The sun crept slowly over the horizon, as groggily as Celestia before her morning coffee. Rays of light snuck into the large room to drape lazily across the snoring, sleeping, drooling colts and fillies. All of them—earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns—content to snooze away in their respective dreamlands. All save one.
Candleheart groaned softly. Underneath him, he felt the prominent springs of the mattress pressing against his thin frame. So much for sleeping in. Keeping his eyes shut, he turned over to allow the sunlight to penetrate his coat. It felt good—like a hug or a blanket fresh from the dryer wrapping around him.
Downstairs, breakfast was being made with its usual love and care. The smell of oatmeal drifted slowly through the air, up the stairs, and between the cracks around the door. One by one, each colt and filly awakened slowly to the music that filled their noses, setting their tummies to rumble for the main event. Yawns followed many a hoof-rubbed eye, as they filed downstairs. Not even five minutes later, the laughter began, and got louder as the children talked, played, and waited for the meal that would start their day. Candleheart stayed behind, and waited for the telltale sign of breakfast—silence.
And he didn't have to wait long. He trotted down the stairs—chipped, worn, scratched and smelling of age—towards the dining room. The familiar sight of a picnic table and benches greeted him, shoulder-to-shoulder with each other like the seated children. Candleheart stepped up to the counter separating the dining room and kitchen. The mare covered in wrinkles and jowls returned his smile, as bright in her eyes as on her face.
"How's the weather this morning, Candleheart?"
The young colt’s grin nearly split his face in two, "Warm, and sunny, Ms. Waffle."
She readjusted her apple-sized glasses, and chuckled. "Well, hope it stays that way. Old bones like mine don't mix well with rainy days."
The oatmeal poured into the bowl, not losing a drop though Ms. Waffle's hooves trembled with age.With a practiced flick, she placed the bowl in front of him.
"Now, go on and sit with your friends, Dearie.”"
Candleheart flashed her one final smile before turning around, breakfast in hoof. He advanced slowly, watching Ms. Waffle from the corner of his eye until she disappeared into the kitchen. He let out a relieved sigh, and trotted over to his sanctuary, the back corner. It was there where he was usually left to his own devices—be it drawing, eating, or reading one of the three books from the shelf upstairs. Sadly, today was not to be usual. Well, not the good kind of usual, anyway.
"Hey wax-for-brains!"
Candleheart internally groaned, looking up to meet the mocking grin of a dark blue unicorn. The corner would have to wait, impatient though it was,
"How come you were carrying breakfast? What's wrong? No magic?" he sneered.
So he decided to go with taunt number three today. If it wasn't about Candleheart’s small frame, or his labored breathing during games, it was his lack of magic. The last time he tried to magically lift a piece of paper, he'd had a throbbing headache for the next hour.
"Morning, Overcast," he mumbled, just wanting to eat his breakfast in peace.
"What's this? Fillies and gentlecolts we have a wonder here! An unmagical unicorn who can talk! Maybe he does have some magic in him!" The older unicorn gestured as if he were a salespony at a carnival with an outstretched hoof, as he pointed at Candleheart, and grinned broadly at the rest of the kids. Some of them laughed, most groaned, and a few just rolled their eyes and ate their oatmeal.
One voice, however, spoke out, and sternly.
"Overcast Night! What have I told you about picking on others?!"
As he looked more closely, Overcast noticed Ms. Waffle stood nearby, her glare magnified by her bifocals, as one of her hooves tapped out a slow beat. His grin never faltered as he grabbed Candleheart in a headlock, and mussed up his mane with a noogie.
"Aw, he knows I'm just poking his flank Ms. Waffle Iron! We're good buddies right, Candlehead?"
Ms. Waffle looked towards the grappled colt who sighed in defeat. "It's alright Ms. Waffle. He didn't mean anything by it."
Though she still glared, the elderly mare gave a slow nod, "Very well, then. But I'm going to need your help washing the dishes tonight, Overcast."
The grin became forced as he spoke through gritted teeth, "Sure thing Ms. Waffle! I'd love to help."
Once sure she was out of sight, the grin disappeared, and Overcast's hoof swatted the back of Candleheart's head, "Nice going, now you got me in trouble!"
"Ow! Me? What did I do?" he winced, rubbing his stinging skull.
"If you weren't such a magic-less lump of weirdo, I wouldn't have to remind you!"
