Thicker Than Water

Between Pollux’s upturned hooves, a tiny flame glowed. It danced and flickered like a tiny fleck of chaos, hot enough to burn, yet not touching the unicorn’s skin. Apricot followed it with his eyes, but it was the song beneath the show of lights that consumed his attention.

The firesong was quick and lively. It reminded him of that jig about seashells they’d played on the ship. The melody bounced incessantly, darting off unexpectedly whenever it pleased. Power thrummed in the spell, a steady stream of Pollux’s magic fueling the little tongue of flame. Whenever it grew too bright, or leaped too far ahead of the beat, Pollux’s voice reined it back. The unruly fire obeyed, matching his tempo for a time, before trying to escape once more. The dance between mage and magic went on and on, yet Pollux’s concentration never wavered.

It was clear to Apricot how fumbling his own early efforts had been. His previous attempts had been hot and bright, but formless and short-lived. In Pollux’s hooves, the fire was a living thing, willful and dangerous, but also fragile, in need of constant nurturing.

“Have you grasped the song?” asked Pollux, firelight glittering in his eyes.

“I think so.” Apricot had been listening to it for at least ten minutes, though it kept surprising him. Without keeping the time signature in his head, it would have been hopeless, but all that counting he’d been doing every night while washing dishes with Beatriz was paying off. He understood now why Pollux had started him with Kemholtz and his boring music theory before even the simplest spells.

“All right. Just sing along with the spell for now.”

Apricot’s horn glowed softly, as he added his own voice to the harmony, letting Pollux lead. He couldn’t help but hum it aloud, his voice lilting with the dancing fire.

The breeze shifted, and the fire swayed. “The first rule of fire is balance,” said Pollux. He lifted his hooves, peering into the light. “It requires air and fuel. Without air, it cannot breathe. Without fuel, it will starve.” The song grew quiet, and the flame shrank to a tiny candle. “Yet, too much of either and the fire’s own hunger will burn it out.” His horn surged, and the flame burst up with an audible woosh. Pollux blew softly into it, sending the fire scurrying away from the turbulent air. It shrank back into his hooves.

That was exactly what had happened to him that time he’d lit his mane on fire, Apricot realized, recognizing the way the flame had flashed in Pollux’s hooves. He hummed the song, feeling the heat on his face, and the song’s energy passing through his horn.

“Your power is the fire’s fuel. Your song is the fire’s breath. You must keep them in balance.” Pollux gave Apricot a studying look. “You have to force it to follow your rhythm, but keep it fed.”

“I understand,” said Apricot.

“Good…” Pollux’s eyes creased with caution. “Now, put your hooves up and take it.”

Apricot cupped his hooves together, and Pollux lifted his own above them. Gently, the mage pulled his hooves apart, and the tongue of flame fell into his student’s waiting hold.

The song flushed with a current of power. Apricot took it in stride, already deep in the magical flow, but he could feel the flame straining to escape into its own rowdy tune. His brow furrowed as he pulled the song back into line, pouring more power into his hold. The little flame flared, doubling in size. A brief flash of panic flitted through him, but he inhaled deeply. “Balance,” he repeated, under his breath.

He counted time almost by instinct. His tempo remained ironclad, and the fire found no escape. It shrank back to a manageable flicker, and then, to his delight, the hot orange light melted into a soft, bright rose.

“Marvelous…” Pollux nodded slowly, gazing at the pink-hued fire with wonder. “Very good, Apricot. Very good.”

He’d expected the warmth in his hooves, but not the warmth that filled his chest and head. The magic circulated through him, power and control in one, so in tune with the fire he held that it was hard to tell where his thoughts ended and the song began. Seized by a sudden fancy, he smiled and gave the flame direction with a mental image. It pulled apart into two strands, both curving up to meet in a laurel wreath of fire. Emboldened, he twisted the two strands, entwining them in a flickering column before letting the fire relax back into a single ball.

“I’m doing it,” he said breathlessly. Look, Mr. Strudel! I’m a mage, just like I always told you I’d be.

His old teacher would have been so happy to see this. The fire sputtered as Apricot swallowed, feeling a familiar pang of loss. The unfairness of it ached. He exhaled, returning his focus to the flame, which burned back brightly.

“Don’t get too fancy with it yet,” said Pollux gently. “Remember what you’re here to learn tonight. Now, watch closely, and listen.” Casually, he placed his hoof into Apricot’s roseate flames.

Instinctively, Apricot jerked the fire away with his hooves. Pollux laughed, and Apricot sheepishly returned it, sensing his teacher’s wardsong. Pollux’s hoof sank back into the flames, yet the fire licked harmlessly at his skin.

“This is the most complex spell we’ve yet studied,” said Pollux, calm but serious. “The wardsong must set the fire’s tempo, match its intensity, and cannot let up. Even a moment’s slip will get you burned.”

Apricot nodded, listening to the spellsong with his horn. “I think I can do it.”

“Well…” Pollux chewed the inside of his cheek as he had some internal debate.

“I know you were worried about going too fast, but I get this. Even more than the levitation song.” Apricot’s heartbeat seemed to thump in rhythm with the wardsong’s tempo. “I can do it.”

“I hadn’t expected you to pick up the firesong so quickly,” admitted Pollux. “All right… but let’s start small.” He cupped his hooves expectantly.

