The Magic Behind the Name

“The rules,” The vagabond walked casually around the table, “Are as follows.” Caramel stared desperately at the suddenly scary mare and regretted everything. “We will each submit to a truth spell. Only when one of the spells is triggered, or one of us refuses to answer a question will the door be released. You can’t ask about my mission, and I can’t ask about your magic. Other than that, all’s fair. I’ll give you a handicap: you get to ask first. Do you submit?”

Caramel didn’t know what else to say. “I submit.” He felt her magic around him, forming a tight bond around his chest.

“Your turn. I submit.”

“Um… how do I… I’ve never…” He was blushing a deep red.

“That’s okay. I’ll help you.” She walked toward him and took one of his forelegs in hers. “Concentrate. Think about one thing that you know is true.You have it? Good. Now push that thought outside yourself, and force it into me.”

Caramel blushed even deeper. He wondered how she would feel if she knew the truth he was thinking. He found himself imagining what they- a loud pop scared him out of his daydream.         “You got distracted,” She suddenly sounded cross. “Try again.”

He did, this time pushing his truth all the way down her body, feeling it inside of her, knowing at a clicking sensation that he had been successful.

“Good.” The mare tossed her hair. “Now, ask me a question.”

Caramel licked his lips. He had to stump her. She was terrifying, but that only made her all the more attractive. He didn’t just want her, he needed her. He needed to feel her coat, touch her mane. He shook his head. First, he had to win. “What is 1625 squared?”

The traveler smiled. Her horn ignited as a quill, ink, and parchment floated in front of her. She began writing swiftly and mumbling to herself. After a few minutes she looked up happily. “Two million, six hundred forty thousand, six hundred, and twenty-five.” She looked up, grinned, and said, “My turn.” The fear in Caramel’s stomach burrowed deeper. “What truth did you use to bind me? What do you have faith in old man?”

“One question.” Caramel reminded her, feeling clever. “You said one question.”

“They’re the same question, but if they seem different to you, you only have to answer the first one.”

Caramel lost his mental footing again as he saw just how much she intended to expose him. He stood up to his full height, and looked her in the eye. “I thought about how certain I am that I want you.”

She smirked. “We’ll see how certain you are by the time I’m done. Your turn.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“A long way North of here. How would your wife feel if she could see us now?”

Caramel thought of his wife, of his foals. She was tearing him apart inside. He did love them. He just needed more than the same day again and again for the rest of his life until, on one of those same days, he would die. “She would be devastated. She would break down without saying a word.”

“Are you sorry?”

And suddenly Caramel saw through the traveler. She was trying to make him surrender, to give up of his own will, give in to his conscience, and lose the game. “No, it’s my turn now. Why do you need my spell?”

She stared at him. He smiled, knowing he’d won. He had crushed this beautiful pony, and she was going to be his, for a day, possibly a night. To his surprise, the mare laughed.

“I’m a collector. Your spell would be a fantastic addition to my set. But, since you want to play for real,” Her eyes took on an even more devious quality. “Tell me how much you want to die.”

And, for the first time in years, Caramel felt real fear. He wanted to cower. This mare was no longer beautiful, she was just powerful. He didn’t need to hold her, he needed to bow before her. She knew him intimately already, and he couldn’t give her anything more. “That wasn’t a question,” He whispered hoarsely, hoping she would take pity.

She didn’t. “How much do you want to die, on a scale of one to ten?”

He bowed his head. “You win.” He mumbled.

“What’s that?” She sneered.

“You win,” Caramel said, biting back tears. He felt the bond around his chest release, and watched the door reappear.

“Can you write?” She asked, unrolling a parchment that seemed impossibly long, and dipping her quill in an ink bottle.

“No.” He fought to get a grip of himself. “But I’ll tell you how to do it. The most important part isn’t the magic, it’s the setup. Your ice cream has to be in a pot surrounded by ice and salt. The salt will rob the ice of some of it’s coldness, all your magic has to do is take that coldness and move it to the ice cream. You do that by focusing and searching for the center of the coolness. Once you do that, just telekinetically drag the center into the ice cream.”

She scribbled furiously for a couple of minutes before looking up. “Very innovative. Thank you, I’ll be on my way.” She replaced her quill and parchment in her cloak, and pulled out a couple bits. “For your troubles.” She left them on the coffee table, and walked out the door, shutting it behind her.

Caramel stared at the door, then at the pictures of his family, and then at the ice cream he had been making for fifteen years, and would be making for fifteen more. And he made a break for the door.