Wander No More

by BlndDog

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life
Length: 2225

Morning Breeze returns to his old ship for his friend's funeral

It has been ten years since Morning Breeze was rescued from the Lady of Baltimare. He thought he would never go back. But when news of his friend Wandering Wings' death reaches Baltimare, he does not hesitate to hitch a ride on his old ship. Can one last voyage change anything?

Written for Weekly Contest #30: Once More With Feeling.

Reading the prequel will really help.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-10-12 20:00:01 UTC

Wander No More

Morning Breeze put away his books and threw himself onto the cot. Jamming his face into the cool pillow helped alleviate his seasickness. He didn’t know whether it was due to ten uninterrupted years on land or if he had always this way. The last time he sailed on this wretched ship was before he learned to read.

He was in the same deckhouse as Captain Zahra, in one of the two guest cabins (never before used, as far as he knew). His room was about as big as a broom closet, but it was a private room for the price of a spot in the hold. He had a starboard-facing window and a lantern he brought from the Baltimare Orphanage. Captain Zahra had provided six long beeswax candles. These lay in a desk drawer, and Morning Breeze had vowed never to look at them.

There was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” he asked. After all these years, he was still noticeably hoarse most of the time.

No one answered.

Morning Breeze glanced down at his watch. It was 2000 hours.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he said.

Captain Zahra retreated down the hall and up the stairs.

It had been overcast for the last two days, and an icy drizzle kept the deck damp. It was good sailing nevertheless; three more days and they should arrive on Five Stiffs.

Dinner Bell had been entirely against his return to the Lady of Baltimare. She had searched a whole week for other ships that would pass the island of Five Stiffs, but being a three day detour from the nearest shipping lane, nopony went there without a reason. In the last few days she even looked into private charters. That was entirely outside her budget, of course, but after all the restraining orders and witnessing was said and done Morning Breeze’s trip still costed four times what he had intended to spend.

But the voyage was necessary; never did she try to dispute that. She never deceived herself that she alone had Morning Breeze’s affection, even after ten years. He loved her dearly, but he never hesitated to leave for weeks at a time when the elderly pegasus picked him up for the summer.

Wandering Wings had lived out his retirement making regular runs between his home on Five Stiffs and the Baltimare Orphanage. Over the years Morning Breeze had amassed a large collection of toys and trinkets from his old friend: dolls and tin figures when he was young, then books and hats, painting sets and board games. When Morning Breeze sent a letter telling him about his acceptance into the naval academy, he got the reply along with the flagship Erebus inside a bottle.

The summer trips were the best part; across the bay to Manehattan, or a two day train ride to Canterlot, and everything in between. But it was Canterlot that he remembered now. Wandering Wings walking down the platform, slow with age but steady and dignified. He had lost some weight over the winter, but his voice had not weakened in the slightest. His yellow eyes were clear and attentive, and his smiles were as genuine as his frowns. He could have leapt aboard any ship and taken the wheel, and not looked out of place.

Morning Breeze pulled the zipper of his bodysuit to his chin and went outside. The hall was dark, but he knew the way. On deck there were lights. An unfamiliar pilot nodded at him when he looked over at the wheelhouse. He was a young blue pegasus with a white mane; he couldn’t have been much over twenty.

The Captain had eluded him somehow; when he descended into the galley only the cook was there to greet him. The crew had gone to quarters; only the cabin boy was left, happily chewing on a soft biscuit.

“Are you doing alright?” Pancake Breakfast asked, putting down a bowl of chowder in front of Morning Breeze. “You look a little green.”

“I was trying to read, Pan,” he said grumpily as he tried to pick up the spoon from the shifting table. He eyed the colt sitting across from him, who stopped chewing in response.

“It’s alright, Spirit,” Pan said. “He’s nice. Just be more attentive and talk less.”

Bow Spirit swallowed and wiped the crumbs off his cheeks. He was six years old. Morning Breeze was still baffled that Pan would ever let his own son set foot onboard the Lady of Baltimare. At least he looked healthy. Breeze could not help the resentment that grew whenever he set eyes on the boy. Thankfully Pan shooed him away and closed the hatch.

After soup and bread Pan placed a small lacquered wood dish on the table. On it were two hot biscuits spread with a generous layer of strawberry jam.

Morning Breeze looked across the table to Pan. He did not look a lot older than Breeze remembered, but now he was married with a child. His green eyes had turned sad, though it wasn’t a permanent change.

“Thanks,” Morning Breeze said without touching the dessert.

“It’s nothing,” he replied. “We have better food these days, if you haven't noticed. So how have you been? Do they treat you well at the orphanage? Did you make friends? Have they kicked you out yet?”

“Dinner Bell doesn’t kick anypony out,” Morning Breeze said. “I help with the younger kids as much as I can. I work for the orphanage now, and she says I can stay for as long as I need to.”

“And you get along with everyone?”

“Not everyone,” he said.

“But they treat you okay?”

“Much better than I deserve.” Morning Breeze sighed. “Pan, you know the kind of pony that I am… at least you’re starting to see it.”

“You seem like a polite, smart colt, with a lot of potential,” Pan said. “Your time on land did you good.”

“That’s just it!” Morning Breeze said. “It’s good; perfect! I haven’t been whipped or beaten since I left this place. I haven’t been made to watch the anchor for ten years. I have eaten the best food! I went to school! I’ve lived with the ponies I love! So why am I so bad now?”