Apricot passed the fire back, feeling a slight chill as the energy left his control. In Pollux’s hooves, the fire’s color returned to a warm orange. The song remained, coursing through the ambient magic. Apricot added the wardsong back to the music with his own voice, feeling the electric tingle of magical energy surround him. There was a frisson in the air like when his matter ward blocked a stone, but sustained, and wrapped around him like a coat rather than a broad sphere.

The fire beckoned. He could feel it tingling on his face. Pollux said something, but Apricot barely heard him. The two songs danced with each other in his mind, fire and shield, danger and safety. With a strange detachment, he placed his hoof down into the fire.

Pollux’s eyes bulged. “Apricot, wait—” But he froze, staring as the flames harmlessly bathed the colt’s hoof.

Hot pinpricks tingled up and down his foreleg, but Apricot felt no pain. It wasn’t even as hot as sitting beside the campfire at night. Entranced, he turned his foreleg over, watching the faint rosy light of his magical ward shimmering on his skin. It felt like he was looking at someone else’s hoof, some disembodied other he could barely sense.

The flames winked out. Apricot blinked a few times as his eyes were suddenly thrust into darkness. He shook his head, as if waking from a dream. Pollux stared at him with a strange look, a mix of awe and worry.

“Did… did I do something wrong?” asked Apricot, letting his hoof rest.

“No.” Pollux’s eyes focused on Apricot’s horn. “Your first try… that was perfect.”

“I just…” Apricot examined his hoof, dazed. “The songs went together.”

Pollux reached up and tugged his hood down, before turning to sit facing the river. He looked into the dark, rushing waters with a meditative distance in his eyes. He was so quiet for a time that Apricot began to fear he’d angered his teacher, or worse, disappointed him. But when Pollux finally spoke, his voice was small and earnest.

“You have a gift, Apricot,” he said, his gaze tracing eddies in the water. “Of a kind I’ve only read about. One day, you’ll be a greater mage than I. Greater than most alive.”

Any pride Apricot might have felt was tempered by that strange, fey look in Pollux’s eyes. “Is that… bad?”

“No. It’s wonderful.” Pollux exhaled slowly. “But it means that you have to be so, so careful.”

Apricot looked at the river, confused and more than a little frustrated. Holding up a hoof, he gestured adamantly. “I was! I didn’t get burned at all.”

“It’s a different kind of careful,” said Pollux. He seemed to be looking very far away. “It’s not just about casting spells safely anymore. Someone like you has to be mindful of the things you do, not just how you do them. If you aren’t, you could wind up hurting people. People you love. People you barely know. More people than you’ve ever met. And worse… you might do it on purpose. Enjoy it.”

“What?” Apricot shook his head in disbelief. “Pollux, what are you talking about? I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Even if it gave you anything you wanted? Money. Power. Love. Eternal life…” Pollux’s eyes flashed. “Mages with gifts like yours can do terrible things, Apricot. And they have done them, over and over again, throughout history. Have you ever heard of the Phoenixians?”

Apricot gave a hesitant nod, still confused. “Yeah… Uncle Rye’s told me stories about them.”

“They butchered thousands on their quest for immortality. And the Dominion of the Elk, they did far worse.” Pollux watched the river, unblinking. “Their arcane marvels and medical miracles were purchased with the blood of millions. Slaves, conquered foes, political rivals, all grist for the mill of their magic. When you have the power to do anything, you can convince yourself you have the right to do anything.” His breath hissed out. “In the final stages of that decadence, you’ll find yourself going down roads even the gods dared not tread. Debauchery. Violation. Necromancy.”

At last, he twisted his head to meet Apricot’s eyes. “Blood magic.”

Apricot shivered. “What’s necra… necro…?”

“Necromancy. The foulest magic of all.” All Pollux’s usual wry cheer was gone. “The reanimation of the dead.”

“Reani…” Apricot blinked. “You mean bringing back someone who died?” His eyes widened. “Wait, you can do that? You mean I—” His breath caught in his throat. “Could I bring someone back? Like…” his voice was suddenly very small. “Like Mr. Strudel?”

Pollux gave him a mournful look. “You see the temptations already.”

“Why would that be so bad?”

“Like magic fuels fire, blood can fuel magic. To raise the dead, so much power is needed that you would have to kill dozens of others. No matter how noble your intentions, dark magic is always selfish in the end, Apricot.” Pollux shook his head. “And it’s a false hope. No matter how far you’re willing to go, you can’t steal someone back from death. The things necromancers make aren’t alive. There’s nothing left of their personality, or free will, or anything of what they used to be. Just walking corpses. Puppets of flesh and bone. Monsters.”

An icy chill had settled in Apricot’s spine. Strawberry enjoyed telling him monster stories when they went camping in the Cottontail, and Apricot always loved hearing them. But those were made up. Lurking in Pollux’s eyes was the terrible knowledge of truth, and that frightened him more than a thousand ghosts or dullahans.

And yet… now that the idea had been planted, he couldn’t shake the wistful desire. “Okay. So you can’t bring someone back. But… could you at least talk to them?” He leaned forward, almost painfully hopeful. “That wouldn’t need blood magic, would it? If I could just—” His voice caught. “If I could just talk to Mr. Strudel again, even for a day, show him all the things I’ve learned…”

Pollux rested a weary hoof on his shoulder. “No. I’m sorry.” He sighed. “This is why you have to be careful, Apricot. If you let yourself go chasing that kind of power—even for the most selfless reasons—you’ll sacrifice everything. By the end, you wouldn’t even recognize yourself. There are limits even to our abilities. Unicorns may have magic, but we’re still mortal.”