One of the fillies spoke up, "Hey, Night! Might wanna quiet down before Ms. Waffle hears and makes ya do dishes all week."
He gave Candleheart a final, withering glare, imperiously tossing his stormcloud-colored mane and trotted back to his breakfast, muzzle pointed skywards the whole distance. One relieved breath and an army of empty oatmeal bowls later, the kids gathered their saddlebags and headed down the road towards the schoolhouse.
Candleheart’s eyes widened as he noticed Miss Cheerilee wasn’t at her usual spot near the schoolhouse door. Her smile, along with her presence, had been replaced by an unfamiliar stallion who grumpily ushered the other colts and fillies inside as the bell rang for class. He harshly cleared his throat, drawing the students’ attention without once lifting his frown. "Settle down, class. Miss Cheerilee is out sick, and asked me to fill in for today. I am Cold Equation. You may call me Mr. Equation. If any of you refer to me as Mr. Cold or Mr. E., I will double your load of homework. Today we'll begin with fractions!"
Though the entire class gave a collective groan at the revelation, the lesson, and the others afterward, thankfully went by swiftly. It seemed as though time had decided to do an all-out gallop that day, though perhaps it only seemed so to Candleheart, who spent it daydreaming.
He imagined the vast, desert wasteland of Saddle Arabia, with the sun blindingly bright above, as his hooves took step after step across the burning sand, while the wind whipped at his headdress. The Lost Library of Owlexandria was somewhere in the endless sea of shifting dunes, and he was determined to find it.
Until the bell rang, and signaled the end of the day's lessons. With a big grin practically frozen on his face, Candleheart quickly gathered his papers and pencils, eager to reach his daily after-school destination. He ran out of the classroom and past Mr. Equation, who seemed intent on returning home as he ignored the galloping blur.
At the edge of town, he had to slow down and catch his breath. It took him nearly all of the ten minutes he walked before he could breathe normally, as he arrived in front of the simple shop. The place looked unfinished, its walls all wood and unpainted, save for the bold silver letters across the tinted window:
Wandering Wonders: Antiques, Heirlooms, Treasures, & Mysteries!
Heart beating faster in anticipation, Candleheart opened the door. The motion set the silver windchimes affixed to its frame tinkling. The sound coupled with the musty smell of herbs beckoned him closer to the shelves. Lined with artifacts from bygone eras and books from faraway lands, he could almost taste the stories, mysteries, and adventures that stewed within them.
Though his thoughts were interrupted, he grinned at the familiar voice, as a pony stepped through the beaded curtain behind the counter. "Welcome to Wandering Wonders where wonders wan—"
He cut the rehearsed introduction short—beady eyes focusing intently on Candleheart's from behind a pair of narrow spectacles. "Ah, back again I see, Young Beacon."
Candleheart chuckled. When they first met last year, the shopkeeper bequeathed him the particular nickname. "Even the smallest light shines brightly in the dark."
"Eager for another legend of epic proportions, I assume?" he asked with a knowing smile.
Candleheart's head looked as though it would pop off with how fast he nodded.
"Well, you know the rules, Young Beacon. Bring me a piece of history, that we might unravel its mystery!" He drew his hoof across his muzzle, and looked from one side to the other. His posture practically oozed dramatic flair while wiggling his eyebrows.
Candleheart chuckled before setting his saddlebags on the counter. His quest began for a story locked within one of the numerous knick-knacks behind the glass panels. As he passed by each wonder-inducing marvel, he wondered what would capture his attention most—the golden-clawed gauntlet from Griffonstone or maybe the dark, wooden tribal mask from Giraffrica? Perhaps the ruby gem, inlaid with a jade dragon? Or—
Wait! What's this? His eyes widened at the curiosity before him. With all the extraordinary relics around, he'd almost missed it. A small case set apart from the rest, covered with a black cloth. Underneath the cloth was... not what he expected.
A wooden doll, resembling a two-inch tall earth pony, stared back at him from the other side of the glass. Ball-and-socket joints connected each simply crafted piece, hooves, knees, shoulders, neck and tail, which would allow for a wide array of poses, like some ancient action figure. Its tail bore blonde silken threads, and the mane as well, which flowed down one side of the carved, unblinking face.
A toy! Candleheart had never seen one in the shop before. Had it belonged to a colt like him? Or become lost in a raid of some sort? Glee spreading across his face like jam on toast, Candleheart hurried back to the front counter. The stallion noticed his approach, as well as the wide grin.
