Thicker Than Water

Half an hour later, the deck still buzzed with activity. Dinner was well underway, as mercenaries and sailors jostled each other in line for second servings. Cranberry was seated at the central square of tables, sourly staring into her half-finished bowl of stew. With the wooden spoon clenched tightly in her teeth, she toyed with a floating chunk of carrot, thoughts churning.

Unbelievable. Am I the only sane adult on this ship?

Surely, she’d thought, the mercenaries would take the unexpected arrival of her son seriously. Yet, one by one, she’d found that none of them seemed to care. Beatriz had groused about an extra mouth to feed, but she’d done so with a smile—they’d brought enough food for both Katabasis and Locke’s team, so one additional colt wouldn’t even make a dent in their stores. Virgil had just shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with children, and Zaeneas hadn’t even looked up from her books.

Castor was the one pony she’d expected to agree with her, sending the vulnerable civilian home at the first opportunity, but he’d had a quick, hushed discussion with Tybalt and then merely said that her presence here was too invaluable to lose, so they’d merely make sure Apricot stayed out of trouble. It was a cold reassurance, at best, not helped by the curious look Pollux had given her son from across the deck when she’d explained his foolhardy quest. She’d at least put her hoof down about letting Apricot talk to him until after dinner.

The worst of all was Kaduat, who seemed downright pleased to have the colt along. Apricot was sitting between her and his mother, eagerly explaining his caper to the appreciative camel.

“So Strawberry snuck into the warehouse through the second floor window and managed to find an empty barrel. Then we packed it in with the others in the water cart, and I squeezed in.”

Kaduat, shaking with mirth, slapped her mug of rum back down on the table. “In a barrel! So much for our perfect security,” She wiped her eyes. “Kiddo, you’ve got a knack for infiltration.”

Apricot’s grin was bashful. “It was really my brother’s idea…”

“Oho, I see,” said Kaduat, elbowing him. She glanced up at Cranberry with a conspiratorial wink. “Well, by the time you get back, maybe you’ll have some new tricks to show him.”

“I hope so.” Apricot looked wistfully toward the ship’s bow, where Pollux was doing his usual survey of the empty ocean.

Cranberry grimly let her spoon rest. “You’ll be learning more than magic.” She looked up as the antelope cook whisked past, handing off another bowl of stew to a Dromedarian mercenary. “Beatriz, you wouldn’t mind teaching Apricot the finer points of scrubbing all those pots and pans after dinner, would you?”

Beatriz grinned. “Not at all.”

Apricot grimaced and turned back to his dinner, as Kaduat laughed. She nudged him amiably. “Win some, lose some, kiddo. Could be worse.” She took a swig of rum, wiping her lips as she gave a nostalgic sigh. “One time on patrol duty in the Ceracen ocean, I was supposed to tie cargo down to the belaying pins while we did a series of maneuvers, but I used the rigging line by mistake—when the sail turned, the barrels went flying. Potatoes all over the deck. My old CO had me gather them all up, and then I was stuck preparing them every night. Weeks of peeling potatoes. I couldn’t get the smell off my feet until we made port a month later…”

As Apricot giggled, Cranberry glanced around at Kaduat and the other Dromedarians. “Did all of you serve on the same ship?”

“Nope,” said Kaduat, shaking her head. “Most of these boys were ground pounders; general infantry. That’s why I’m the only one that speaks much Equestrian—navy wanted us to know the basics, since we had more of a chance of running into ponies. I met up with the others near the end of the civil war, and we all came to Equestria together.” With a snort, Kaduat grinned at her troops. “And to think, my brother always said the army and the navy couldn’t work together.”

“Is he here?”

“No.” Kaduat’s smile vanished for the first time. She looked into her mug with cool disinterest, frowning as she found it empty. “Fadil got tapped for that damn fool mission to Zyre a couple of years ago.”

“Oh…” Cranberry swallowed. “He didn’t make it?”

“All I’ve got left of him is this,” mused Kaduat, reaching into her jerkin and withdrawing a glittering silver knife. “Taught me how to use it when we served together on the Aten-Re. I was never as good as he was, though.” She smiled at her reflection in the brilliant blade.

“So… is that why you left the military?”

“Not exactly…” Kaduat sighed, giving her empty mug a shake. “The Zyre operation was a total fiasco. Dozens of ships lost, thousands of dead soldiers, and then the zebras cleaned out the treasury in the peace settlement. The pharaoh’s cousin decided that Dromedaria had suffered enough under his rule, and that it was time for… new leadership.”

She plunged the tip of the dagger into the table with a thunk, waving Beatriz down. “More rum, eh?”

“Madame Zenubia, at your service,” said Beatriz dryly, reaching into her stores and withdrawing a bottle with an elegant zebra mare imprinted on it.

