The Master Alchemist

Zecora cursed her luck and sat down on a bench at the wharf. Not a single ship was leaving for this "Yorlug Island." A massive storm had gathered, and the thunderheads were visible even from here. Some were worried it might form into a hurricane. But Voraloxle had taught Zecora many things about the seas. The currents here were far too cold for such a thing to happen. Yet still, not a single ship in Zebraska Harbor was strong enough to withstand the winds and tossing waves. Well, none that Zecora had looked at.

She still had yet to try and seek passage on the Griffin airship or in that shady shipping company warehouse. Well, more like a utility closet of warehouses--it couldn't have been more than twelve meters across the front. Neither of those options seemed to be what she needed. In fact, Zecora didn't even know if they might be heading to the island.

Thoughts raced in her head. She couldn't just leave Voraloxle and Applebloom, wherever they were. But she had to get to the island so that Voraloxle would help her finish the potion. She was having a breakdown within minutes.

Then, a voice of calm, cool collectedness came to mind. What you need to do is stop thinking, it said. Zecora froze and let the voice in. Now, let's see. You could wait here and try to find your friends. You might also want a little revenge on those men that shot you. And with that, Zecora looked up from her fuddling about and saw three zebras, apparently plainclothes, eyeing her closely. As soon as she looked to them, their heads snapped away. But, rather than waiting here, you could at least begin to try and find passage to this Yorlug.

It might be a trap, the doubtful part of Zecora answered.

True. But if these zebras wanted you dead, they'd have you dead. Clearly, they want or need you to find this book for them. So, you may as well begin to search.

Zecora contemplated her own advice. For a moment more, a wrinkle appeared in her mind. Quickly, she ironed it out and stood on all hooves from the bench. Determined, she set out towards the Griffin airship at the far end of the docks.

Before she got more than ten meters, a dark lump of fur and feathers smacked the ground in front of her with an "Oof!"

Mildly annoyed, Zecora almost continued over the wriggling mass of pony, but something stopped her. The gray pegasus was caught in a net, trying vainly to find the opening, but in the end just tangling itself up more.

"Hold still. I'm going to help you, and I do not want to do you ill," Zecora knelt on one back knee and drew a trapper's knife. The pegasus struggled against the black ropes for a moment more, and then lay still.

With a swift hack and a bout of cutting, the net split, revealing a charcoal-gray pegasus. When the apparent stallion tried to stand, a pair of glasses tumbled to the boardwalk.

"Oh, lucky me. Everything that allows me to see is broken! Perfect!" he said this in a sarcastic, somewhat middle-range voice. He examined the lenses he held in one hoof, grunting as he tried to see if he could fix the problem.

Just then, a large shipping crate tumbled off the ship next to Zecora and bonked off of the head of the pegasus.

"Ow."

A burly zebra called over the edge of the ship. "You're fired, dumbass!"

"And I just lost my job! Boy, this day is goin' swell."

He appeared to be intrinsicly sarcastic. Zecora fished through her saddlebags and drew out a flask.

"You say your eyesight is poor? Drink this, and you may see some more," the Zebra said, handing the skin off to the pony. He promptly opened the cap and let a drop slip off the lip and onto the cobblestone. The red liquid sat there rather uneventfully.

"Not corrosive, and red means that it's not Juurl's Poison... Okay," he muttered, apparently checking to see if the contents were what Zecora claimed them to be. Taking a gulp from the flask, his eyes watered and his brow raised. "Wow, that is... strong." He blinked, and then focused. "Hey, thanks... that's actually pretty neat. Almost brightened my day," he said in a somewhat cheerful tone.

"I sell it in Ponyville. For four weeks, your eyes will be treated to quite the thrill. It only works on those whose eyes oppose the sights of near, but not of far."

The pony flicked the flask with a fetlock. "So there's a chemical in here that can stretch your cornea and strengthen your retina? Why doesn't everybody use this?"

"Everybody? As I am aware, it is everpony, or everyzebra," Zecora explained her befuddlement.

"Well, more than just zebras or just ponies or just griffins have eye problems, so you use the correct pronoun," the pegasus answered.