“Princess Celestia isn’t,” said Apricot, muted. “Could she do it?”

“I…” Pollux considered this, frowning. “I don’t know. But she would never try. It was she who forbade blood magic in all its forms, even before the tribes united under her banner.”

A branch cracked in the forest behind them, and Apricot jumped so violently he nearly took a spill into the river. All at once, the solemn darkness fell from Pollux’s face, and he laughed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spook you.”

“I—I’m not scared,” the colt protested, settling back down on the bank. To prove it, he stretched his hooves and yawned. As he set them back down, he cast a surreptitious glance behind them toward the trees. The aspens were pale and foreboding in the darkness, but no monsters peered back at him. The only sounds were the rushing water and the rustling leaves. Apricot cleared his throat. “S-so, um. Have you ever met a blood mage?”

Pollux’s eyes narrowed. “Once.”

“Oh.” Apricot hadn’t actually expected a yes. He twirled a curl of his mane nervously. “When?”

“I suppose I did promise to tell you about the first time I made fire,” said Pollux, rubbing his chin. “But I don’t want your parents upset with me if you have nightmares about it.”

Apricot did his best to scoff. “N-naw! Come on, I’m old enough to hear it. I want to know.”

“Very well…” Raising an eyebrow, Pollux nodded. “I was a bit younger than you are now. Castor and I had been on our own for over a year at that point. We used to travel between towns, doing street tricks to earn money and food.” He smiled at the memory. “We had fun, despite everything. My favorite act was lighting up rings of magic sparkles in the air for Castor to fly through.”

His horn lit suddenly, and shimmering circles of crimson sparks burst to life above the river. Pollux watched them, chuckling softly. “I wonder if we could still do the old routine…” He let them sparkle for a moment before fading. “Anyway. We were busking in a small town called Vindmere, near the Equestrian border of Alastria. We were doing well enough for ourselves—a few of the villagers gave us bread and onions every now and then, and ponies passing through on their way out of the country often gave us spare coins, or food that wouldn’t survive the journey through the scrubland. As the griffon raids took their toll, though, the initial flood of refugees dwindled to a bare trickle. Everyone who could leave, did. Three months into our stay at Vindmere, our tricks got us noticed by a new traveler.

“An Equestrian mage had stopped in the village to watch us. He was a handsome unicorn. Cream-colored fur, with a remarkable violet mane. In hindsight, he must have been a Bellemont. Some second son of a minor lord, no doubt, who chose magic over family politics. He saw our little show and was impressed by my spellwork. After the act, he approached the two of us. I was shy at that age, so he spoke to Castor… but the whole time they talked, the mage’s eyes never left me.”

Adjusting the collar of his robes, Pollux continued. “He said he was leaving that evening, heading home now that his business in the south was done. I had caught his eye. He said I was a rare pony, and he did not wish to leave me behind. He offered to let me come with him to Equestria, and become his apprentice.”

Apricot smiled. “Like I’m yours!”

Pollux gave him a queasy glance. “No…” He looked away. “Not like that at all.”

The mage fell silent again. Apricot tilted his head. “Uh… so…?”

“I was thrilled, of course. I would have accepted on the spot, but Castor refused. He held me back with a hoof, and told the Equestrian mage that I wasn’t interested. I was furious with him. This was our chance, I thought. My chance, at least. But Castor was firm. No, he told me, under his breath. You’re not going with that stallion. The mage sighed, and rolled his eyes. He leaned in close to Castor, whispering, not realizing I could still hear him. He said that he understood… and asked how much my brother wanted for me.”

Pollux’s eyes creased with old pain. “I’m ashamed to say that I hoped Castor would name a price. I thought this would work out best for both of us. He could earn a pile of gold, enough to leave Alastria, and I could leave with the mage. Even as his servant, if that’s what it took. Both of us would find homes where we could be full every night, and sleep under a roof, maybe even in a real bed.”

Apricot swallowed. “But Castor didn’t do that… did he?”

“No. He told the mage to f—” Pollux glanced briefly at his young charge, “—fly right off. Said my brother isn’t for sale, and told him that he’d never get his hooves on me.” The unicorn paused, eyes distant with memory. “It was the bravest thing he’d ever done for me, and I hated him for it. As the mage stormed away, I pounded on Castor with my hooves, crying and screaming. I told him he was jealous of my talents, that he wanted me to stay here in this miserable life with him, dancing for stale bread and rotting vegetables, just because he couldn’t bear to be alone.”

Recoiling, Apricot shook his head. “You said that to your brother?” He’d been mad at Strawberry plenty of times, but he couldn’t imagine hating him.

Pollux nodded grimly. “Castor laid me out on the ground with a single hoof. Told me I was being stupid, and to stay far away from that mage if I wanted to live. I was so worked up that, instead of a warning, I thought he was threatening to kill me. So, that evening, I stole half of what little food we’d gathered, and snuck away while Castor was sleeping. I was going to find the mage, become his apprentice, and prove my brother wrong.”