As Beatriz poured her a refill, Kaduat returned to Cranberry. “It was a short war… but I picked the wrong side.”

“I see,” said Cranberry, carefully neutral. “You survived, though.”

Kaduat shrugged, nodding thanks to Beatriz and taking a long drink. “Aye,” she said, slamming the mug back down on the table with a satisfied grunt, “along with the rest of these unlucky sods.” She swept a foot at the other camels. “Life’s not been so bad in Equestria. We ran into Castor in Norharren a year ago, and since then we’ve been doing good work. Things we can be proud of.”

“Like what?” chirped Apricot, eyes wide.

Warmth returned to the mercenary’s face as she grinned at him. “Fighting bandits, rescuing princesses, that sort of thing.”

“You rescued Princess Celestia?” he asked, tilting his head dubiously.

Kaduat laughed. “No, it wasn’t a princess, technically. We did a job for some noblepony out in Helmfast. His daughter had been kidnapped by a group of lumber-cutters turned highwayponies…”

Cranberry let Kaduat’s animated storytelling slip from her attention as she looked over to her right, where Inger and Tybalt were still deep in conversation. They’d been talking about the Vallen vineyards for what seemed like ages. Apparently, her husband had discovered a sudden fascination with wine-making.

Mhm. Or he’s avoiding me. Cranberry restrained a sigh. They hadn’t had a chance to talk in private since their fight belowdecks. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to continue it—she’d been surprised by her own vehemence. But just like the mercenaries, she couldn’t understand why Inger didn’t seem to realize how dangerous this was. The thought of losing Apricot, so much worse than losing Papa just a few weeks ago—Cranberry closed her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath.

I can’t tell him why I’m so angry, she thought, shamefully. It’s not fair to him, or to Tybalt. And saying it aloud would make me sound insane.

Blearily, she opened her eyes and resumed stirring her bowl. But it’s not fair to me, either. Why did I have to lose my father for Inger to find his?

It was such a petty, ugly envy. She wished bitterly that she was above this hollow jealousy, but every time she saw that light in Inger’s eyes when he talked about his father, she wanted to throw something, or cry, or scream how unfair it was for him to find such happiness while she was in so much pain. She still woke up weeping some mornings, recalling that chilly morning by the grave. And now Inger, who had been her rock, the pillar she could always count on to keep her standing, had abandoned her for the stallion who’d abandoned him.

He hasn’t abandoned me, she chided herself. How hurt would he be if those words left her lips? Inger can’t know I feel this way. No one can. And so, she kept her silence—a silence she feared would soon swallow her up.

“—and then, when I broke down the door, this mare comes flying at me out of nowhere with a broken bottle. Nearly got me, too, I barely dodged.” Kaduat pointed to a thin scar across her shoulder. “Turned out our little ransom victim had been doing a pretty good job of escaping on her own. She had the bottle for a weapon, she’d built a rope out of her torn-up dress, even gotten into some of the lumberponies’ wood oil and painted herself up with it, so her white coat wouldn’t be as visible in the woods at night.”

Apricot was enthralled. “Was she going to make it?”

“Well…” Kaduat waggled an ambivalent foot. “They’d caught her in the escape attempt and locked her in that room until their leader got back from foraging. It’s a good thing we got there when we did. Made a clean getaway before the rest of the bandits returned. Still, we were all impressed. I thought Castor was going to offer her a job,” she chuckled.

“Why didn’t he?”

“She was a noble’s daughter, after all. Her father wouldn’t have approved of her roughing it with a bunch of mercenaries.” Kaduat snickered. “In fact, he paid us extra to leave the same night we returned her. ‘Course, that might’ve been because she kept making doe eyes at Virgil over there…”

Across the deck, Virgil’s head swiveled at the sound of his name. Primly, he cleared his throat. “Entirely unreciprocated, you know,” he called over. “It’s not my fault we had to skip town…”

“I know it wasn’t,” said Kaduat with a grin, “because that was the night I went to get some booze from the cart and found you bending Bea over a—”

Cranberry coughed emphatically, jerking her head toward a curious Apricot.

“Er, right.” Kaduat shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry, kiddo.” She ruffled Apricot’s mane.

Beatriz placed her hooves on the table and leaned over it, smiling tightly with a deadly glint in her eye. “Anyone need a refill? Or a smack to the head?”

Kaduat grinned and pushed her mug toward the antelope. “Hey, Bea, I don’t judge. I like boys with wings myself.” For an instant, her eyes glanced to the right, past Cranberry.

At Inger.

Cranberry planted her hoof on the tabletop and jerked her head into Kaduat’s line of sight, glaring daggers. Fortunately, Inger and Tybalt were still blathering about fermentation, and hadn’t noticed.