"You are learned, and also it seems earnest. Most ponies cannot brew that special concoction. At least, not without failure. I am a trained alchemist, with a long tenure," Zecora said, "and I do not give out the recipe."

"Good for business, then," the pegasus said.

"Very much so, though some think it is low. If I may ask, what is your name and what is your task?"

The charcoal pegasus rolled his shoulders and flapped his wings, launching him into the air momentarily. "My name is Arcade Gannon, born in Fillydelphia. I was wealthy once, and I have a degree in biomedical research from the FIM. I had received a full scholarship there. You can see how I'm making my money's worth," he glanced at the ship and clicked his tongue. "So, where are you off to?" he asked Zecora.

"Well, if you insist, I am trying to get to Yorlug Island, a task on which I still persist." Zecora said, trying to get by Gannon. He was fine, but she had business to attend to.

"Yorlug Island? You do realize that there is a huge storm out there right now? I'm actually surprised that the Griffins haven't even tried to clear it, but, y'know, they'll do what they do." he shrugged nonchalantly.

Suddenly, thought came to being in Zecora's mind. He was just what she needed to find--transport.

"My friend Gannon, I must ask how well you fly, at the speed of the turtle or velocity of the cannon," Zecora said.

Arcade cocked his head. "You speak all in rhymes. Huh," he paused. "Well, I'm actually not half bad a flier. I have great speed and decent endurance, and was recommended to be on Fillydelphia's weather team except--" he stopped. "Wait a minute..."

**********************

"No. Nah. Nope. Nada. Not happening. I say nay. Challenge de-cliiiined," Gannon shook his head back and forth, trying to say no. "I'd prefer to, you know, not die in a storm of lightning and hellfire. Because the main reason you don't touch wild storm clouds is because they shock you into oblivion and burn your skull from your brain."

Zecora paused in thought for a moment. "Might you have oil at your home? I also will need meat that won't spoil, and I'd assume you might have a chemistry tome."

"Uh, yeah," Gannon said, "I have all of those back at my apartment in the city." He stayed quiet for a little while. "Wait... oh no. That's not going to work. Zecora, you can't just... do that. I took several organic chemistry classes at the Fillydelphia Institute of Medicine. I know what I'm talking about."

Zecora nodded in agreement. "And I am an alchemist."

"It's not going to work."

"You saw the effects of the earlier potion yourself. That one was even beneficial to your health."

"Yeah, but just because one thing is one way doesn't mean another thing is the other way. If that makes any sense to you," Gannon said, appearing flustered.

"Okay. But do you not trust what I say? Think of this, Arcade: I have done this before, and then I wasn't even paid!"

"Yeah, well..." Arcade Gannon mumbled off some argument but realized that she probably had some experience too. "Okay, fine. Have it your way. As long as you teach me how to make that eye potion!"

********************

Y'know, if you wanted rubber on my hooves, I could just wear boots," Gannon suggested as he watched Zecora stir the concoction in a brewing pot.

"A simple covering is not enough. Ingestion is the only way to make you tough."

Gannon's features tightened. "That sounded both sexual, sadistic, and completely insensible all at once." He briefly pondered how she managed to do that, and concluded that she was a master of the art of language. And subtle innuendos.

Zecora tapped the mortar on the side of the pot and looked cautiously at the black, soupy compound. She put on oven mitts from the table and carried the pot over to a beaker, and after pouring it into the beaker it entered a tightly sealed aluminum flask.

"You're asking me to consume boiling rubber," Gannon stated matter-of-factly when Zecora shoved the thing under his mouth. He sniffed it by wafting the air towards his nose with a hoof. "Actually, it smells pretty good..." he cocked his head in confusion.

Zecora waited, her features patient, while Arcade studied the mush in every way possible. Finally, after exhausting all five of his senses and even going so far as to pour it into the sink, he took a deep breath and tossed the liquid into the back of his throat. It didn't burn; in fact, it felt rather cool. Refreshing, almost. He handed the flask back to the zebra and flexed his wings, flying around. He turned on the faucet of the sink, washing away the potion. He scooped the water into a cup and started to focus on bringing it into a small cloud. A white puff came into being as the clear liquid spiraled up into the air. He bucked it once, and it turned black. He balanced his front hooves on the table, fluttering with his wings, and bucked again, harder. The cloud made the sound of crackling thunder. Zecora watched in curiousity, appearing to Gannon only mildly interested. That disappointed him.