Crimson eyes narrowed. “But the Equestrian found me first. I’d barely gone half a klick up the road before a bag came down over my head and the world went dark. I heard the mage’s laughter as a strange drowsiness overtook me. I don’t know whether it was a sleeping spell or some drug, but it was clearly well-practiced. Before I lost my senses, I felt him nudge me with a hoof and say never buy what you can get for free.”

Pollux drew his robes tighter. “When I woke again, I found myself in a cage on a small cart. It must have been meant for animals. I wasn’t a large colt, but even so it was too cramped for me to even stand. I called out, yelling that I was awake, and trapped. I was hoping that I’d dreamed the previous night, and that he was here to rescue me. But the Equestrian just grinned at me, and told me to get comfortable. Our destination was still a few days ahead. He said that if I was good, he’d let me out to eat and relieve myself.

“I begged for hours, but all he did was laugh. At first. Eventually, my fruitless pleas curdled his amusement into annoyance, and finally anger. He beat me with a switch through the bars until even my tears fell silent. For three days I cried myself to sleep, bitterly wishing that I’d listened to Castor. I don’t know how, but he’d seen that stallion for what he was. And the last thing I’d said to him was I hate you.” Wincing, Pollux heaved out an unhappy breath.

“At one point, I tried to escape the cage. I didn’t know enough magic to remove the lock, either by force or finesse. Instead I tried to pick the keys from his pocket with magic, but he caught me in the act and beat me bloody. After that, he kept the keys tied on a string around his neck. I made one more attempt, in desperation. I tried summoning fire to melt the lock off the cage, and, well…” Pollux smiled mirthlessly at Apricot. “That’s how I set my mane on fire.

“After putting out the flames, he yanked my head through the bars by my singed mane-hairs. He leaned in so close that I could smell his acrid breath. He warned me that if I tried any more magic, he’d saw off my horn, grind it into a potion, and make me drink it.”

Hooves pressed to his mouth, Apricot’s eyes widened.

“We reached the end of our journey the following day. It was the crumbling ruin of an ancient watchtower, probably built by the griffons before the fall of their empire. Only about three stories of it were still standing, but to a child’s eyes it seemed immense. He pulled me from the cage and, before I’d taken three breaths of freedom, shackled me like a dog with a metal collar.

“Inside the tower, it became clear that he’d been there for a long time. There were shelves full of spellbooks, tables littered with strange, arcane equipment, and dark stains all over the floorstones…” Pollux’s face twisted with nauseous recollection. “I don’t know how long he’d been squatting in that ruin, but I know I wasn’t his first victim.”

Nibbling on a hoof, Apricot asked, “What was he doing there?”

“Research. Experiments that no guild would have permitted. Things that he’d be put to death for, even in gentle Equestria.” Pollux eyed his hooftip dispassionately. “I don’t know what his ultimate goal was. It’s possible he didn’t even have one—maybe he was like the elk, pushing limits just because he could. And I…” He set his hoof down. “Oh, I was going to let him push further than ever. He locked my chains to the wall of his main laboratory, in the circular floor of the tower’s basement.

“Once I was well and truly trapped, he started to talk. About albinos, and the rare qualities of our bodies. Our blood, our eyes, our skin, our manes… and an albino unicorn, well, that was a windfall he’d never expected to find, especially not in a dung heap like Alastria. My horn alone was worth more than half the shelves of ingredients he had stocked down there.” Pollux took a calming breath. “He went on like that for an hour, rifling through his books and arranging equipment, muttering his plans more to himself than to me. I was too scared to do any magic, or even to move at all. At last, he took a rack of empty vials and a knife, and…”

Pollux’s voice petered out. Apricot could feel his teacher’s turmoil through the echoes of the forest-song. Pollux closed his eyes, and braced himself. He opened the front of his robe, revealing his coat of hair for the first time. Apricot’s eyebrows shot up. Running down Pollux’s chest were a forest of thin, light scars. They criss-crossed his skin like thatch. The unicorn let him see the marks for a few moments, before drawing the robe back down and re-clasping it. “He cut me from neck to navel, and began filling the vials with my valuable blood while I screamed. It hurt, but even worse than the pain was the helplessness. I knew that he could do whatever he wanted, and that I had no hope of escape.

“And he wasted no time in using that blood. I couldn’t see what magic he was working, hunched over those tables with his horn ablaze in blue, but I could feel it. Blood magic stinks in your mind, enough to make you gag. It’s a song full of spoiled harmonies and rotting notes, lingering on you like black oil.” Pollux spat into the river. “The power, though, it was like nothing I’d ever felt. My own small spells were nothing compared to what he was doing. I lay there in the corner, bleeding and whimpering, while he plumbed the most vile depths of magic.”

Apricot didn’t dare ask Pollux to stop, even though his hooves had begun to shake. He crossed his forelegs and hunched over, listening with dismay. Pollux’s words poured out, with too much momentum to hold back. “It went on for three days. He didn’t want his supply of albino blood to expire, so he kept me better fed than I’d been for months. In a sick way, I’d been right about finding steady meals and a roof over my head by following him. I mostly stayed quiet, hoping he’d forget about me for a while. It never worked for long.”

How could anyone do this to somepony else? Apricot wondered, horrified. Nothing was worth this nightmare. Not even bringing Mr. Strudel back.