Kaduat’s spine instantly straightened, and her smile was wiped away by a nervous frown. “Ah, on second thought, Bea—maybe that’s enough for tonight.”

“Agreed,” said the antelope dryly, whisking away the empty mug with a glow of blue magic. “Let’s try to at least make it to the island before you get yourself murdered, mm?”

Cranberry’s smile was mirthless and flinty. “I spend a lot of time digging up bodies in my line of work. I’m sure I could bury one.”

Kaduat rubbed the back of her neck, laughing anxiously as she tried to parse whether Cranberry was making a joke or a threat. “I’d rather not find out.” Cringing, she mouthed sorry. Cranberry frowned, but gave her a single, terse nod.

Apricot, apparently having missed the conversation’s subtext, took a drink of water from his cup. “What’s it like?” he asked.

“Er…” began Kaduat, blushing.

“The island, I mean.” he continued. “And the elk, what are they like?”

Cranberry nudged her spoon, giving up on the stew. “What we call elk are actually a variety of species,” she said, watching the ripples. “There are the true elk, who are enormous—some are three meters high, counting the horns. They can get even taller than Princess Celestia. Then there are their cousins, the deer, who are a lot smaller. White-tailed and red deer are the most common, and the most likely to travel—my colleagues at the University of Cariboulla are all deer. There’s also the caribou, who are the most reclusive of the lot—they all live in the forests of the commonwealth islands, in elaborate treetop towns linked by bridges. They’re not fond of outsiders. I doubt we’ll run into any of them; there aren't any caribou settlements on Elketh.”

Apricot looked up at the sails, clearly trying to visualize them. “What do they look like?” He glanced at Beatriz, who was wiping a mug down with a rag. “Kind of like antelopes?”

“Our horns aren’t as fancy as elk antlers,” said Beatriz, looking up with a smile. “But they don’t fall off, either.”

“Their horns fall off?” Apricot paled, reaching up to touch his own, as if to assure himself it was still there.

“Every year,” affirmed Cranberry. “They grow a new pair in the spring and summer, then lose them in the winter. And that’s just the males; female elk don’t grow antlers at all.”

“So they can’t do magic?” he looked into his mug, crestfallen. “That’s sad…”

“Oh, they can do magic,” muttered Kaduat. “Pollux hasn’t shut up about it for weeks…”

At the mention of his idol, Apricot perked back up. “How?”

“Necessity’s the mother of invention, so they say.” Cranberry was beginning to feel enthused, now that the conversation had turned to the subject of half a lifetime’s study. “The ancient elk carved talismans out of fallen antlers, using them to channel magic in new ways. They developed the art of spellsinging, to weave enchantments more intricate than any of the other magical races. And they discovered the magic-storing properties of glass, using their homeland’s native veins of volcanic glass to create vast devices and marvelous architecture.”

Twirling her spoon under a hoof, she shifted with growing excitement. “Records from the Anno Dominium era tell of incredible things like the great floating city of Caomh and automated transportation systems. More than one source claims it was possible to travel from Elketh to Grypha in the blink of an eye, and that the whole empire of the Dominion was united by a single language.”

“A floating city…” Apricot’s eyes were wide. “Are we going to see it?”

“No…” Cranberry’s enthusiasm dampened. “It’s long gone. All the ancient wonders of the elk were destroyed or crumbled to dust thousands of years ago. The only things we have left are fragments…”

Apricot frowned. “There’s got to be something left.”

Well, Cranberry mused, perhaps there is. Not that Locke’s reports describe it very well… They were so vague that she was growing convinced that Pad was hiding something on purpose. Soon enough, she’d have the chance to find out for herself.

“In a way, we still have one legacy of the elk,” she said, lifting a hoof toward the setting sun. “They were the first to raise and lower the sun each day.”

Kaduat shifted. “Hm. I thought your princess had always done that.”

“The gods fought the dragons for rule over the new world at the beginning of time,” said Cranberry, enjoying the rapt attention of the small group. It reminded her of teaching. “The creation wars spanned a hundred years, ravaging the earth. Weather, seasons, and the movement of the celestial bodies were all thrown out of their natural cycles. The gods saw the destruction they’d wrought and agreed to leave the earth, giving it to the mortals to heal. Celestia and her sister, Nightmare Moon, the goddesses of the sun and stars, departed with the rest, ascending to their heavenly home.”

Cranberry could tell this was new to Beatriz and Kaduat as well, who were both listening with interest. “They returned eventually, when the disunity of the pony races they’d created in their image threatened to drive us all to extinction. But there was a long, long time between their departure and their return. When the gods first left—abandoned, some said—the world, the mortals found themselves trapped in a world of eternal winter and night.

