The Magic Behind the Name
Caramel Glacier was horse famous in his own way, but an ice cream maker can only accumulate so much of a reputation. He knew he had made many ponies happy. He glanced over at the adjacent wall, invisible underneath the portraits of him with his family, drawn by ponies more talented than himself. His wife wasn’t unattractive any more than she was drop dead gorgeous. His colts weren’t overly rambunctious, and they left him alone most of the day.
At the sound of the metal knocker on his door, Caramel snapped out of his daydream and back into his work. The newcomer entered, a unicorn wearing a ragged brown cloak. She looked unfamiliar, like some vagabond wandering around, but her mane was a lovely green color. Caramel slapped on a smile and stood up to greet her, seeing a pouch heavy with bits tucked into her cloak.
“What can I do ya for?” Caramel said in his best salesman voice. “We’ve got a special today, two cones for the price of one, if you have a friend or a special somepony you want to share a cone with.”
“Just me today. I’ll look around for a while before I order.”
“You take your time, dear. Never any rush around here.”
The mare looked around deliberately. She peered at the empty tables, the many flavors of ice cream, the staircase up to the living quarters.
“Since business doesn’t seem to be overwhelming your cottage, would you mind talking to me for a bit?”
“If there are bits involved, I’m in.”
She laughed, a powerful but graceful whinny that caught his attention and made him look back at her. She was young and beautiful. He remembered that she had said that she was without a special somepony. Perhaps she would make a good companion for the night.
“I’d love to talk with you. Why don’t you have a seat?” He pulled out an armchair stationed near a coffee table, and she sat in it delicately. He sat in an armchair across from her. “What’s on your mind, pretty pony?”
She whinnied again, and his heart skipped a beat. “Well, I was just wondering about how you make your ice cream. It must take very advanced magic.”
“Not at all, not at all. If you’re staying in town, I could show you how to do it sometime.” He lied. But he could certainly show that dainty little mare how to do a couple other things...
“I’m afraid not. I have a mission that I need to complete before I can settle down.”
“Oh? What mission would that be?”
“How about we play a game?”
Caramel side-eyed the newcomer slyly. “What kind of game, did you have in mind, gorgeous?”
This time there was no whinny. “We take turns asking each other questions. If you get stumped first, you tell me how you keep that ice cream frozen,the truth now, and if I can’t answer...hmm...what can I do for you if you stump me?” The mare was sneering, and Caramel suddenly became embarrassed.
She knew what he wanted of her. And at once he realized just how much he wanted it. “Stay an extra day. With me. And then…” He trailed off, blushing for the first time in years. He hadn’t realized he was still able to blush.
Her sneer widened. “And then?”
“And then, if you want to, you can, well, well, um,” He was melting under her eyes. He knew he’d have to spit it out or surrender everything he had to her. He stood up from his chair and gave what felt like a very unconvincing smile. “Then you can spend an extra night with me.”
The traveler smiled and rose out of her chair to meet his gaze. He hadn’t realized how very tall she was. Her horn began to glow as the door slammed shut. The door glowed for a second before it became one with the wall. The mare turned smiling to Caramel and said “Nopony will bother us now.”
Caramel wasted no time staring, but immediately bolted for what was the door, using any spell he could think of. The wall froze, warmed, splintered, and creaked, but refused to open. Caramel pounded on what used to be his door with his front hooves, but there wasn’t so much as an outline. After a while he accepted the fate of the door and turned back to the traveler. “Who are you?” He whispered. With a single spell, she had modified the very being of his home. That took more than small magic. She had changed more than that: Caramel was suddenly powerless, and anything she wanted; his money, his family, his life, would be hers.
The traveler smiled warmly. “Just a pony you’re about to hand a spell to.”
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.