Holy Land

“So what made you turn?”

Morning Breeze peeled his eyes from the line of ships on the horizon and looked at the yellow stallion beside him. The rim of the dory hovered about half a foot above the surface. He wanted to jump into the water just so he could stretch his legs. Surely the others would be grateful to shed a little weight, and he was the only one who didn't really need the boat.

“Why did you run?” He asked, casually gesturing to the horizon. “I know it got rough for you near the end, but is this really better? We’re about to be executed, and I don't think hanging will do. I heard the Children of the Night will have you quartered if they hate you enough. This is your last chance to talk before they cut out your tongue.”

Morning Breeze shot him a poisonous glare. The stallion laughed, and soon coughed up a big gob of black phlegm. This he spat overboard.

"It's such a pity," he continued while Morning Breeze looked away in disgust. "Equestria lost a good admiral in you. The best they'd ever have, if they hadn't turned on you. And for what it's worth, I don't think you did anything wrong. Equestria could do well with fewer spoiled brats running around. They would have gone on to kill way more ponies than you ever did."

"Can you be quiet?" Morning Breeze hissed through his teeth.

“Very well then.”

A gigantic prow replaced the sky. It struck him with all the force of an out of control hay cart, driving him ever deeper into the icy water…

Morning Breeze woke up, killing the scream just as it passed his lips. He was sweating profusely beneath his heavy blanket, and his mouth was completely dry.

He drank directly from the hemp-covered glass bottle hanging from the hook above his bed. He got up quietly, letting the air cool his naked body for a moment.

Fifteen years and countless operations had not completely fixed the damage. The coat around his flank was much too thin to mask the massive burn scars, all obtained from one week in Gold Standard's dungeon. The top half of his cutie mark, once a stylized pair of diving goggles, was barely visible only on his left side. The whip marks from his early childhood, all but gone for a few precious years in his teens, had been replaced in his twenties by even deeper tracks gouged by barnacles and mussels. The memory of being keel-hauled for "treason" could still bring tears to his eyes.

He slipped into a thin bodysuit and sat down on the bed. For much of his life Morning Breeze had worn clothes. Even as a child he had loved how even a simple vest could cover up the many imperfections of his body. With a colorful bodysuit he could look just as nice as the other kids. Ponies didn't stare or ask him as many questions. They didn't collect their children when he passed, or call him an abomination. Clothes had been a necessity for him, and he did not begrudge it.

His right hoof was still tender from the injury, but it had mended well. He wondered for a moment if his rapid recovery was entirely thanks the skill of his surgeon. Morning Breeze had a reputation for resilience even before he left the Canterlot Orphanage, but he collected scars like no other. Paper cuts would leave a mark for weeks, and after a scooter accident when he was ten his right knee never looked quite the same. He was not slightly worried about the knot in the middle of his hoof. He would never walk around with it exposed.

He looked into the small mirror on the wall. Staring back at him was a younger face than he expected. There were perhaps more lines there than a stallion of his age in Canterlot would have carried, but he was not ancient. The face in the mirror was not yet worn bare by days baking in the sun or blackened by long frozen months in arctic waters, though both he had braved season after season.

Morning Breeze sighed and fell back onto the bed. He tried to fall asleep again, but the cabin was closing in around him. It was only two in the morning according to the little brass watch hanging from its hook on the wall. Not yet released from the trance of the night, he lay on his side for nearly twenty minutes before realizing that he was under no curfew.

There were just enough sailors on deck to keep the ship moving. Morning Breeze avoided the radio room and the helm, staying in the shadows as he made his way towards the bow. Most ponies would not dare do such a thing. There would be no one to sound the alarm if he fell overboard.

He opened the hatch slowly, feeling the friction of the hinge in case it squeaked. Hot, putrid air rushed out of the hold. He slipped through the hatch without a sound, nimbly skipping down the ladder and landing with a soft thud.

The prisoners lay in a row, chained down by their limbs and their neck. Though they appeared to be asleep, Morning Breeze kept one hoof on the ladder. His eyes found the one that Hornpipe had attacked. The shoulder which Hornpipe had cut to the bone less than a week ago, which had not been stitched or bandaged, was nearly mended.

Morning Breeze felt destructive indignation burning in his chest and across his skin. It was the same blinding rage that had allowed him to sink Gold Standard's yacht, and the one that had allowed him to set fire to Baltimare Harbor. Now it was telling him to yell.

“Wake up!”

All at the same time the ponies lifted their heads. Many groaned when their chains pulled taut against the deck. Bleary-eyed, scared and confused, the giants cowered under Morning Breeze’s glare.

“You’re not common mercenaries,” he declared. “You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I’m dumb? You think I won't recognize your modifications? Who are you?”

The big yellow stallion—Anchor Chain—was the first to recover his wits. A smug smile replaced his look of fear.

“I’m Anchor Chain,” he began.

“No you’re not,” Morning Breeze said. His hissing voice seemed to come from all directions. Most of the ponies shivered at the sound; the dark blue stallion at the end of the row put his hooves over his ears. “A pony named Anchor Chain would be a sailor. He would be half your size, and he would have quite a different accent. Your real name. Now! Out with it!”

“Coin Purse,” he replied with a smirk, closing his eyes. “Not a good name for a mercenary, is it?”

Morning Breeze rolled his eyes. He could smell the fear in the room. These were not experienced mercenaries; not even close.

