Wings

by Not_A_Hat

Rating: everyone
Tags: Original Character, Spike, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 3340

Spike is searching for something precious.

A wanderer drifts out of the desert, looking for freedom.

Published 2014-10-20 02:50:10 UTC
Last updated 2014-10-20 02:50:10 UTC

Learn to fly

I noticed the wanderer immediately as he crested the edge of the canyon. He entered on the east side, his shadow long and sharp behind him just as evening started to pull the heat from the air. He wore a rough wrap, burlap turned gray with windborne dust and shredded from travel. It swathed him head to foot, obscuring everything but a pair of piercing green eyes. He walked on two legs, a strange sight in this land, rangy limbs swaying tiredly as he trudged towards the oasis. He was looking for something, like all who came.

I watched as he wound down the shallow path into the valley. The evening breeze floated towards him, carrying green, living scents of the plants. I shifted slightly atop my staff, my single support swaying for a moment. It interrupted my meditation enough for hunger to seep through, disrupting the gentle magic I’d spread across my garden.

I firmed my posture despite my hollow stomach, maintaining my precarious perch. I greeted every traveler, and I wouldn’t leave my post now.

"Hello, Rishi." His voice was dry, raspy, as he greeted me. He had reached me before shadows finished filling the valley, their sonorous strokes layering the oasis in otherworldly hues. He stood before my perch, eyes level with my fetlocks even as I balanced atop my staff.

"Greetings, Seeker. What do you search for?" I swayed once and slipped lithely down, practiced movements sure despite fatigue. Solid ground felt good, and my hunger returned full-force.

“Water, if you have any to spare.”

“Gladly. Come, come."

He followed silently as I led him further into the sanctuary.

As we walked the well-worn path, the sand under my hooves gave way to plants. First it was harsh dune grass, striving valiantly against the encroaching desert. That eventually broke against small shrubs and weeds, pushing strongly into the neighboring territory. The expansion was progressing nicely. Taller plants rose behind, a narrow band of brush that was quickly lost in the depths of the trees. I was proud of my oasis. It was a masterwork, even for a shaman of my heritage.

My visitor gave no sign of interest. Whoever he was, he’d been searching for a long time; I read patience in the weariness of his slow steps, exactly one stride behind me. He didn’t hurry or slow even as the dark of the trees wrapped us, their deep foliage blocking the twilight as the sun touched the horizon.

The walk to my hut was short. It was a rude thing, fallen logs piled into the corner of a cliff, leaf mold and cut sod sealing it against the chill evening air. As it came into view I automatically checked the depth and richness of the soil nearby. I’d soon have enough life here to plant a proper house; then I’d be waiting for it to blossom. I loved my work, but it was frustratingly slow at times.

“Come in.” I opened the door for my guest. He nodded and followed as I entered with rehearsed certainty, tossing my staff into one corner and brushing the ash from the coals. They gleamed at the sudden air. I added a bundle of tinder and puffed a short breath.

They sparked once and died.

"Barren sand," I cursed mildly, reaching for my flint striker.

"Allow me." My guest leaned down and breathed again on the ash. I blinked in surprise as a trickle of emerald fire streamed from beneath his hood, crackling on the tinder and greedily licking up the dry fuel.

"My thanks." I added a few more pieces of wood, dipped my kettle into the water bucket, and set it in the flames. His eyes narrowed slightly in the depths of his hood at my bland reply, but he settled himself comfortably in the dirt, leaning gratefully back on the wall by the door.

“You’re really not bothered.” His tone was flat and hesitant. He must be used to fear, or worse. Maybe he’d been testing me, like my silence had tested him.

“Seeker…” I had promised him a drink. I filled a mug with cool water and handed it to him calmly. “I welcome all to my oasis by the traditions of my people. If a Drakon wanders in, begging for a draught, I’ll oblige you as easily as any traveler. It was the way of the first zebra shaman, and it is my way as well. We preserve and nurture.”

A little tension melted from his poise as he drained the cup. He passed it back before hooking claws around the edges of his hood, lowering it slowly. Green eyes, slit and smoldering, stared from a jagged purple face. "You know of the Drakon? That’s more than I usually explain." He rubbed his jaw. "I’ve met a shaman or two, and understand something of the work. You nurture the oasis. Perhaps you preserve the skystone?" He gave me a searching look.

