d she go?”

……….

Over the litter, elude the hoods, to harbor docks Cherish goes.

……….

Sole shrugs his shoulders with an i-duh-nuh hum. To be honest my friend she may have went right back to the bar, he honestly thinks.

The stallion brings his massive body close; almost muzzle to muzzle. From what little distance they had earlier, it was clear that he had Sole in terms of size and muscle, but this close the formidable air is stifling. His eyes speak volumes, “Fuck around with me one more time”, they say.

Ignoring that, Sole shuffles his tongue around behind closed lips, getting ready to-

It was so painfully swift. The street seems to violently flip through space before his eyes as he is wrestled, actually more like flung shortly, but with brutal will onto the cold cobblestones. He is then pinned flat with a crushing weight laying him out from stomach to jaw. His body parallels the ground with a slap that sends his soft brain rollercoasting into near oblivion. At least the head throbbing distracted him from the overall agony he should be feeling. A small blessing as Cherish would say.

I knew it, she’s contagious, he thinks.

Unbeknownst to his foe he almost swallows something. Sole tries to shift into comfort and is countered with the searing pain racing through his left foreleg, bent upon his back during his brief flux into submission. This is the first time he has noticed this, and he is only ashamed of himself for giving the satisfaction of a squeak to the stallion bearing down on him. An angered breath spears into his ear. It’s an unwanted warmth, it somehow adds to frigid temperature seeping into his underbelly.

His restrainer gives a twist, sending flashes of pain along his limb, ripping through his spine and  ending in a blistering percussion through the sponges of his brain. Sole’s heart is doing marathon work as it threatens to shove aside all adjacent tissues, begging for some space to beat.

He’d always thought, should this time come, he would be as he always has: calm and calculating. Now, he was holding reigns on his bladder as the flattening weight of this juggernaut threatens to kneed the air out of his lungs. Had he not been fighting it right now, he’s certain he would squeak like a bath toy.

Suddenly the pain starts to ebb as the stallion shifts his weight more so onto his hind legs. Sole hears him demand, “After that bitch!”, followed by the sound of hooves clopping on the cobblestones, then a stumble,  followed by flapping to break a clumsy fall. He thinks of Cherish for a minute, but that stallion, the pegasus of the group, is most likely still feeling the sting of the flash, not the innocent lack of grace he’d expect from his belov- favored companion. There's a breeze as the avion manages to take off into the night on a hunt for his unwitting prey. By the sounds of it, he is headed in the right direction; whether by intuition, him hearing the young mare stumble previously or unexpected deductive skills (that's giving him credit) is uncertain. During the light show she had slipped into an alleyway on the left. Unless this was the time of night the pregos came out to mingle, Cherish wasn’t going to blend well beneath the glow of lantern-lit streets. Sooner or later, she’ll have to leave the defenses of back alleys and shaded nooks if she wished to board the boat before being plucked by harsh hooves like a grape from the vine.

She was in trouble. They’re journey coming to an end, their future, their child’s future robbed of its lot in destiny. He needed to act.

…..........

Pregnancy is a pain.

Cherish finds herself slumped against the wall of a dark path between two honest abodes. Far enough from the dock to play keep away from the occasional high wave, yet it felt salted, or perhaps that was just loose gravels crawling through the furs of her back. Either way, with the sweats and panting she didn’t have much urge to reposition herself. Only a block’s sprint, albeit with a tumble or two, So many homeless ponies sleeping in my way, and she was pooped. Lurching just enough to crane her neck around a corner beside her stewing form, she gazed outward, spotting the pier. A final stretch of alleyway leading to a stone street before transiting into splintering planks, bathing in orange glows of lanterns as they brooked the knock-knock of ships under the throes of the tides. A long, boarded strip jutted out perpendicular to the shore and on either side sat a queue of sailboats, most of them moderately sized. Recognizing her dream vessel from earlier further down the way, she knew their boat was parked along this walkway.