“On the third night, after a lengthy experiment, the mage asked me…” Pollux appeared to struggle with the words. “He asked me which I liked better: my right eye, or my right ear.” His hoof pawed the ground anxiously. “I, uh, I told him my eye. Begged him to take the ear instead. He just laughed and said he would do the left eye first, since I was so fond of the right.” Pollux shuddered. “I think he liked the power. Not just the magical kind. Making me afraid gave him pleasure.

“But then he made a mistake. That night, he forgot to put away all his tools. He left them on the table beside me, heading upstairs to whatever room he was using as his quarters. One of the implements he’d left out was the knife he used to collect my blood. As soon as the creaking of the ancient, rotted floorboards above fell silent, I lit my horn and used it to pull the knife into my grasp. It was so polished that I could see myself in the blade. I sat there with my horn aglow, staring at my reflection, wondering what to do. I could wait until my captor returned, and make a desperate attack with the blade, but I would have only one chance. If I failed, he would never make such an error again, and my torment would last as long as he could keep me alive.”

Pollux paused again. “Or I could use it to end my suffering right then and there.” He seemed almost to have forgotten Apricot. “It was the longest night of my life. I agonized for hours, not ready to die, but unwilling to live like that any longer. Before I could decide, the choice was taken from me.” Pollux lifted his head to look up at the stars. “The sound of breaking glass caught my attention. Steps on the stonework quickly pattered down the stairs toward me. I gripped the knife in my mouth, ready to fight whatever wild animal had broken in, but when the padding reached the basement I dropped the blade in amazement.

“Castor had come for me,” he recounted, closing his eyes with gratitude. “From the moment he woke and found me missing, he’d been searching. It took days for him to find the trail of the mage’s cart, but he’d flown without stopping since then to find me. I’ve never loved him more than that moment. I was crying, thanking him, telling him how sorry I was…” Pollux chuckled warmly. “Even back then, though, he was always focused on the job at hoof. He told me to keep my voice down, and asked about the keys to my chains. When I told him that the mage kept them around his neck, he just grabbed a hacksaw from the mage’s tools and started cutting through the metal links.

“It was slow going, and loud, but it was working. I didn’t know how we were going to get the collar off with a saw, but that was something we could figure out later. I was almost free from the wall when we heard hoofsteps above. The Equestrian liked to visit me sometimes at night, to admire his prize. Hide, I hissed, but there was nowhere good for Castor to stow himself. We could hear the mage coming down the steps to the laboratory. There was no time. Castor dove under a table on the far side of the room, still completely exposed to even a casual search. I let my hornlight go out, and the room went dark.

“But not for long. The blue light of the mage’s own horn soon filled the stairwell. He stepped into the room as I pretended to sleep, walking right up to me, but staying out of hoof’s reach. Well, well, he said, waiting for me, were you? A shiver betrayed me. It’s impolite to use someone’s things without asking, he said, looking over his tools. I suppose I’ll have to teach you some manners. He lifted another tool, some implement with two handles and a curved pair of blades, eyeing me over. Give me that knife, and I’ll let you keep your ears a while longer.

“The sound of hooves and wings rang out, and Castor hit him from behind. My brother leaped onto the mage’s back, wrapping a length of the cut chain around his throat and pulling as hard as he could. The mage yelled in surprise and fury, swinging around and lashing clumsily with his cutters. The fight could only end one way—Castor was going to die, and then I was going to die, unless I did something. But I was too afraid to move, too beaten and broken to fight. I stood there, quivering, watching as the Equestrian threw off my brother and sent him slamming into a cabinet of glassware. Well, he growled, at least I’ll get some raw materials out of you.

“He stepped toward Castor, clacking those cutters together, and something broke inside me. I wish I could say it was loyalty or love that overpowered my fear, but it wasn’t. The only thing I felt in that moment was hate.” Pollux seemed transfixed by the trees around them. “I grabbed the knife with magic and hurled it, harder than I knew I could, sinking it into the mage’s back. From across the room, I stabbed him again and again, until his white coat ran red and shining wet. I plunged that knife into him over and over until he stopped moving, and I kept going until someone grabbed me. Stop, Pollux, said Castor, holding me. That’s enough. You got him. I let the knife fall, weeping, and cried into his forelegs until my tears were spent.

“With the dead stallion’s keys, Castor freed me from the collar and chains. We stripped the place bare of food and water; piled it all onto the mage’s cart. As we gave the laboratory a final pass, Castor asked if I wanted to take the mage’s spellbooks. I stood in front of the shelves, looking at the collection of an entire lifetime’s knowledge, and…” Pollux panted. “This rage rose up in me, the same kind that had left that bloody body lying in the room. Those books were evil, as evil as the stallion who’d created them. The knowledge he’d gleaned from his butchery deserved to be lost. I had to make sure nothing survived.

“I called another flame, larger than before, feeding it with all the strength I could muster. The pages of the books went up like tinder. Soon the shelves themselves ignited. What the hell are you doing? my brother yelled, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop. I set the whole laboratory aflame, with us still inside. I wanted to watch it all burn. Castor had to drag me up the stairs. Even when he pulled me outside to where we’d parked the cart, I scarcely moved, standing on the hillside and staring as the flames crept higher and higher. They consumed the whole tower, billowing up through the stone column like a chimney, until the wood had all burned away and the stonework began to collapse. By the time we left, nothing remained.”