"Oh-ho. A wanderer and a scholar." I stared back in the flickering firelight, yielding nothing. "Did you come for that, Seeker?" My voice was slightly harsh, accusing.

"I seek nothing for itself," he replied slowly. I nodded at the guarded answer.

"You're wiser than most." I turned to the baskets and bins layering the floors and walls. The woven containers rustled as I rummaged for herbs, spices, roots and grains. "Can I offer you supper?"

"Your offer is kind, but don't trouble yourself. All I need is the morning dew and a little sunshine." He smiled slightly, a thin, forked tongue flickering between his teeth. "Here, at least, I have more than enough of the one. I would like some tea, though."

"Of course." I threw a pinch of cinnamon, a dash of camellia, and a shake of vanilla into my teapot. He leaned back and relaxed, eyes sliding half-closed. "Why do you seek, then?"

"Hmm?" He focused on me again, pulled from his private world.

"You don't seek the skystone for itself, you claim. So... fame, money, power, none of that. Why, then?"

"I was told that those who come here are taught wisdom."

"Is that what they say now?" I laughed, gold bangles clattering in the flickering firelight. "Old Zebra Rishi, living alone in the desert. Go talk to him, he must be wise." I groaned, rubbing my neck. "Why does everypony think that different means better? Until they search for wisdom where they are, they'll never value anything."

"Mmmm." His hum was noncommittal, just filling space. I snorted.

The kettle whistled. I hooked the handle with my staff, swirling it a few times and pouring the boiling tea into tiny glass saucers. My guest stirred his absently with the tip of a claw, heedless of the scalding heat. I blew gently on mine.

"Are you seeking wisdom, or the skystone?"

"Neither, really, not as such. Maybe I’ve lost sight of my original goal." He frowned, suddenly pensive. "Rishi, what is wisdom?"

"Ahh, now you're asking something worthwhile." I gave him a gap-toothed grin and slurped my drink. Outside, I could hear the crickets come alive as darkness finished settling. The fire crackled and crumbled; I poured a measure of oatmeal into the half-empty teapot and returned it to the coals. "But why ask me? I'm no wise one. I'm here to safeguard deep magic, nothing else. On occasion I host a traveler. They rarely stay long." I shrugged. "Must be my snoring."

He chuckled, puffing rings of smoke from his nostrils. After a moment he rummaged beneath his burlap rags, finally pulling out a steel chain. He unclasped it from his neck and passed it to me.

"This is?" I took it gently, running a hoof along its length. It was sturdy, obviously practical before decorative, but strangely adorned.

"The vial is alicorn tears, freely shed for me during a full moon." I glanced up sharply but his voice was level, almost bored. "The shard of golden metal is orichalcum, the blood of mountains. I plucked it from the crater where the pride of Archeopolois once stood."

"The dawn city? But--"

"And that last, the rainbow fragment? It's one of Ancalagon's eyeteeth. A trophy won in fair combat from the shadow of all dragons." He held out his hand and I hesitantly returned the chain, unsure if I should be awed or appalled by his trophies. "A small enough hoard, some would say."

"Fools," I spat, surprised by my own vehemence. "Just one of those treasures..." I cut off. "So, you seek the skystone."

He gave me a long look, slowly sipping his tea. I stirred my porridge.

"In more ways than one, a dragon is defined by his hoard. What I value is reflected here. That in turn shapes the magic inside me. This one," he pointed to the vial, "shelters me night and day. I see even in darkest shadow. The stars guide me, no matter where I am. I eat only sunlight, and it will never burn me.”

“This one," he pointed to the orichalcum, "runs like steel in my veins. I've been crushed, stabbed, beaten and poisoned, and survived it all. My punches hit like an avalanche, and all but the best weapons simply bounce off my scales. With both of them together I could cross this country at a dead run and defeat an army after. Both combined were barely enough to win the third." He gazed into the fire, reminiscing.

"I wrestled Ancalagon for uncounted days. He dragged me into the belly of the earth, no light, no life, but fire. I withstood him, begging again and again for his advice. In the end he pronounced it a good fight and gave me his tooth. He claimed I'd loosened it; I think he was trying to comfort me."

"So," I broke the silence after a moment. "What does it do?"