Her puffs for air start to temper out and she then takes in one more gulp of atmosphere. More air, more energy right? Before getting up, she thinks back to Sole facing off with three hunky thugs by himself. Cherish knew she could always trust in his words and not because he was smarter: Their relationship fed on something with so much more substance than contrasts and compensations. She never felt dumb, belittled or confused when they would talk, there was never any dumbing down of vernacular to humour her smaller understandings. Never would she try to rake up words so erudite so he would praise her feigned intellect. Those exchanges, digressions and all, were always forthwith.

She slides her torso back along the gritty side wall, breathing with more ease but still in need of a snooze. To her other side lay the saddle bags containing a few essentials. All but one item her companion had swept up in the diversion.

Her mind drifts back to Sole, his tiny frame most likely trembling before the chiselled forms of the three assailants.

Trust, Cherish....

Standing up straight, she heaves the bags by the connecting strap and they plop onto her back, clamping to her full sides. She’s ready for the last gallop.

No point doubting when you can hope.

She’s off, firing down the alley. Trotting into the street. Plodding over a meter into docks. Falling face flat upon the timbers.

Pregnancy is a pain.

…........

“Get up. Slow.”

Well understood. Scary ponies, rarely need to repeat themselves.  With his forelimb now free Sole picks himself up, but doesn’t face them. He could feel a pressure smearing the back of his neck. Nothing physical, just nerves, previous pains and unfriendly tensions that seem to bring the atmosphere upon him. Behind that, the earth pony was within bucking distance. All it would take is one well aimed snap of his hindlegs, firing into the neck. It’d slam his windpipe shut and- No, I think not.

        Hoofsteps can be heard tapping toward him; the second earth stallion is closing in now. Sole hopes they didn’t pick up on the subtle shivering of his frame. After a pause, the hoofsteps begin to leave him. “Domph trife ameeph shimt,” he hears. His guess: a muffled mouth, handed some roping most likely. He thinks of taking it in his magic and subduing his would be captor, but again there’s too much room to bungle it up.

       Sole feels the prickling hairs of the rope fibers drape over his back, light in weight yet so chaffing. The squeeze of a broad hoof grasps his foreleg and even more unpleasant, the rough quarters are sawing against his soft skin. He rolls his jaw, a trinket tucked inside his mouth. Okay Sole, he has to calm himself now, he’ll only have one shot at this, Now or never.

……….

       All the while the second attacker is still on standby watching the hogtieing slowly go by. First the left forelimb and then the right, Sole is now upon his haunches. They had snagged one runaway and Dive Bomb, their winged partner, would be sure sweep up the bloated bimbo in due time. At this empty hour nopony would witness the sketchy activities taking place, neither the binding nor the abduction. After that Sole and his beau would be loaded into a carriage parked outside of town. Though in truth, witness or not, he didn’t give a damn. He takes a second to fish out a badge, tucked in his vest, an insignia of stars swimming through wafting curls carved into the dull veneer. Their passport to the world, allowing them to get away with anything. Tucking away the badge, he grins at the prospect that lay before them.

It had been months, but all in all, this would be the easiest million bits he ever ma-

       Every plan has it's hitch.

       There  is a flash followed by the sound of a brutal pop. It was weaker than the earlier flash and his eyes recover swiftly. After that, he only sees spurts of red jumping into the air where his cohort’s head used to be; his broad neck is now stubbed and liberated. Plates of what can only be skull are scattered across the ground, one in particular had flown over him, now rocking on its flesh coated curve. He feels something plop onto his chest and when he looks down he’s rewarded with a scoop of brain splattering the bare fur where the hem’s of his rugged vest fail to meet. He gives a start, but he neither jumps nor scurries. He sweeps it off of his person, leaving smears of blood on himself, it doesn’t bother him much. There are even clumps of pink mush fanning out in front of him, and finally the headless bulk topples onto its side, his neck giving off weak rosy squirts.

       The vested stallion, Molotov, raises his gaze to Sole, still on his haunches, head twisted back toward him and body tilting slightly for aim. Clamped between his teeth was a disk, the flat surface facing where the big guy had placed his head a few moments earlier.