“In Elketh, the first home of the true elk, their nascent empire was about to form. The islands were disunited, as the deer warred against the elk, but the vanishing of the gods brought the conflict to an abrupt halt. With the moon frozen in the sky, and the snow failing to melt, the mortal races began to despair. Without the sun, famine and death seemed inevitable, and all was lost.”

Really getting into the story now, Cranberry leaned in. “The elk called a council between their warring tribes. All their anger at each other finally had another outlet—the gods who had left them. Peace seemed possible at last, and they signed an accord to unite as one people. They called it the Triarchy of Cervida, ruled by three kings or queens, one from each of the major islands. For a year, the fragile alliance held, but the food was quickly running out. There could be no harvest in the endless night. Things were beginning to fall apart.

“Then, from a small village on the coast of Cariboulla, an elken astronomer claimed to have made a discovery that could save them all. By studying the shadows on the surface of the moon, he had learned that the moon was reflecting light from a single source, somewhere on the other side of the world. The sun had not vanished after all, he claimed. It was still there, lighting up the moon from the far side of the earth, locked in the sky as it had been at the moment of elendriolanera’s—the Lady of the Sun’s—departure.”

Beatriz, the mug she’d been cleaning long forgotten, leaned against the table. Kaduat, too, was watching intently, cleaning her teeth with the tip of her knife.

“In their private chambers, the triarchs argued over what they should do. One wished to flee the islands, carrying the whole of the elken people across the sea in ships to seek the sunlight. Another felt that salvation lay underground, where at least edible mushrooms could grow without sunlight. The third simply left them to fight, and stepped out of the chambers. While the others squabbled, he addressed the gathered lords of the elk. I can save us, he told them, but only through unity. We must be one people, one nation, if we are to survive.

“He outlined his plan to the gathered elk, and it was agreed. That very night, he was proclaimed the sole ruler of the new Elken Dominion, Spéir Leighis, the Sky-Healer. He had a flair for the dramatic,” Cranberry said, raising an eyebrow. “The rival triarch who wished to leave on a ship was drowned, and the one who wished to retreat into the caves was buried alive.”

Apricot shivered. “Then what?”

“Spéir brought the greatest mages from across the islands together, and showed them his grand designs. They would build a vast device to channel their magic into the sky, arcing around the world to the very point where the astronomer had calculated the sun’s position. Construction took forty days, a miraculously short time driven by the desperation of the elken people. When it was ready, the elk poured all their magic into it, reaching for the heavens and grasping the sun.”

Cranberry’s eyes sparkled. How it must have felt, to hold the heavens in their hooves. “They pulled the sun and the moon around the planet, recreating the natural orbits they had once possessed. The world was saved, and the elk were united like no mortal race had ever been before. And the Dominion was formed, with a purpose: to maintain the movement of the sun and moon, to take the gods’ place as rulers of the world.”

Beatriz blanched, lifting her rag and resuming cleaning the mug. “Obey us or starve, right?”

“A lot of power for one nation,” said Kaduat, sliding her knife back into her jerkin. “I guess we should be grateful the pony queen doesn’t have the same ambitions, eh?”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” said Inger, giving Cranberry a jolt of surprise. She looked over to find him smiling. “Celestia’s got no interest in world domination. If anything, the griffons keep trying to dominate us.”

He winked at Cranberry. “I love hearing you talk about history,” he murmured. “It’s cute, the way your eyes light up.”

She blushed a little, returning the smile. Oh… it’s hard to stay mad at you, she thought, with a tiny sigh.

Past her husband, Tybalt was watching her with an enigmatic look. His golden irises seemed hazy with thought. “So the elk were able to move the sun with a machine?” he asked, absently.

“For a time. Later on, they created techniques that could be used anywhere in the world, as long as enough mages joined their powers together. When the Dominion collapsed, the unicorn tribe was already familiar with some of them, and they inherited the task of moving the sun and moon.”

Tybalt said nothing in reply, merely steepling his hooves and sinking his chin behind them. He had a strangely hopeful smile. Before Cranberry could inquire further, the sound of scraping tables drew everyone’s attention. Toward the bow, the sailors and mercenaries were swiftly pushing a couple of tables toward the ship’s gunnels, clearing the forward section of the deck. Pollux had stepped down from his perch at the prow, and stood alone in the open space.

“Ah!” breathed Beatriz, batting her smock to shake off soot, before removing it. “I’m needed elsewhere.” She ducked out of the central square of tables and trotted toward Virgil, who was holding up two strangely shaped black cases. She took the smaller one, before the the two headed toward the bow to join Pollux.

Kaduat nudged Apricot with an elbow. “How well could you hear things in that barrel, kiddo?”