"Nothing, for me." He flicked the fragment with a claw. It went faaaaaaaaang. "Ancalagon's answers were worthless. I keep the trophy for curiosity; it has no value for my hoard."

I spooned my porridge into a bowl, and started eating slowly. I was halfway done before I spoke again.

"Skystone, for your hoard? You're looking for wings."

He nodded once.

"You're searching for something, that magical, strange something, that will help you grow. You're searching for a path into the sky."

"Mmm."

"Do you pretend fatigue?"

He cracked an eye.

"I'm nearly fed up with this." He tipped his head back, resting it against the wall. "I've been on the road for years, Rishi. I could do with a rest."

"Sleep, then." I rinsed my bowl, leaning on its shelf to dry. "I may be just a zebra, but old Rishi will watch over you."

* * *

"It doesn't look like much."

"It's not." I leaned heavily on my staff. "And good thing too, or somepony would have figured it out already."

Deep in the shadows of the valley, a thin, winding trail led up the walls. We'd left my hut before daybreak, hiking carefully in the dim night. I sighed, looking out over the tiny patch of jungle I'd managed to coax to life, a small swatch of green struggling amidst the arid wastes of sand. Leaving early had no special meaning; I just loved to sit up here, high in the cliffs, staring out over the valley below as sunlight poured over the lip of mountain behind, slowly filling my oasis like honey tipped into a bowl.

"So?" I turned back to my visitor. He was scrutinizing the cliff behind me, running his claws gently over the rock. "Are you taking one?"

"You'd just... let me?" He gave me a puzzled look.

"Drakon, I couldn't stop you for my life. Fame, fortune, power; pry a piece out."

He touched a skystone, the perfectly cubic crystal half buried in the cliff.

"They sell for millions. You know, I looked in three other places before coming here? There's records of these even in the ruins of Archeopolis, a city so old we don't know who lived there or what they called it."

I nodded.

"In Minoa they say a pony with a skystone can jump from the tallest spire of the palace and land unharmed." He sighed and stepped back.

"There's some truth to that." I fumbled at the pouches tied to my staff, finally freeing a small cubic crystal. I held it up so he saw it and tossed it off the cliff with a flick of my hoof. He watched, face impassive, as it floated right back to me a moment later. "You're no fun. You should at least twitch. The last one screamed."

"How many have you given away?"

"Count."

He ran his claws over the divots in the rock.

"Five."

"Ah, you saw mine." I shrugged.

"And how many turned back after you showed them?"

"Three, including you."

"Pfah." He smirked. "You're a canny old coot, I'll say that."

"You said it yourself; if it's meaningless, there's no point in hoarding it."

"Mmm." He walked to the cliff edge, perching on the rim. We stood there as the sun finished rising, motionless until the light dripped down my back, warming my coat through and through. "Sometimes," he said, "I feel I could just walk off the edge." He raised a foot, balancing precariously.

"So, Seeker, what is it you value?" I slumped beside him, settling comfortably on the stone. He sighed.

"Enjoying the sun on my scales. Savoring a moss agate despite the grit. Morning dew drunk from rose petals. Constellations. Sharing tea with shriveled zebra shamans. Wings."

"What does the sky mean to you?"

"Freedom."

"Hah!" I burst into chuckles. He scowled. "Really, Seeker. You can run and not grow weary; you can walk and not faint, but all you can dream of is wings? Just how greedy are you? How much more freedom do you need, before you're happy? Such avarice, even for a dragon! What could drive you to such lengths?"

"Not what."

"Aaaah." I sighed. "Who, then."

He grudgingly nodded.

"She has beautiful wings. I'd give so much, so very much to just follow her into the sky once, taste the freedom she revels in."

"So." I poked him with my stick. He swayed lithely, footing sure, even balanced on the cliff’s edge. "So you left her behind, walking off to find your wings. Alone."

"It's... it's not like that." He shook his head. "She's my sister. She can barely even fly. Though maybe now... Yeah, maybe. But even when she first tried, she saw something up there." He tipped his head back, staring into the deep desert blue. "Something in the sky. I saw it in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks, the curl of her smile. Something I'd never seen, never touched, up in the sky. So I set out to find it."

"Alone."

"Yes, alone!" he snarled, a second set of lids nictitating across his eyes in a strange flicker of anger. "Alone," he repeated more calmly. "I'm not... I don't... I just did. I had some silly idea that they were holding me back. I'm a dragon, you see."