…………..

       In the still moment after his out of character assault, Sole flared his horn to life and yanked off the rope from around his right hoof. Had he cowered for a few moments longer it wouldn’t been fastened to both hoofs, but only the left had been surely knotted thus far. Still, the loops left a toasty feeling along his right foreleg as he squeezed them off with haste.

       He gets onto his fours and lets the disk drop and clatter onto the ground. His messenger disk, devoid of its sparokite core, is useless now. Bits of the crude gem were now embedded in a stumped neck and shredded pieces of cranium, though it wasn’t the quartz-like shrapnel that had taken the big guy's head. Sole had a special connection with sparhk energy, able to mold it at his will as long as he was in contact. Pressing the rock of the disk against his tongue he carefully compressed the energy in the gem until it couldn’t shrink any further. After that he only had to point and release the blossom of sheer power. Good thing he had been nervous earlier. Had compressed the energy too much when he had been pinned, he would have to hope that restaurants, catering exclusively to the jawless existed.

       The double doors of a window are flung open. Out pops the head of an irate mare one story above Sole and Molotov on a seek and destroy mission for whatever make that wet popping sound, ready to hit everypony with a verbal flamethrower. “What the h-” her rant is cut short the instant she lays eyes upon what looks like a preschool hoofpainting slapped across the street and three stallions: roped-leg, vested and headless. The one in the vest looked right up at her, no sign of dismay at the corpse or her surely unexpected intrusion. His gaze swallows her bravado. There is only one thing to do in this situation: apply a firm grip to the double door’s edges, slowly retract her hooves and sink her hair-curlered head into her room. She never saw a thing.

       Molotov brought his eyes back slowly on Sole, who had managed to wrap the remainder of the rope around his barrel, his left limb was too tightly knotted to remedy at the moment. He notices that the unicorn’s gaze is pointed skyward. A bully’s smirk molds onto his muzzle and he kicks the clump of brain he had early swept away. The spongy wad makes a sure land, right upon Sole’s muzzle, where he can’t look away. It’s an empowering display what comes next, to Molotov at least. Sole throws up, he can’t even try to hold it back. It’s the first time he’s played a hoof in such slaughter and he definitely hadn’t eased into it. Still, he has to regain feigned composure, the stallion before him wasn’t going to be an easy hurdle. Unlike his cohort Sole could sense an energy welling inside him.

       “Yeah I remember my first kill,” Molotov sighs, “Respect though, that was something.” He takes a couple steps toward Sole, “You don’t look too tough, here I thought the Old Stallion was yapping pussy-talk when he said you were a threat”, he stops, still a couple meters in front of Sole, smoothing his mane back with a steady hoof. “Sure shut my friend up though.”

       Sole feels a tingle in his core, this guy’s ability, it’s revving up.

“I think you mean I shut him up for you.”

       “Oh you understand business. You got a good head on ya, like the geezer said.”

       “I just know a thug when I see one,” Sole retorts, not flattered.

       “Well, now it’s time you did the smart thing lil’ guy,” an amber glow seeps from the roots of his mane.

       “Trust me, if it were any other day I would. You caught me on a blue moon my friend.”

       A greasy smile, “You already know what I think of my friends. Why don’t you just be good, you and your girlfriend can enjoy a quiet carriage ride back home. Don’t tell me that ain’t your shtick.”

       “Yes, a two month long trek with barely enough rations to keep us conscious. It’s honeymoon material.”

       “You’ll live.” The amber glow has filled Molotov’s mane. The tresses begin to snake to life and they dance and flow toward the sky. It’s as if a fire sits upon his top, travelling back only to stop at the base of his neck. An earth pony with a sparhk of the fire variety. “After all, Star Swirl ain’t gonna pay up for expired goods.”

Grim as it may sound. I wish I could have blown his head off instead, Sole thinks. He swallows back more vomit, more ashamed of himself than disgusted.

       The hard part starts here.

…………..