“Not very…” Apricot blinked curiously.

“Good.” Her smile broadened. “Then you’re in for a treat.”

Virgil set his case down, kneeling beside it to open the latches. “Are we still playing Faleirin?”

“Mhm,” said Pollux, with a subdued smile. “I need to practice my elkish.”

All around, mercenaries were scrambling to finish the last of their dinners. Those who were done turned to watch the trio eagerly. Cranberry watched Apricot lean forward, peering at Pollux, his curiosity plain. Inger nudged her from the side, and her heartbeat quickened. Flashing her a small grin, he winked. Cranberry managed a smile in return.

The whistle of a flute broke over the quiet rumblings of anticipation. Beatriz closed her instrument case before blowing another few notes. Her horns glowed as she adjusted the flute’s length. On Pollux’s other side, Virgil slipped a half-glove over his left claw, the padded tips safely blunting his sharp talons. Swiftly, he rosined a long horsehair bow, then with the casual ease of long practice, he reached down to grab the neck of a lovingly-kept violin. Hopping up onto a barrel, he hoisted it to his shoulder, leaning his cheek against the chin rest. The strings groaned as he pulled the bow across them, tuning the pegs with his gloved claw and an absent expression.

Pollux sat, lifted his hooves, and let down his hood. These evening performances were the only times Cranberry saw him do so, and it was always striking. The long white tresses of his mane hung loose around his head and neck, a sharp contrast to his vibrant robes. His crimson eyes glimmered in the dying sunlight, and his horn glowed a faint red to match. He hummed a few notes along with Virgil’s fiddle.

The bow ceased its movement, and the entire deck fell silent. Virgil’s beak twitched once, and he began tapping his hind right paw against the barrel. He swept the bow suddenly into motion, a low rolling rumble that grew like a wave, cresting without warning and exploding into a flurry of short strokes.

Cranberry instantly felt the urge to tap her hoof to the jumping melody. She found her head nodding, and smiled. Beside her, Apricot’s eyes were bouncing as they followed Virgil’s bow, his mouth half-open in delight.

The flute fluttered down to join the violin, and the lilting music swayed to life around them. Virgil’s bow danced a jig across the strings, scattering triplets and sliding through glissando jumps. The beat of his tapping foot quickened, and the world seemed to breathe with it. A sudden cascade of notes descended, and the song lulled for a brief measure. The violin and the flute paused for an instant. Cranberry twitched forward instinctively.

Then Pollux began to sing.

Apricot’s eyes opened wide, and his hoof dropped to the table. Cranberry would have laughed, if the music hadn’t stolen her breath.

Pollux’s voice was like liquid honey, a warm, bubbling, sweet sound that filled her head and heart and left no room for anything besides the joyous melody. It seemed impossible that his normal half-whisper could give way to this glowing alto that poured out rich, vibrant strength into the crowd. The whole deck stared in universal rapture.

The lyrics, delivered in flawless elkish, bounced along with Virgil’s tapping foot.

“Va feinn valeri arinn,

va men talen faleirin,

amet apenrimela,

va men valeri tairen…”

Kaduat was grinning, waving a tipsy hoof along like a conductor’s baton. The other camels’ heads were nodding in time, a few trading eager glances. Castor watched his brother with a proud smile. Even Zaeneas looked up from her book, her eyes torn away from the page by the power of Pollux’s voice.

Cranberry glanced right and met Inger’s eyes. He cleared his throat quietly, with a hesitant look at Apricot. “Be my partner?” he whispered. Am I forgiven? she heard.

She was still angry about Apricot’s foolishness, and hurt that Inger hadn’t supported her, but at this point she had to admit it was a fait accompli. Her son was coming along, so she could either accept it or be angry for the rest of the trip. Pushing her misgivings aside, she nodded and brushed his cheek. “Of course.”

Pollux’s golden voice sprang into the second verse, drawing her attention back like a moth to flame. Sisters, but that stallion can sing. She’d dropped her bowl the first time she heard those notes shaking the air. They resonated in her chest as the chorus neared.

“Amell valen dulani, mareill va feinn etrani;

mari velannona, alen tilen vemaney, EY!”

Abruptly, every mercenary leaped to their hooves and feet. Inger did likewise, offering her a hoof. Cranberry took it warmly, hopping up to join him.

The expedition circled the musicians, pairing off. Kaduat dragged Apricot with her, yelling, “I hope you can dance, kid!”

Virgil lifted his bow off the strings and slammed it back down with gusto. Hooves and feet struck the deck in time to the music as the chorus arrived.