"Really."

"Pffft. Yeah, yeah. Well, they were ponies."

"Oh, that..." I frowned. "You must be Spike."

"Heh. Are the zebra shamans so close knit?"

"I hear the Everfree is beautiful this time of year. Tell my cousin I said hello."

Below us, the oasis was awakening. Migratory birds, waking from a restful night, started squawking and milling. I saw flashes of color as flowers opened and closed, plants trading the cool scents of night for the bright hues of day.

"Family, friends, it's an interesting thing." I flipped my skystone over the edge, watching it fall and float back. "They hand us silken cords, tied to their hearts, and we bind ourselves to them. You'd be crazy to call that freedom."

"Ancalagon claimed his wings grew after everyone who loved him died."

"Worthless indeed."

"Blech." He grimaced at the forest, finally stepping back from the edge. "Fine, that's it. I'm done, giving up, going home."

"Oh, good grief." I stood with a heave, stepping to block his way. "Are all the young ones so dense these days?"

"Rishi?"

"Come on, please don't say you've missed it." I raised my staff, poking him in the chest. He stepped backwards. "Give up? Give up? I'll have you know, when I was your age my vision quest lasted..." I stopped, eyes narrowing at his smirk. "Yes, I sound like a geezer. I am a geezer; I'm allowed. Listen to me, Spike the dragon, Drakon, Wyrmlord, Avatar of Fire. If you give up now, you'll never fly." He opened his mouth, but I jabbed him with my staff and he closed it. "Give up? No. Go home? Yes, go home. That vial is just salty water. Orichalcum is mostly copper. You've searched for years for something valuable, something to hide in your heart to give you wings, and you've started realizing just how worthless most treasure is. Sure, friendship isn't pure 'freedom'. Sometimes you've got to lend somepony a hoof, help them out. We bind ourselves to our friends, and in return, they bind themselves to us. Can it be restricting? Of course. Is it worth it?" I glared at him, until he realized the question wasn't rhetorical.

"You know," he looked down at my staff, "for a while, I really resented being taught, instructed, told what to do. It wasn't until, oh, the third time something my brother, sister, mother, father taught me saved my life I realized just how much strength I had because of them." He stared into the distance. "Everything they did, everything they made me do, I couldn't have come this far without. All told, what they taught prepared me, made me independent and strong. It gave me..."

As I watched, a curl of smoke rose from his back. He swayed back a step, right to the cliff edge. I heard crackling as tongues of flame licked around him, showing over his shoulders. Heat rose into the air, emerald fire dancing and shimmering on the wind. It rippled the sunlight, distortion pulling and tearing at the shadows.

"Gave you?" I grinned and poked him once more.

"Freedom." He looked up, eyes locking on mine. "Sometimes, I feel like I could just..." He smiled beatifically and stepped backwards, falling flat as he tumbled from the cliff. I rushed to the edge, leaning out to watch.

He flipped in midair, showing me his back. The back of his wrap was burned away, a charred patch revealing thick, jagged purple scales. Two ridges had appeared, perforated with holes. Flame was leaking from them, long streamers of green fire that writhed and squirmed in the air. He fell fast, but they grew faster, twisting and merging into sheets of roaring incandescence that dwarfed his falling form. For a moment I thought he wouldn't make it, that he'd need to trust the branches to break his fall, the strength of his scales to survive the landing, but he pulled through. With one final surge the flames pouring from his shoulders bunched, knotted, swirled, and unfolded into wings, glistening, gleaming purple wings that snatched at the air and threw him skywards even as the last of the fire faded.

"Thank you!" he yelled, even as he swished past the cliff.

"No problem," I muttered, half to myself. Leaning heavily on my cane, I started down the pathway. "I swear, youth these days. Run off looking for answers! Surely when you're somewhere else you'll be smarter. Go talk to old Rishi! He lives with no mattress or flush toilet, so he knows what's going on. Blech." I looked up, though, and smiled.

High in the sky, a glowing dot was scorching its way across the blue.

Home.

Author's Note

Just something I wrote for practice. Somewhat inspired by Foo Fighters 'Learn to fly'.

Extra-special thanks to Hat and TheLetterJ for pre-reading.