Pant, step, trot, trot, stop, pant, pant. Okay, let’s get this over with. Cherish makes an easy pace down the dark spine of the dock, looking for the humble vessel Sole had pointed to earlier. Almost there, she sees it parking on the right side of the dock strip. Of course it would be at the very end. I think the sun goddess has it out for me, but wait it’s night time... At least the stars are pretty, her mind wanders off from there. A bright side to everything, until Sole turned up there was still hope that they’d make it out of this. It was unfair though: things had to go sour just when they had made it to the final checkpoint.

The boat is only two docking slots away. Salvation is within eyesight, no welcoming committee though. Win some, lose some. One more slot to go. The night is so still she can hear the lapping of small waves against the dock’s supports, the plip of a tiny fish leaping up and out of the lazy waters, the plop as it fell back into the current’s flow, and an odd whistling slicing the air above her and getting louder, louder-

CRASH!

A spout of water shoots up and gives her generous soaking. When it’s done not only is she wet, but sprinkled with chips of wood across her head and forelimbs. Cherish’s bones lock into place mid step. Slowly her chin swivels upward as her lids roll back. Her eyes are now frozen upon the 5 meter hole before her. It’s odd she could’ve promised there were no gaps in the dock a minute ago. Her hoof now hung over a short drop ridged by splintered wood and old nail points.

Like a rusted machine, she cranes the hanging hoof back in and leans forward to peer into the water, still feeling somewhat stifled from the surprise splashing. She sees newly employed pieces of driftwood, but not much else. Even when her view isn’t blocked by the rude planks of floating wreckage, all she can make out is the squiggling reflection of the moon in the rippling water. Nothing beneath the black tides at first, but she soon sees bubbles upon the surface. Cherish eases back a little, the board ridge taking up the lower half of her view. Her heart begins to race out of respect to memories of old stories about beasts from the deep that feast upon plump little mares like her or worse yet, a seapony.

She feels a thump vibrate up her legs. Something had latched onto one of the foundations and now she heard it clambering up the thick post. She takes a few steps away from the splintered drop-off. Next to come is the sound of… flapping? Uh oh. I really should’ve pieced this together sooner. Maybe it’s not too late to get- From the beyond the precipice something rockets toward the moon and then drops back steadily on all fours and it’s fuming mad. Gasp.

“You!” he punctuates with a stomp forward, “are in deep shit.” Dive Bomb had wanted to break her in two, only remembering at the last minute that she needed to be alive.

One of Cherish’s back hooves lifts, but replaces itself on the floor after second thought. There was no out running this guy and certainly no out flying him. From the ships flanking the sides of the harbour strip if she were lucky, somepony would be inside one and have heard the crash, and also given a damn. However it was more likely they were all empty and their owners were fast asleep at home more in shore. Not many ponies would come out to check even if they did hear the faint crash.

She used to be a counsellor, bringing ponies out of their deepest slumps and times of self-loathing. However, this stallion whether he had to travel months to find them, his eyes were still stinging from the flash show or he'd stubbed a hoof when he broke the dock, he was livid. She had cheered up angry clients too, but she highly doubted she could convince him to let her go, to him there was a much brighter side in getting paid than doing a good deed. Just by time, for something. Anything.

“Hey, how about we take a moment to breathe. You’re flustered right now. I think if you take a moment we can both find some common ground here."

His only response is a billow of steam that escapes his nostrils. His eyes haven’t stopped daggering at her, not once.

"I promise to come quietly", she adds and he seems to become less tense. “Good,” she titters, “now breathe back in-"

It would not be the first time that a flippant remark had gotten somepony hurt. There’s no defense made as Dive Bomb draws in and slithers below Cherish’s eye level only to spring back upward, his hoof fires into the underside of her muzzle. She sails a short distance back before slamming upon the worn out wood. The saddle bags now flat at her sides. She clasps both forehooves at the scoop of her jaw as the pain begins the flare up. A drop of blood slides past the corner of her lips and down her cheek. The red strip pales to the salty streams that start to build up in her eyes. It was the first time anypony had struck her.

