The Twin Mountains

The Travels of Stride Farwalker

An excerpt of an oral tale

Recorded by Mark Down, Scholar of Celestia’s College in Canterlot

… when Stride Farwalker returned from across the sea, the villages on the coast were astonished to witness that he flew with a passenger. A pony, black as the flint they lit their fires with, accompanied him in the sky and upon his landing. He immediately sought quarter in an inn within view of the ocean, and he and his visitor stole away into their room for two days and two nights, the events of which have never been recorded.

Eventually, Stride and the mare emerged from the inn and met with the townspeople. He explained that he had met her in a village far to the West, far beyond what any sane pony believed to be the end of the habitable land. He told fantastical stories of a race of black ponies that had the wings and horn of an alicorn, the same but different, and spoke of magical powers possessed by these strangers that few ponies could replicate: complete bodily transformation, the pilfering and consumption of pure emotion, and other secrets still unrevealed…

The surf lapped lazily against the white sand of the beach without enthusiasm, and somewhere off the coast, the humped back of a whale crested the glistening top of the water and crashed down in soundless majesty. The jungle beyond the beach was alive with the songs of a hundred colorful birds and a thousand exotic insects. An enterprising red crab shuffled up to the embankment preceding the jungle and scurried away frantically when Acetyl stepped out onto the hot sand.

Copious amounts of sweat gripped her mane in unseemly tangles, and her forked tongue lolled from her mouth, panting heavily with exertion, but a satisfied smile spread her lips apart, and her shoulders slumped in satisfied relaxation. Her eyelids drooped as she reached into the small bag tucked beneath her transparent wing and withdrew an old wooden comb with her magic. She pulled it through the tangles of her green hair in an effort to restore to her visage some semblance of dignity.

“I’ll head back now, so that we don’t both come out of the jungle with stupid, obvious grins,” Chrocha said as he stepped out of the thicket behind Acetyl. He looked no worse for wear for their interpersonal traipse, as though he had only taken a leisurely stroll through the jungle. Males had no manes to tussle, and the short, backswept spines on his head had little issue dealing with the sticky byproduct of their time in the bushes. It infuriated Acetyl to no end as she struggled the comb through a tough knot.

“What?” Acetyl asked with an amused raise of her eyebrow. “And leave me to sit here until I can go back without raising suspicion? No, thank you.”

“Unless you want everyone in town to gossip about the two of us sneaking off and coming back looking like we jumped in a hot spring, one of us is going to have to stay here for a few minutes.” Chrocha’s logic was sound.

“And you’re such a gentleman for volunteering, Chrocha.” Too sound for his own good. Acetyl planted a hoof on his chest and firmly set him down on his haunches. She looked into his transfixing solid blue eyes and donned her most seductively persuasive face.

“Well, when you put it like that…” Chrocha chuckled awkwardly. Acetyl smiled and pecked him on the cheek before turning around and prancing back to the town with a spring in her step.

The sun flew high in the sky, just reaching the crest of its flight before beginning its eastern descent. The beach was on the northern end of the island, so it wasn’t far before it curved sharply south and gave way to the old wooden boardwalk that Acetyl called home. As she looped south, it came into view in all its rough, salt soaked glory. The tide was high, so the bottom of the boardwalk’s foundation platform stood barely above the steadily lapping froth. The platform met with the ground at the innermost end of the beach, just before the highest point the sea reached each day, and gave way to a smattering of buildings in a clearing that made up the rest of the town.

Acetyl skipped cheerfully up to the edge of town, letting the waves tease her hooves. The dull din of the citizenry mulling about their business grew steadily louder: fishmongers peddling their wares on the docks at the very edge of the harbor, a blacksmith hammering away at a chain, children frollicking in the water, their mothers mingling at the shore, the distant bleats of sheep from the ranch just outside the village.

With a muted grunt, she hopped onto the boardwalk and weaved through the cramped huddle of stout buildings until she stumbled upon a crowd of zenti.

“Momma! I want to see the pirate ships!” Adecticus squealed from the rear of the horde, not far from where Acetyl stood. Still just a child, her brother was prone to tantrums, when his wishes were denied, and when he decided he wanted something, he could lock his proverbial knees and cry until his demands were met. When he happened to be riding between his mother’s wings, the sheer intensity of his pleas was enough to set her teeth, so she gripped him in a field of green magic and set him down in the sand with the gentle touch that only a mother can display in the face of such exasperation. The crowd had swelled just off the northern beach in order to watch the ships pass by on the eastern wind. The swathe of black forms stood much taller than Adecticus did, blocking his view, and darkening his already foul mood.