Carefully and slowly, Arcade, slipped a charcoal hoof into the cloud, waiting for the inevitable sting that always came with lighting.

It never shocked him.

He pushed his hand in and out of the cloud, swirled it around even. Nothing.

"How does that even..." Arcade's eyes squinted. "Whaaaaaat. Alright, Zecora, I guess this means I trust you."

Zecora shuffled forward, taking off the oven mitts as she went. "If that is so, and I believe it is, why did you leave Fillydelphia like so? How could one such as you end up getting hit by a crate and nearly split in two?" she said, her accent coming through her rhymes.

"Well, I sort of... ran away." Arcade admitted slowly. Not like he was afraid of revealing it, but as he was looking to remember the name of a distant cousin. He tried to hide this effect to the best of his abilites, but to his dismay it was not enough.

"There is more to it, the knowledge belonging to a deeper pit." Zecora responded.

Arcade bit his lower lip. "Well, maybe, but I have no reason to share that information with you."

Zecora's eyes turned to a fake sadness. "But I thought you trusted me? Or was that just the tea?" Zecora pointed to the liquified rubber compound.

"It wasn't nearly as good as tea," Arcade replied, "but still, would you want to be related to some anti-Celestia facist paramilitary organization?" He realized he'd said too much and held his tongue further.

"A past renounced is a past that never occurred at all, and you are free from it at last." Zecora said in an insightful tone. Arcade sighed with relief. She didn't care after all.

But wait--how was he going to carry her?

*********************

"Get down."

The whisper slipped through the crashing waves, sliding through Applebloom's ears. She crouched low to the sand as a spotlight rolled over her position in the predawn light. It didn't catch her, though. Her body was nestled against a ridge, melting into the shadow. Voraloxle ahead of her did the same, his neck and back arching and twisting to appear natural.

As the whoosh of the airship's fans slowly faded, the two ponies rose to a kneel. Applebloom reached into her bags and pulled out a white bottle. She drank from it and gave it to Voraloxle, who did the same. Potions of invisibility were always useful to have on hoof. Especially when you were on an island crawling with griffins, ponies, and zebras on chains ready to be released and to tear each others' throats out.

Applebloom and Voraloxle sailed through the brush, weaving with the plants and through the grounds towards the center of the island. Aiships with spotlights roved the area, causing more than one close call and inspiring a spike in heart rate. The foggy, predawn light only made matters worse; the pair could barely see, even with some magical and alchemical enhancements. Luckily, the potion made them hard to pick out from the flora.  Their blurred outlines remained, though, along with footprints, adding a layer of difficulty.

The two stopped at a road, waiting for a group of soldiers to pass. However, a rustling sound very nearly gave Applebloom away. She turned slowly and saw two griffins immediately behind her, and one in the air, sailing around with a battle harness. As quietly as she could, she shoved Voraloxle forward through the patrol in front of them.

He just barely stepped on a griffin's swaying tail.

The yelp of alarm sent Applebloom springing into action, drawing knives. Two were thrown in an instant, three more buried in feathers. A final blade spun up into the air, catching the overwatch and bringing him to the ground with a thud. Applebloom took a second to count--that was only six. Where was--

A warhammer snapped through the air, crushing her right ribcage and knocking the wind out of her. Voraloxle had not fired for fear that the sound of weapon discharges would bring the enemy upon them. At this point, he realized that letting the griffins away meant they were already compromised.

Two burning streaks of hot lead rocketed to their targets, sound cascading around for a good, long distance. The bullets dropped both griffins in moments, but a siren's wail called and an airship fluttered overhead. Applebloom watched and heard all this in slow motion, half-unconscious from the blow and her resulting flight into the sheer cliff on her left. Voraloxle grabbed her unceremoniously, throwing her over his shoulders. Bouncing along on her companion's back, Applebloom could hear the shouts of soldiers and confused commanders. Through her daze, she could not decipher meaning. She did, however, understand one thing.

She was so screwed.