Pollux’s red eyes seemed to flicker with the ghost of the inferno. “The memories are still so vivid in my mind,” he breathed. “I saw him again, just last night. Sometimes I still kill that stallion in my dreams.”

All at once, a cloud lifted from him, and Pollux seemed to return to reality. With a wince, he looked at Apricot, who was staring wide-eyed at him. “Ah… I’m sorry.” He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck through his hood. “I got lost in the memory. That was… that was too much.” Giving Apricot another worried glance, he cleared his throat. “Are you all right? I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Apricot nodded numbly.

“Good, that’s good,” muttered Pollux, nervously. “So… are you ready to fill up the barrel and head back to camp?”

“Uh…” Apricot blinked, looking into the forest again. The darkness under the trees sent a sudden shiver down his spine. “Could we stay here a little longer? Maybe practice the fire wards some more?”

Pollux opened his mouth as if to say no, but he paused. Giving his student’s trembling hooves another look, he closed his mouth and nodded. “Of course we can. Go ahead and sing the wardsong.”

They worked together in silence after that, Pollux providing the fire, and Apricot shielding himself from it. The warmth of the magic filled Apricot, keeping the chill at bay, but his nerves remained unsettled. Staring into the flames, he felt that he could almost see a tower burning in the fire’s glow.

* * *

This far from the campsite, the only sounds were branches creaking in the breeze and the omnipresent whispering of the forest leaves. Atop the tallest tree he could find, an old oak that rose above the crowded aspens, Inger lay nestled on a sturdy branch. His chin rested on his hooves, eyes staring unblinking into the night.

Cranberry and Rye, his thoughts churned. Was it really just a kiss? All he had to go on was what she’d written in that journal. Was the truth even worse?

“You’re a hard stallion to find!” someone called from below.

Startled, Inger lifted his head. Peering down through the branches, he spotted the faint light of a lantern, lifted by a familiar camel. “Kaduat?”

“Well, not that hard. You’re trailing feathers everywhere.” She sounded out of breath. As Inger squinted, he saw her silhouette looking up at him. “Good thing, too, or I’d still be wandering around bumping into tree trunks.”

Inger sighed, resting his head back on his hooves. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d go away.

“You gonna come down? If I have to holler up there all night I’ll lose my voice.” When he gave no response, Kaduat made an annoyed grunt. “All right, fine.”

There was a soft thump as she set the lantern down. Suddenly, the tree began to shake. Inger was about to snap something irritated at her when he realized the source of the shaking. Kaduat was awkwardly climbing up toward him. The humpbacked camel looked so ridiculous with her spindly legs wrapped around the tree trunk and branches that he almost smiled. Almost.

Finding a branch just below him that could bear her full weight, Kaduat stopped. She slung her forelegs over it like she was resting at the edge of a bath, and panted. “There. Now only one of us will be a little hoarse tomorrow.”

Inger gave her a withering look, receiving only a snicker in reply. Kaduat puffed out air, glancing at his ruffled wings. Her voice turned serious. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.” He closed his eyes.

“Look…” Kaduat paused, still trying to catch her breath. “I know it’s none of my business, but—”

“You’re right,” said Inger flatly. “It isn’t.”

Kaduat sighed. “What happened?”

“She lied to me.” His whole body twitched with another spasm of anger. “She’s been lying to me, for who knows how long.” Was their whole marriage a fraud? When he kissed her, was she thinking about another stallion? Shame and jealousy burned in his heart like a forge, the bellows tended lovingly by the little dragon.

Maybe it’s not even just Rye, it whispered. She seems awfully bent on finding Professor Locke, doesn’t she? And then there’s those long conversations she has with Pwyll…

“I’m sorry.” Kaduat’s branch creaked with strain as she pulled herself further up. “It’s never easy, finding out someone isn’t who you thought they were.” More leaves rustled as the branches shook, and Kaduat let out a small ow. “Damned splinters… look. I’m not going to ask you to get over it. But I am asking you to come back with me to camp. We’re technically on alert right now, and Castor will have my ass if our client’s son gets lost in the woods on my watch.”

“I’m not lost,” Inger muttered, finally opening his eyes and looking at her. “I can see the campfire smoke from here.” He pointed.

“Oh,” she said, embarrassed. “Didn’t think of that.” She squinted over the trees, spying the thin trail of smoke rising in the moonlight.

“I can’t go back there,” he said hollowly. “I can’t even look at her right now.”

A loud groan suddenly echoed through the trees. Birds darted from the canopy near the campsite, squawking as they flew away. The groan broke into a loud cracking noise, suddenly followed by a muted crash. Inger and Kaduat both stared, frozen with raised hackles, before the noise of the birds and the rest faded away beneath the leaves.

“Huh.” Kaduat shrugged, relaxing again. “I guess a tree falling alone in the woods does make a sound.”

“Do you ever take anything seriously?” he snapped.

She pursed her lips. “I used to. But I learned that life’s too short to spend it being serious.” Lifting an eyebrow, she glanced at him. “You might try having fun once in a while.”

“I’m not Wheatie,” Inger muttered. Ignoring her puzzled look, he rested his chin back on his hooves. Maybe the sergeant had been right, after all.

Some of us prefer to play the field… Wheatie always took heartbreak in stride. Today’s passionate fling was tomorrow’s fond memory. Right now, that sounded like freedom.