“They’re not pirates, Adecticus.” Their mother sighed and turned to look at Acetyl as she joined them. “They’re just royal navy ships passing by, hon.”

“Yeah, Addy,” Acetyl’s uncle, Lepid, trotted up from the shopfront he had perched in. “Haven’t seen pirates this far south in decades, kid. Well, at least I haven’t seen any.” He pointed a perforated hoof at the patch that covered his eye, and Adecticus giggled through his sniffling.

“That’s just what we need, anyway,” someone said from deep within the crowd. “Pirates! Filthy marauders to come burn down the village and kill the sheep.”

“You’re just upset because you’re too old to go live on a ship, so you have to stay here and pay taxes,” someone else retorted.

The first zenti scoffed. “I’ll have you know that I’m a proud patriot! Completely devoted to the monarchy!”

“You were a privateer before Clypeus showed up.”

“Uh… those were different times, I’ll have you know.”

“Mhm, sure they were. Hey, the ships are coming this way!”

“Pirates!” Adecticus said excitedly.

Acetyl craned her neck above the heads of those in front of her and peered out at the waves. Three specks dotted the horizon, one much larger than its compatriots, and were slowly turning their heading towards the tiny island. As they drew closer, Acetyl could see the tiny black flags that represented the royal navy; black flags for a government presuming to represent a race of black beings.  The ships grew from smudges in the distance to proper navy warships that seemed to intimidate the island itself.

Lepid leaned down and scooped Adecticus up onto his shoulders. “Well, kid, do you know what kind of ships those are?”

“Pirate ships!” Adecticus giggled, trying to climb up and stand on top of Lepid’s head.

“No, I mean the actual ships, kid.” Lepid said, straining to keep the child settled. “See those two smaller ones on the sides? What are they called?”

“Frigates?”

“Boy, if those were frigates, we’d need bigger docks. Sloops of war.”

“Is now the time to be teaching my son about warships, Lepid?” Acetyl’s mother asked with a chuckle.

“Sure, Ceph, what could be a better time? Try again, kid, what’s the big girl in the middle?”

“A galleon?”

“What’s the navy gonna do with a galleon? Carry a bunch of guns in the cargo hold? She’s a corvette.”

The trio of ships reeled in their sails as they made their final approach and slowly drifted within range of the island. Teams of hulking, muscular zenti swung magic tinted grappling hooks around their heads and lobbed them at the docks. With the same incredible strength, the heaved in unison, drawing the ships to a standstill, rocking back and forth with the minute ministrations of the waves. The same zenti dropped a massive plank of timber off of the sides, bridging the gaps and allowing a royal navy official to disembark.

As he climbed down from the ship, he radiated an air of regal pomposity. He held his head high in the air and didn’t deign the crowd worthy of so much as a sweeping glance in their direction. The navy blacks that he wore were in careful repair, and he held a small paper in his magic, tucked against his side. Floating it up to eye level and unfurling it, he cleared his throat as he advanced upon the throng of zenti on the beach.

“Greetings, good zenti,” he said, his horn flaring slightly and his voice echoing over the heads of everyone present. “My name is Commodore Weev, and I have been sent north with the vessels embarked here under the orders of her majesty the Queen Optera. I have in my possession a letter of course signed by the good queen herself, which grants me the legal right to request able bodies for my voyage.”

Murmurs swept through the crowd as some young zenti looked at each other and nodded excitedly before turning their attention back to the commodore, while some dissenters scoffed and made swift withdrawals from the crowd.

“Pirates haven't been seen this far south in decades, Commodore,” Uncle Lepid’s voice seemed to revert back to a rigid rhythm and tone acquired over long days of intense practice.

“Of course not,” Weev continued, turning to look at Lepid. “This is but one stop on a long voyage north, but Queen Optera’s treasonous opponents grow ever bolder in their crimes. That is why her majesty has contracted so many fine sailors such as myself to face the menaces.”

“You’re a pirate hunter!” a young voice called out with irreverence.

“Adecticus!” Acetyl’s mother scolded. “Hush!”

“Well, I wouldn’t use those terms myself, boy,” Weev said with a small, almost smug smirk. “But I do somewhat appreciate the sentiment… In any case, my crew and I will be in this port for the remainder of the week. Anyone who wishes to pledge their allegiance and sign aboard may do so as they please.” Satisfied with his speech, Commodore Weev turned and climbed the plank back onto the ship.