“Alla mena teneirn, vafamme na la faleirin;

Olandriolanera, dula neman petrenna…”

Cranberry felt an irrepressible smile creep onto her lips as she and Inger went through the steps, whirling around each other. They’d learned the dance from the mercenaries on the road from Canterlot. It had taken her a day or two to master the step-ball-change, but it all seemed like second-nature now, listening to that golden melody fill the air around them.

“Amana felbriner ta nem,

vasem le saoreh fin brolem,

salehm viseir arin adsu kaliarmena vildranen…”

The song entered the bridge, and everyone spun once and clapped. Cranberry and Inger beamed at each other, breathing hard as their hooves rapped the planks to the rhythm. Past her husband, Cranberry could see Kaduat laughing and clapping appreciatively as Apricot stumbled through the steps.

Every voice rose in song to join the mage in another ringing ey! as the tempo leaped upward again. A hundred frantic hooves pounded the deck in unison as the dancing rose to a fever pitch with the final chorus. Cranberry’s legs ached, but exhilaration carried her onward. Inger pressed a hoof against hers, lifting it over her head as they both spun again.

Tails swinging, heads swaying, the dancers whirled and clapped. The notes of the violin and the flute exploded around them as Pollux reached the climax. The crew belted out the final words with him as hooves crashed down in an inelegant, exuberant flurry of raps and taps.

“Vallan afeir vaneirin,

ta ten ri val faleiriiiiiiiin!”

Cranberry flung herself forward, twisting around to throw her hooves in the air with a final ey! Her husband caught her effortlessly, sitting heavily on his hindquarters with her in his forehooves. He leaned down and kissed her, and she pulled his head closer to return it eagerly.

Lifting his head, his eyes twinkled. “Love you,” he murmured, panting for air.

“I know,” she whispered, grinning as she pushed his cheek to turn his head. “Right back at you, Dragonslayer.” As she giggled, he pulled her back up and kissed her again.

“Blech,” said a young voice from behind them. Cranberry snickered. Gently extricating herself from Inger’s hooves, She stood up and brushed off her chest. “All right, Junior, I’ll stop embarrassing you in front of your new friends.” Apricot rolled his eyes.

Kaduat laughed, though there was a slightly brittle edge to it. “You’ll think it’s cute when you’re older, kid.”

The colt shrugged, but his eyes kept darting away from his parents toward the trio. Through the crowd of laughing, clapping mercenaries, Pollux and his fellow musicians were taking bows to scattered applause. Pollux dipped his head to the crowd, quiet and unassuming once more. Apricot stared at him, all but licking his lips with anticipation. Cranberry shared a brief look with Inger, who nodded.

“All right, Apricot.” she said begrudgingly. “You can ask him tonight. But first, we’re going to help Beatriz collect all the dishes for the wash. And you’re going to help her in the galley after you talk to Pollux.” It was a mark of how excited Apricot was that he didn’t even complain.

Leftover stew was tossed overboard, though there wasn’t much that hadn’t been greedily devoured. Together with Beatriz, the Sugar clan dashed to and fro across the deck, grabbing bowls from tables and snagging a few that had fallen under the furniture during the dance. Beatriz thanked them all, especially Apricot—the antelope seemed enthused at the prospect of a minion to help scrub everything clean.

As they worked, Cranberry lifted an eyebrow and turned her head toward her son. “So, what did you think of the song?”

“It was beautiful,” he said, looking back at Pollux with awe. The mage had bid his fellow musicians farewell after the song and retreated back to the prow. “What was it about?”

“In new elkish, Faleirin means ‘seashells’. It’s about a seashell merchant arguing with his daughter’s would-be suitor. The buck asks him for her hoof in marriage and he refuses for the first two verses, but at the end of the song the girl shows up and says that she loves the buck enough to leave her family if her father won’t give them his blessing. Of course, her father relents to let the two be together.” She hummed the final bars. “And that’s the way a father’s love gives way like sandy seashellllllls…”

Apricot gave his head a quizzical tilt, and she laughed. “It rhymes in elkish. As for the name, ‘sandy seashells’ are an old elk idiom. It means clinging to something after a change renders it pointless, like sand on a seashell after it’s been taken from the water. Fascinating history, actually—”

Seeing her son nod in the vague way that meant he was just pretending to listen to her ramble on about her work, she smiled and rolled her eyes. Clearly, his mind was over with the red-robed mage. “All right, you’ve been patient. After this table we’ll go ask him.” Apricot beamed.

They finished in short order, and Inger rejoined the two of them. Together, the Sugars made their way across the deck toward the mage. Pollux had his forehooves placed on the ship’s railing as he let the ocean breeze carry his mane back. He turned his head as they approached, reaching instinctively to pull his hood back up, but paused when he saw Apricot.