“Well, if you’re sure you can find your way back,” began Kaduat, dusting her feet, “I’d best go rescue my rum from your wife.”

“Rum?” An icy pit formed in his stomach.

“I lent her the bottle before I went after you. Hope there’s still some left.”

“Cranberry doesn’t drink,” he said. The dragon chuffed. She doesn’t kiss your friends, either, right?

“She doesn’t?” Kaduat looked almost offended at the thought of sobriety. “Then what the hell does she do when she’s upset?”

* * *

22 November, 328 A.C.

More samples retrieved from the causeway. I’ve sent them back up to the secondary base camp by the shaft for later analysis. Hobb seems totally disinterested in the fragmentary texts we’ve been turning up. He and his lot are still studying the pylons, though as far as I’ve heard they’ve had no success. The lack of communication from his team is becoming frustrating. I have to find out what they’re doing through Hermia, who updates me on the mages’ progress regularly over dinner.

Cranberry re-read her colleague’s words, barely absorbing them. Locke’s journal was failing to distract her the way she’d hoped. The bottle of Madame Zenubia sat beside her, untouched; a reminder of all her failings. The page in front of her blurred as more tears welled up.

She wasn’t sure he would forgive her this time. Bitterly, she wished that she’d told him years ago. Why hadn’t she? Was she always scared that it had been too far a mistake, too deep a hurt? Was their whole relationship so fragile to begin with? She’d thought their bond could survive anything, but it had only taken a scant few days to send them flying apart.

With her heart aching, she wished Apricot Strudel were here. Whenever she needed to pour out her burdens, he had been there to listen. Fears over her career, worries about her children… and while she’d never had cause to speak about her and Inger, she was certain he’d have been there to hear these fears just as calmly. Right now, she wanted more than anything to hear him give her some reassuring words and one of those giant blueberry muffins he used to pack her in the mornings. That always made her feel better.

Instead, the voice in her head was Tybalt’s.

Cranberry let Locke’s journal fall closed, staring into the fire. You can’t fool the ones you’ve betrayed forever, his voice echoed, the memory of her father-in-law’s golden eyes baring her soul. In fact, you never really fool them in the first place. All they have to do is stop fooling themselves.

Her eyes fell once more to the bottle of rum. Perhaps she ought to really move things along, just pour it on herself and leap into the fire. She’d already been self-immolating for weeks; surely it would be less painful to get it over with.

Cranberry sighed, standing. Maybe a short walk could clear her head. Sleep, her normal escape, was no option. Not with the aspens still whispering above her.

The wind changed, and the rustling of the leaves grew stronger. Cranberry’s eyes narrowed. The trees were mocking her, their shivering branches sending laughter through the canopy. Then came a crack, a sharp splintering of wood. Jerking her head to look behind her, Cranberry saw the tallest aspen at the edge of the glade, tilted precariously over her head. As her eyes went wide, another enormous crack rang out through the clearing.

A series of sudden snaps, smaller but rising in a crescendo, pattered out. With sleepless sluggishness, she belatedly looked up from the trunk to see the aspen toppling toward her. Adrenaline spiked in her bloodstream, bringing instant alertness, and Cranberry dove to the side. A loud groan echoed through the forest as the tree’s weight shattered its own base. Cranberry covered her head and yelped as outstretched branches smacked her on the back. She heard glass shatter as it landed on the bottle, right where she’d been standing.

Scrambling free of the branches, her heart raced. That could have killed me, she thought, stumbling away from the tree. She stared at it in shock, her eyes traveling up the length of the trunk to the treetop, which was lying at the edge of the campfire. Everything still seemed to be moving in slow motion, swimming lazily through her tear-blurred eyes. Flames licked the leaves, catching on them. I have to stamp that out before the whole thing—

A sudden woosh of rushing air was followed by a flash of light. The alcohol had ignited. Fire raced across the splattered surface of the tree, followed by a violent streak of red that ran through the dead trunk’s hollow core. For a moment, it felt like the whole forest inhaled, and then a massive BANG nearly knocked her over. The base of the tree exploded, sending fiery shrapnel arcing through the air into the nearby treetops.

“Fire,” she rasped, stumbling backward. “Fire!”

Confused heads poked out of the mercenaries’ tents. The camels rubbed their eyes as they tried to process the commotion. From the far side of the glade came Castor, trotting up and blinking blearily. “What the—” He stared at the fallen tree, which was now fully aflame from inside. “Kaduat! Get a barrel from the water stores! We have to smother the flames before—”

The fire surged, and Cranberry was forced to retreat from the intense heat. The whole tree was being consumed, frighteningly fast. Above, the cinders had caught in the canopy, and the leaves of the surrounding trees were beginning to glow like embers. Another crackling bang rocked the campsite as some pocket of sap and oxygen inside the dead tree burst out, sending more sparks scattering. A huge gout of flame leaped upward, flinging ash and flaming splinters across the glade. Shielding her face, Cranberry felt her breath suddenly sucked away by the sudden wash of hot, dry air. Her skin pricked in the heat.

“Damn it!” Castor raced past her and took flight. He beat his wings, trying to fan the flames away from the other trees, but it was too late. Cranberry watched in horror as the fire raced through the treetops, arcing from branch to branch like they were soaked in oil.