By the sound of a few hoofsteps toward her, it wouldn’t be the last if she didn’t play along.

Dive Bomb stops with his forehooves planted on the boarding between her back hooves. “Now,” he sieves, “get your as-”

Something thrusts him through the back and out the underbelly. He stops in shock for a moment and then topples over to his side, cradling the end of a sharp tipped, iron rod projecting from his abdomen. Cherish looks over her swell to see him struggling to savor his breath, but it goes ragged anyway.

It’s a miracle really. Cherish lifts her upper body and gets a sight of her merciful deity, manifesting himself in the form of a scruffy sea stallion manning a now empty harpoon launcher from the very boat for which she and Sole had set off.

The skipper steps from behind the turret and walks over to the railing of the bow. He eyes her in appraisal and then calls out, “Blue mane, purple coat… preggers. You must be Cherish.”

Still teary eyed, but willing to smile, she gives a thankful nod.

“Sorry to interrupt, but it be my guessing he wasn’t a sit and hear things out type.”

“No it’s all peachy." She chokes back a sob, "But next time, don’t shoot when the damsel is practically right beneath the bad guy”, she taps at a small nick between her hind legs where the harpoon had scraped the dock on exit, a little too close for comfort.

He gives a playful scoff, “I used to shot down whales for a living you know?”

“Yes I know whales. Those incredibly big targets you can’t miss,” she's still shaking a little.

“Missed you didn’t I?”

She takes that in and now she's chuckling, “Oh you’re a funny captain. Mind bringing your dinghy around? I’ve reached my flight quota for the night, I’m sure I’d fall right into that gap.”

A puff of smoke leaves his pipe, “I'll have my boys lay down a plank”, he almost turns away when he adds, “I’d hide that if he were you”. He then heads into the deck.

Cherish is at a loss, she thinks he made another fat joke before remembering the mercenary bleeding out before her. She rights herself, leaving the stuffed bags on the floor. She takes in the scene and then her head feels oddly light, wobbling just once but managing to catch herself. It’s so much red. She wasn’t responsible, but it’s too much to just be involved in the killing of another pony, an uncaring brute, but still another pony. She feels like she had baited him toward death. He could’ve turned a new leaf someday, brighten up so many lives. That’s all snuffed potential now. It breaks her to see somepony go to waste.

His body appears still. Time to send him off. Cherish slowly stretches out a novice hoof, feeling the temperature. He’s not cold… yet. That’ll make this a little easier. She is so grateful that he was only two feet from the gap in the dock. It’s a self-made burial drop now. Unable to bear the sight of him curled up like an infant and pooled in red, she keeps her eyes on the sky as she shoves forward. Now she’s carrying three. The harpoon tip scrapes along, but the angle of entry prevents it from bringing too much hindrance. Sometimes she has to stop and apply pressure to a different area that had been lagging behind the rest of his body, but never does she look down. Finally she feels a loosening in the friction; his hindquarters have begun to go over the edge. She can feel him slip away and finally she stops applying pressure as his body, feels like the wither region, begins to part from her touch.

Suddenly, there is a violent grip around her fetlock. A gasp pushes past her lips and for the first time she looks down to see Dive Bomb hooking himself to the dock with one hoof and fastening to her with the other. The harpoon has wedged itself between his mass and the ledge at a flesh tearing tilt. His weight is starting to tow her into the tiny chasm. It’s not his intention though, this is no kamikaze act. Cherish looks into his eyes, and the focused hate has left no traces, she sees a foal-like sensitivity in his pupils sending silent pleas for life. The door to death has brought a scared little colt to the outside. His lips mime, “Please don’t…” She squeezes his hoof in return and even leans back to counteract the pull of his weight. So much potential… she can’t let it slip away. As she readies herself to pull him back on board, he coughs up a weak sprits of blood. Cherish sees the eyes lose their shimmer and go empty before they close. The hoof she had been grasping goes limp. She still squeezes. Seconds pass and she lets go, feeling oddly ineffectual.

Splash.