“Why do you say that?” Pan asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Breeze said, putting a hoof on the table and making it pivot. Pan picked up the plate before it could slide past the edge. “I’m dangerous to everyone around me. You saw what I did to Spirit yesterday, and I've done worse than that. It didn’t show when I was little, but it’s a problem now. Dinner Bell pretends that I can be better. She’s suffered me for ten years. If only I had a tenth of her patience, at least she would have something to show for her five hundred bits.”

Breeze glanced towards the stern. He had a sense that Captain Zahra was there, though all he could see from the galley was a wooden wall. A flash of anger passed over him. It lasted for a fraction of a second, but it left him feeling cold and disoriented. He touched the zipper at his chin.

“How bad are the scars?” Pan asked, noticing his gesture.

“You can still see it,” Breeze said. “It’s gotten a lot better. Dinner Bell took me to a few doctors. The deeper damage is all gone. Now it just looks bad, but it’ll keep getting lighter and lighter.”

“That's good to hear,” Pan said, putting down the plate. "Breeze, I think you'll be alright. You'll get better. And don't worry about Spirit. He'll get over it."

Breeze stared at the biscuits for a while before picking one up. It was cold by then, but that didn’t bother him.

“To departed friends,” Pan said quietly, staring at his own desert.

Breeze opened his mouth to parrot the words, but his voice was gone.

Pan sat with him well into the graveyard watch.

Captain Zahra was in the reading room. Her wool jacket was hanging from a hook on the wall. She seemed a lot smaller without it. She looked up from her book as Breeze walked by, and he saw the movement through the corner of his eye.

“A moment of your time, Morning Breeze?”

“You just violated your vow of silence, captain.” Breeze tried to make his voice as stiff and cold as he could, but looking at her now he could not muster up enough hatred. His face was numb and stained with tears, and he was tired.

“I will pay for it if I have to,” she said evenly, standing up behind her desk. She was wearing reading glasses. “But just for tonight I hope you will listen to me. For Wandering Wings’ sake.”

Breeze nodded.

“I’m sorry, Morning Breeze,” Zahra said. “I likely won’t have another chance to say it. I’m sorry for what happened to you when you were under my care. I’ve had ten years to think it over, and I know that it was my fault. I left you at the mercy of my crew, and not all of them were kind. But I was not kind to you either.”

She paused and stared into Breeze’s face. His gaze had not softened.

“I want to make things right,” she said. “After he left, Wandering Wings stayed in touch. We were still friends, believe it or not. He told me that I should try to make amends with you, but I didn’t know how. I still don’t. But let me do my best now.”

She opened a drawer beneath her desk and lifted out a sizable burlap sack with a drawstring. It hit the desk with a loud clink and jingling.

“A cabin boy under twelve years of age is paid a half wage. You know this now, don’t you?”

“I never looked into it,” Breeze said.

“That is the standard practice, in any case,” Zahra said. “I purchased you as a newborn from…”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” Breeze interrupted. “Captain, I don’t want to know where I came from. Write it down if you have to, but I don't want to discuss it tonight. I had ten years to think, just like you, and I have decided that Baltimare is my home. Don’t give me any more doubts than I already have.”

“Very well,” Zahra said after a pause. “But please, take the bits at least. It is half your wage for four years of work; the other half was your price. Morning Breeze, I do not wish to be your enemy.”

“You won’t have me as a friend, captain,” Breeze said, his voice cold. “You know what happened to me. You know what I’m hiding under this suit.

“For years my worst nightmare was waking up in the hold of this ship, still dying from tropical disease and unable to speak, sailing away from Baltimare. But that was years ago. There’s nothing you can say to soften the past for me. It happened. I don’t care what you have to say about it.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Zahra asked. Pleaded. “For Wandering Wings’ sake. Ask for something.”

“I want nothing from you,” Breeze replied. He sighed and let his mouth relax. “But for Wandering Wings’ sake, I forgive you. You were never my enemy, captain. To tell you the truth, I rarely think about you specifically. It’s this ship. It was the old mate, and Anchor Watch, and all those deck hooves who signed on for a few months at a time. They hurt me most of all.”

“And as your captain, I allowed it,” Zahra said. Her dull blue eyes had a distant look in them; they saw through time rather than space. “Morning Breeze, take these bits, so we can… so I can put the past behind us.”

“I don’t want your bits,” Breeze said, but his eyes were drawn to the old jacket on its hook.

“That?” Zahra blushed. “Well, you must know by now that it’s not mine…”

“I know,” Breeze said.

Being a rocky northern island, Five Stiffs had no room for cemeteries. The names of the dead were recorded on brass plaques on a big obelisk on the dock, and bodies were sunk at sea.

Morning Breeze wore the jacket over a red and orange bodysuit. The medals were heavy, and he didn’t come close to filling the shoulders, but oh how the old pegasus would have laughed had he seen him that way!

Tucked inside his suit was an envelope, roughly sealed with wax. He would give it to Dinner Bell when he returned to the orphanage. She could read it; Breeze didn't know if he would ever open it himself.

Captain Zahra wore a simple shirt and vest. Even Bow Spirit had something: a green jacket and a white scarf.

A flare went up from the coroner’s black ship. A volley of cannon fire answered from the dock four knots away.

Pan shielded his son’s eyes when the body appeared over the gunwales, neatly wrapped in white canvas and chained to a stone.

He sank smoothly. One splash. A ripple. The black water closed in, and then there was silence.