“Hello, Pollux,” said Inger, dipping his head. “We came to ask a favor…”

“I see…” Pollux peered down at Apricot, rubbing his chin as he looked the young unicorn over. “Hello there, Apricot.”

He remembered his name, thought Cranberry, as Apricot brightened. She patted his shoulder. ““We were wondering if you might—”

“Can you teach me magic?” burst Apricot, straining forward as if against invisible bonds.

“Hmm.” Pollux kept looking him up and down, evaluating. His eyes narrowed curiously, squinting at the young colt. “That depends on you. Tell me, why do you want to learn from me?”

“You’re a proper mage, and you’ve seen so many different lands and magics…” Apricot fidgeted. “And I want to be like you. A mage.”

Pollux rubbed his chin. “Why?”

“Why?” Apricot glanced uncertainly at his parents. “Magic’s… a part of me.”

“It’s part of every unicorn,” said Pollux, shrugging. “What makes you different?”

“I don’t just want to learn some tricks,” Apricot insisted. “I want to learn it all. To be good at it, really good. Not just lifting pots and pans, or threading sewing needles, I want to know how it works.”

“Curiosity, then?” Pollux’s eyes narrowed further, piercing. “I don’t think that’s all. You didn’t stow away on this ship because you’re curious. Why are you here, Apricot?”

Apricot looked at his father, pressing his lips together, before his eyes fell. “Because…” He turned back to Pollux, shaking his head. “Because my dad’s the Dragonslayer. My mother’s got songs written about her. My brother’s going to be a Firewing, and I’m just… just…” He looked up, deflated. “Me.”

Pollux’s eyes looked briefly past them all. Cranberry followed his gaze over her shoulder and landed on Castor, who was still packing up one of the tables at the far end of the ship.

The mage’s mouth grew firm. “I see.” He watched Apricot for another moment. “And what kind of teaching did you have in mind?”

“Everything,” said Apricot, his eyes wide. “Like—like that spell you were doing when you sang!”

Pollux’s eyebrows rose. “You felt that?”

“Yeah! It felt like the one Mr. Strudel cast on his ovens before he baked in them. Except you were doing it to the whole ship.”

Cranberry raised an eyebrow. “You were casting a spell?”

“A very subtle one,” murmured Pollux, looking at Apricot with renewed interest. “I was warding the ship’s hull against water, to prevent leaks. A small favor I offered the ship’s captain when we set sail. It’s very similar to a ward against flame.” He nodded to Apricot. “Something a baker might cast on an oven, to keep it from losing heat at the seams.”

“I knew it!” Apricot hopped, thrilled. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

“I believe I could,” said Pollux, slowly drawing a colorless hoof across his chin. “Not many unicorns could have felt a spell that quiet, you know. Even with training. Have you ever met a spellsinger before?”

“A spell-what?”

“Interesting.” Pollux’s head abruptly snapped back up to Cranberry and Inger. “I’ll teach him.”

The couple blinked. “Just like that?” asked Cranberry.

“Just like that.” Pollux’s hoof dropped back under his robe. He looked more alive than she’d ever seen him. His usual languid air of confidence had been replaced by alert drive.

Inger rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you want us to pay you, or…”

“No need.” Pollux met Apricot’s eyes, and he nodded. “You need to learn how to use your abilities, Apricot. Anyone attuned enough to hear that warding spell is going to need training for their own safety. Not to mention everyone else’s.” He tilted his head, red eyes flicking between the two adults. “It’s strange… If I didn’t know better, I’d guess that your parents were both powerful unicorns.”

His chest puffing a little with paternal pride, Inger beamed. “He must get it from his mother’s side. Her father Strawberry was a unicorn.”

Cranberry’s misgivings weren’t entirely quelled, but she was at least convinced that some instruction from a real mage would be good for Apricot. She ruffled her son’s mane. “Do us proud, Junior.”

Apricot blushed, grinning. “When can we start?”

“Right now,” said Pollux, before pausing. “Unless you have other duties to attend to…” He gave Cranberry an amused look, flicking his ear.

He must have heard me giving Apricot cleaning duty, she realized wryly. With a stern look at Apricot,she pursed her lips. “His penance can wait a little while. I’m sure Beatriz will still have plenty of dishes left when you two are finished.”

“Very well, then. I’ll send him to the galley when we’re done.”

Inger leaned in and whispered into her ear. “We’d better go make room for him in our quarters. Looks like we’ll be sharing a bunk for the rest of the trip, after all.” He didn’t sound enthused.

Cranberry gave a suffused sigh, already mourning the end of their privacy. They’d have all the discomfort of the cramped bunk without the pleasure of any activities beyond sleeping. “Let’s go, then…”

As they departed, she cast one last look over her shoulder toward Apricot, trying to ignore the icy worry in her stomach.