"Wait! Allow me to read your thoughts, Young Beacon," he said, eyes closed as his hooves traced circles around his temples. "Hmm... I sense you have discovered something, yes?" He opened one eye just far enough to catch Candleheart’s enthusiastic nod. "And... you wish to know its secrets... yes?" Another nod. "Lead on, then, my young friend! Let us delve into the unknown, and bring it to light!"
Candleheart led him to the back corner of the shop, and as he pointed out the miniature pony, a small smile spread across the stallion's face. "Ah, I had wondered if this one's story would ever be heard again. Let's take it up to the front, and I shall entrance you with its tale."
After the shopkeeper placed the case on the counter, he carefully removed the lid, gently removed the doll, and set it before the young unicorn, "Where to begin with this one... It’s been so long since her story was told…
Ah! Now, as I recall…This petite mare came into being during the time of Starswirl the Bearded—one of, if not the most—powerful unicorn wizards in history. You've no doubt also heard a few tales concerning his apprentice, Clover the Clever?”
Candleheart had scarcely nodded before the shopkeeper plowed on with his tale, “Good. What most ponies don't know, is that Clover the Clever was not Starswirl's only apprentice, merely his most well-known one. However, there are good reasons why some of them are kept secret.
One of them was Silverspeech, the only son to a woodcarver's family. He found at an early age that his words heavily influenced those around him, though he did not know why. All he knew was that he could get anything he saw and desired, simply by speaking.”
“Wow,” he whispered.
“That is, until he met Starswirl. When he learned that the most prominent unicorn in Equestria was coming through his little village, Silverspeech knew he had to have an audience with him. Proudly he strode towards Starswirl, confidence radiating off him in waves. 'Hail and well met, master Starswirl,' he said.”
Much to his embarrassment, the snort escaped from Candleheart. No matter how many times I see or read Shakespur’s plays, they just sound so silly!
“'Long hath it been mine dream, since colthood, to be educated further in the arcane arts. Who couldst enlighten this pitiful soul save thou, O Mightily Bearded One? To expand mine meager knowledge, I humbly request to become thine apprentice and learn by thy side until mine end of days. Wilt thou take this eager one, good master?' he spoke with a grin, his dreams only seconds away from becoming reality. Starswirl looked him over, squinted, and smiled.
'Nay,' he replied.”
Candleheart’s eyes went wide as he gasped sharply.
“Only moments later did Starswirl's words registered in Silverspeech's mind, at which point he was dumbfounded. No one had ever refused him before! And so he asked again, and again Starswirl gave the same answer. He ordered Starswirl to teach him, to no avail. He threatened, and Starswirl laughed. Finally, he begged. Using his own voice, with no magic behind it, he begged to be taught the mysteries of magic. At last, Starswirl consented.”
As he paused, the shopkeeper smiled at the relieved sigh of his audience of one, before continuing.
"Years passed and Silverspeech's power grew, to the point that even things would do as he asked. And thus, his decline began. Starswirl found him one day, experimenting on a doll not unlike this one, making it dance and move as he hummed a simple tune. Dread crept into Starswirl's heart as he watched his apprentice create a mockery of life. In a rage, he forbade Silverspeech from delving further into his twisted studies. Sadly, the apprentice did not heed his master.”
A pair of hooves brought themselves over the colt’s muzzle as he whispered, “Oh, no.”
"No one knows for certain what happened a few days later, only that Silverspeech performed an experiment, was interrupted by Starswirl, and was never heard from, or seen, ever again. Legend has it that this doll was the same one Silverspeech worked on. Some say it witnessed what happened that unfortunate day, an answer that asks more questions. What was Silverspeech trying to do? Why did he create this doll? And what happened to him? Perhaps we are not meant to know. Perhaps it is best we do not know. Or perhaps..." he smiled slyly.
"What? Perhaps what?!" Candleheart pleaded, eyes wide as he bit his lower lip.
"Perhaps you might ask her," he winked as he trotted off to clean the smudges on an opalescent mirror left by a prospective, but ultimately uninterested, customer.
Candleheart stared intently at the doll, and asked as his eyes met hers, "Little figurine, do you know what happened?"
The doll remained motionless, mute. It was, of course, just a doll; and the story, though well-told, was only a story. But a part of him, even just a small part, wanted to believe it was true. Despite his desire, the doll stood still, as it had for the entire tale.
Until it blinked.