“Coin Purse,” Morning Breeze repeated. “A good name for a wealthy pony, isn’t it? And you grew up in Baltimare?”

Coin Purse’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You know I grew up in Baltimare,” Morning Breeze said. “I served at your fancy parties; me and my brothers and sisters. We played music for you, ran deliveries... your parents thought it was cute, and if there's one good thing about you lot, it's that you paid well. I might have called you 'Master' at some point." He cleared his throat and spat at the prisoner. "Oh how the times change."

Coin Purse looked at him, biting his tongue. Clearly he had expected Morning Breeze to be the one in chains. In Baltimare he had been a pony who could buy the attention of anyone he pleased. Morning Breeze had to look away from the childish outrage he saw on the prisoner's face, lest it made him physically sick.

"You’re not much younger than me," he continued. "I'd say you're around the same age as Gold Standard’s son, if he were still alive.”

“You murderous swine!”

Rattling filled the room as several ponies tried to pounce at Morning Breeze. The deck bulged from the strain, but the anchors held.

Morning Breeze laughed. A well-rehearsed, evil laugh it was, and his prisoners fell for the act. They stared at him with more hatred than ever, but they also stopped struggling.

“Is this how the aristocrats of Baltimare spend their days now, or has it always been this way? You flatter me! What were you supposed to be? A lawyer? A banker? Or an Admiral of the Fleet?”

Coin Purse spat at Morning Breeze. The ball of phlegm barely reached half the distance.

“And the rest of you too?” Morning Breeze continued, gesturing at the others with his recently-injured hoof. “Of course! What big, strong, incredibly handsome ponies you are. You're no mercenaries! Mercenaries don't look like bodybuilders, or slick their hair like that. At your age most of them would have lost a limb or an eye or something. You're like... like those actors in those plays! This is adorable!"

This last remark rattled them more than any insult ever could. Morning Breeze was amused and thoroughly horrified by their petulance. A hard stomp of his hoof silenced them. He continued in a serious tone, his voice reverting back to a whisper.

“Don’t tell me you’ve come all this way for some childish revenge fantasy. You think I’m a murderer? What excuse did you have for your debauchery? That idiot son of Gold Standard?”

“He was drunk!” Coin Purse yelled. “He wasn’t in his right mind! You knew, and you killed him anyway! What he did on his ship was none of your business!”

Morning Breeze clenched his jaw. It was all he could do not to tremble with rage.

“You’re a thick one, aren’t you?” He said slowly. “You’re on my ship now, Coin Purse. And by your own word you’ve absolved me of all the laws of Equestria. You think your title or your lineage or your wealth mean anything to me? Do you think you have any power over me? Me?”

“I am the son of…”

“I don’t care!” Morning Breeze snapped. “The son of? You’re a grown pony! You should have kids by now, or at least a real job of some sort. What have you done? What have you created? Have you made anypony’s life better?”

“At least I’m not a pirate,” Coin Purse growled. “Go steal another ship, you scum sucker! There’s a reason nopony wanted you right from the start!”

His heart pounded in his ears. He could have stomped down on Coin Purse’s face then and there. Nopony would have questioned him. If he gave that permission to the rest of the crew he had no doubt that everybody would line up for their turn. Had he been younger, he would have done just that.

Instead, Morning Breeze returned to the ladder.

“That’s right! Run away you pack of rats in a pony skin!” Coin Purse howled. “When I get back to Baltimare, I’m going to demolish that orphanage and build a mansion in its place! Your brothers and sisters will be my servants! I'll burn your ships! I'll feed your body to sharks!”

“We’ll just see, won’t we?” Morning Breeze said as he slipped through the hatch.

There were four ponies waiting on deck for him, with whips and irons ready. Their grim faces barely concealed their outrage.

“Get back to your posts,” Morning Breeze said gently after a few long, deep breaths of the cool night air.

“Breeze,” said one of them, a young navy-blue unicorn mare. “The things they said just now…”

“Whatever you plan to do, it’s utterly pointless,” Morning Breeze said, putting a hoof on her shoulder and looking her in the eyes. “These creatures can’t be taught. They’ll just keep making you angrier and angrier. It's not good for your health.”

“Then why don’t we just kill them?” She asked. “Hanging would be too good for this lot.”

“I would love that,” Morning Breeze said. “I would love to have them brought up here right now. I would have their heads as our new ensign. But how good would that look in the morning sun?

“I won’t do it, not for their sake, but for ours. We are wealthy in our way, they in theirs. We have our dignity and our pride. That’s it. That's all there is to set us apart from them. We didn’t let Equestria take that from us, and we certainly won’t throw it away ourselves.”

“So what will you do?”

“Keep them like this for now,” he said. “When we land, we'll have them put down quietly. No public hanging, no fanfare. Shoot them in the head if we can spare the bullets, or have them strangled, or poisoned. Get rid of the bodies quickly. They were nothing, they have done nothing with their lives, they have built nothing of value. They are nothing. There’s no sense getting everyone worked up over nothing.”

The three ponies bowed politely and stepped aside to let him pass. He was thankful for the darkness, lest they saw him blushing.

Back in his cabin Morning Breeze groomed his coat with a coarse brush. Coin Purse’s threat affected him more and more as he mulled it over. He could easily find enough powerful, like-minded ponies to make it happen. Morning Breeze felt sick just thinking about it.

I’ll make it right, he told himself when he finally climbed back onto the bed with an overly-fluffed coat. As soon as this is over, I’ll go back and make everything right.