Acetyl closed the door with a quiet click and turned to face the village. The sun was setting over the water to the east, casting a thousand bright red, orange, and pink sparkling lights across the water. Most of the fauna had put an end to their activity for the day,  but the insects of the night had only just begun their symphony.

As Acetyl’s hooves echoed off of the wood, she licked her lips slowly, and her eyelids hung low in idle anticipation. She swallowed deeply and bit her lip as she began her search through the village. Most of the people had begun to turn in, closing their shops and cutting short the ambient din of the merchants and the dockworkers, but Acetyl knew through repetition and experience that her target would be wide awake.

The sun was already half concealed by the horizon by the time Acetyl arrived at Chrocha’s house, and the beautiful oceanside view behind it was dim with twilight and almost completely void of the colorful swatches that had moments ago adorned the vista. Acetyl infiltrated the premises with practiced ease, teleporting vicariously to a perch atop the shed just outside. The momentary disorientation faded quickly, and Acetyl absorbed the moist, warm night air, complete with the increasingly bright, cold white glow of the moon, the chirping of some distant, nocturnal bird, and the fleeting glimpses of a swarm of torchbugs. Acetyl teleported through the empty space and into Chrocha’s bedroom through his half-open window with the ease of a child leaping over a puddle of water.

An old, ornate candelabra lit the room with the dynamic presence of a dozen small flames. Chrocha stood, oblivious to the intruder, over a pile of hastily stacked clothes strewn haphazardly over his bed, lifting each article and examining it with a critical eye before tossing it aside or shoving it into a small canvas bag. Acetyl silently stalked up behind him and analyzed him in turn, picking up on a minutia of details that only she with her personal familiarity of him could detect. The muscles in his back, concealed through thick black skin, invisible to most but not to her, were taut and tight, and a small vein throbbed in his neck. After a seemingly long while, he set the bag slowly onto the bed and gazed blankly at the far wall, deep in thought, somewhere else.

Acetyl squinted at the back of his head as his gaze drifted back down to the bed. Sitting just aside the pile of clothing was an old sword, his father’s sword, a long, slender blade, sheathed in a dark black leather with a hint of steel peeking out from the end, forged long before Clypeus rose to the throne.

Chrocha was packing. Everything on the island was within walking distance. There was only one way off. He had his father’s sword.

“You want to leave with the commodore…” Acetyl’s words were a statement, but her voice trailed off in subtle disbelief.

Chrocha, having long since grown accustomed to Acetyl arriving in his bedroom late at night and unannounced, barely reacted. His voice was sunken. “I… uh… yeah.”

“You want to leave. Leave the island, leave the village, leave your family.” Acetyl drew in a deep breath. “You want to leave me.”

“I didn’t say that, Acetyl,” Chrocha said. His voice rose slightly, but he still held a strange calm as he turned to face her. “Don’t make this what it isn’t. This isn’t about us.”

“Not about us?” Acetyl almost yelled. Hoofsteps shuffled somewhere downstairs, and she lowered her voice to a high-pitched, strained whisper. “Not about us!? Of course its about us, you nitwit! It’s all about us, everything is supposed to be about us! Did you think that this somehow would affect us? Did you think nothing would change?” She sighed again. “Did you think?”

Chrocha was resigned to the interrogation. He clenched his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead. “I thought that I didn't’ want to spend the rest of my life as nothing more than ‘the blacksmith’s son’, doomed to do the same thing my father did until the day I die. I thought that I’ve always had my life planned out for me, and no one ever cared about what I wanted. I thought that there has got to be something more to life than growing old and dying on some rock that doesn’t even have a name. And now I think that I’d like to go find it.”

Acetyl was incredulous and now outright yelling.. “You want to leave the only home you’ve ever known to go on a fucking soul searching journey?”

“Please, Acetyl, keep your voice down…”

For an awkward, silent minute, she fumed. She thought about her life in a way that she never had before. She thought about her uncle, and her mother, and her brother, her friends in the village, the conspicuously nameless island itself, and her path in life that ashe had never thought about in any capacity beyond an unchangeable, immovable destiny. The stress in her shoulders drifted away, and her wide eyes closed a fraction.

“Well,” she said, her voice mellowed with reflection, “you’re not the only one with a soul to find.”