“Kaduat! Where are you?” Castor whirled, shouting at the top of his lungs. “Kaduat! I swear to the Sisters, if you’re drunk on watch duty again I’ll kill you—”

Another tree exploded into flames, casting cinders down and causing him to shelter behind an upraised wing. All around, camels were rushing for the carts to retrieve water barrels, but Cranberry feared that it was too late for that. The angry red fire was spreading fast, too fast, encircling the entire glade in with terrifying speed. “Castor!” she cried over the rumbling furnace, “What do we do?”

“No time to clear a firebreak—we have to smother it,” he yelled, retreating from the burning perimeter. “Hell, and not a cloud in the sky—we can’t make rain out of nothing!” Gritting his teeth, he landed beside her. Another loud series of cracks and a terrible groan filled the air as one of the flaming trees toppled backward into the forest. As it crashed against another aspen, the flames leaped to its neighbors. “Where’s Inger?”

“He—” Cranberry stared into the blaze, shaking her head in shock. “He went into the woods. Kaduat followed to bring him back. Oh, Sisters…”

Castor swore violently. “Tybalt! Tybalt, come on, we’ve got to get airborne and get a handle on this!”

The count, his mane a sleep-matted mess, had stumbled out of his tent. He gave Castor an urgent nod, and took flight. From the other side of camp, Virgil came flying to meet them. Castor barked “Virgil! I need you to—”

“Captain, the blackpowder stores!” The griffon’s eyes bulged. “If the fire reaches the demolition materiel—”

“Shit.” Castor pointed at the nearest camel. “Afwala! Take your team along with Beatriz, and keep the fire off that cart. Use whatever you can—water, dirt, spit if you have to. Virgil! My brother went north to the river for water—he must still be there. Go bring him back, on the double!”

“On it!” Virgil snapped a salute and whipped into the air. He punctured a hole through the thickening cloud of smoke above, vanishing. The air was already so heavy with ash and cinders that Cranberry lost sight of him almost immediately.

Hooves grasped her shoulders, tearing her focus away from the growing inferno to meet Castor’s eyes. “Listen up, Professor,” he said, his voice strained but controlled. “We need all hooves on deck for this one. Can you help Beatriz protect the carts?”

Numbly, she managed a mute nod. Castor gave her shoulder a grateful slap. “Good. Get going. I need to help Tybalt try to wrangle up some rain.” He turned sharply and took off into the air.

Get to Beatriz, Cranberry thought, stumbling through the camp. She passed dozens of camels, all racing back and forth with buckets of water, wondering what good they would do against a fire of this size. She’d read about forest fires before, but she’d never seen one in person. It had happened so fast…

On her way to the cart she bumped into Pwyll, who was shaking his head in panic. “Professor! What happened?”

“A tree,” she mumbled shakily. “It—it fell into the campfire.”

They both paused as a sudden gust of wind passed over them, hot and awash with sparks. Pwyll looked around at the burning trees and closed his eyes with a low moan. He held up a hoof to his antlers, as if they ached. “I shouldn’t have let us stop here,” he whispered.

Cranberry tugged him after her, resuming her course toward the water cart where Beatriz was directing camels. “Bea! How can we help?”

“Hitch up,” said Beatriz bluntly, pointing to the nearest harness. “We’ve got to get the carts away from the perimeter.”

As Cranberry and Pwyll hastily began buckling themselves in, she heard a call from above. “Cranberry!”

At the sound of Inger’s voice, her eyes shot wide and she turned her head upward. The wall of smoke burst open as a red blur came streaking down. Her husband landed hard beside them, sending a cloud of dirt flying from the impact of his hooves. A traumatized-looking Kaduat let go of his neck and dropped to the ground, legs shaking. “Camels weren’t born to fly,” she croaked.

“Cranberry, what happened?” There was little trace of fury left on his soot-stained face, merely urgency, though his eyes were still hard and closed-off. “When we saw the smoke we came as fast as we could.”

She felt an overwhelming urge to hug him, but couldn’t while half-harnessed to the cart. “A tree fell and caught fire, and it’s spreading fast. Castor needs you in the air. He and Tybalt are trying to fight it with weatherforging.”

Inger nodded brusquely, pausing for a moment with his wings braced. They shared a look that contained volumes. The argument wasn’t over; the hurt wasn’t gone. But neither wanted to see the other injured in this disaster. There’s no time, thought Cranberry grimly. “Go, Inger. And stay safe.”

With another nod, this time one of understanding, he vanished in a red blur. The smoke puffed again as he punched another hole in it. Cranberry offered a brief prayer to the princess as she watched him go. Beatriz nudged her, bringing her back to earth. “Hurry up! Get that cart moving.”

The other carts were already circling tight at the center of the camp, as far from the blazing edge of the glade as they could get. Gritting her teeth, she pulled against the harness, and the cart slowly ground into motion. One of the tents caught fire as she passed, and she reached for the harness buckle, but a passing camel stopped her with a foot. “Let burn,” he said, in broken Equestrian. “Protect cart.” He kicked some dirt onto the tent as it collapsed.

Swallowing, she resumed her course, watching the growing wall of fire. As the flames crept closer, the camels formed a ring around the gathered carts, bracing their water buckets like spears against a charge. Cranberry’s heart pounded in her ears. The flames whirled around them, so hot that she could feel her sweat baking off her skin.

She wished that she’d given Inger a kiss before he’d gone.