* * *

I did it, I did it, I did it! Apricot could barely restrain himself from dancing. He was an apprentice now, a mage-in-training, taking the first steps on the road to… whatever his future would be. An archmage, he thought greedily.

Pollux turned toward the ocean, placing his hooves back on the railing. “Let’s begin with a fundamental question.”

Apricot joined him, eyes alight with excitement. He had to rear all the way up on his hind legs to get his chin over the rail, but he managed. “Okay.”

His new teacher stared out at the horizon, where the sun had finally disappeared completely. The stars were already visible above, the waxing moon still just beginning to rise. He pulled his robes tighter around his neck. “What is magic?”

Eagerly, Apricot lifted his head as high above the rail as he could. “It’s the special talent that unicorns—”

“No. What is magic?”

Hesitant after such a quick rejection, Apricot pondered the question more seriously. Biting his hoof for a moment, he tilted his head and tried again. “Magic is a… a metaf… metaphysi…physical framework of, um… energy, and—”

The pale mage snorted, but gave Apricot’s messy mane a friendly tousle. “No, no. Forget whatever book you read that in. It was written by scholars, not mages. What is magic?”

Feeling a little desperate, Apricot searched for the answer. If he couldn’t even get this right, would Pollux decide he wasn’t worth teaching? “Magic is—” he paused, suddenly relaxing. “Magic is a river.”

Pollux smiled. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Who taught you that?”

“Mr. Strudel,” said Apricot, his voice sinking. He watched the sea split around the bow of the ship as they cut through the waves. “He taught me everything I know about doing magic. And other things… like baking, and numbers…” Something seemed caught in his throat. “I miss him.”

“He sounds very wise,” said Pollux quietly. He looked out over the waves, letting the wind carry his mane behind him. “And he was right—many unicorns experience magic as flowing liquid, be it a river, a waterfall, or a stormy sea.”

His horn glowed, and soft motes of light streamed between them. Apricot’s eyes widened in delight as the pattern resolved into a magical river of red sparkles.

“I can feel the river, the real one,” said Apricot, brightening a little. He reached out with his mind and plunged into the magical current. “It’s… cool to the touch, if that makes sense. And I can do things with it.”

Pollux traced a hoof through his river of light, causing a whirl in the surface. “To an extent, yes… You can splash in it, swim in it, even channel trickles of that power to perform spells. But can you divert the river itself? Change the course of the flow?” Pollux met his eyes, tilting his head expectantly.

“No, I…” Apricot shook his head, suddenly puzzled. “Nopony can do that.”

“You’re right.” Pollux’s horn glowed brighter as he dipped his hoof into the image of the river. The flow spread around his hoof, before rejoining on the other side. “Changing the course of a river isn’t something a single pony can do. That’s why you can’t think of magic as a river.”

Apricot blinked, completely lost. “Then…?”

Pollux set his hoof down, and the river of light vanished. He stared into Apricot’s eyes with sudden intensity. “Magic is a song.”

“Why is that different?”

Pollux looked up, as if mulling over the words. “A song flows like a river, but it has parts, pieces, elements that can combine to create a thousand different melodies. You could try with all your might to block the course of a river and fail, but all it takes to change a song is a single voice.” He blinked, returning to Apricot. “Your voice.”

Apricot felt a chill race through him, licking his lips in anticipation. “So… who’s playing the song?”

That intense look suddenly vanished as Pollux laughed. “Now there’s a question for the philosophers. I’m afraid I can’t answer—all I can do is teach you to sing.” He smiled. “But first, you have to learn how to listen.”

Nodding, Apricot stepped back from the railing, lifting his chin in determination. “I’m ready!”

“Good. Close your eyes. Reach out for the river, the way Mr. Strudel taught you.”

“Okay.” Apricot shut his eyes tight, and his horn began to shimmer with rose light. He felt the eddies and currents of the magic around him, and sank slowly into it. “Now what?”

“Listen to the water. The way it rushes around you, the waves lapping gently against the banks. Do you hear them?”

“I think so…”

And he could, in a way. It wasn’t hearing, exactly. The sound wasn’t in his ears, it was in his head. The same way that the cool water didn’t touch his hooves, but his mind. Yet there it was, all the same, the calm motion of the river.

“Shh. Listen closer.” Pollux’s voice was hushed.

Apricot’s eyebrows furrowed, and then he gasped. “I hear—”

His teacher whispered, “Yes?”

“I hear a beat.” Apricot opened his eyes and looked up at Pollux, shocked.

The pale mage grinned. “What is magic?”

Apricot closed his eyes again, feeling the rhythm of the water—of the magic itself—thrumming inside him. He could follow it with his hoof, mouth slack with wonderment. “Magic is a song…”