Thicker Than Water

Over the next few days, things on the ship settled into a new routine. From sunrise to noon, Apricot spent most of his time up on the deck with Pollux, learning musical theory out of a ponderous tome the mage had lent him, written by some pony named Kemholtz. He still wasn’t sure how knowing scales and harmonics was going to help him cast spells, but he wasn’t about to question his new mentor.

In Apricot’s eyes, the real lessons only began after lunchtime. The two unicorns sequestered themselves at the Aurora’s prow, where Pollux showed him more about listening to the song, and demonstrated what it sounded—felt—like when a mage cast spells within it.

After dinner, while he was helping Miss Beatriz down in the galley, Apricot would do his best to practice listening, feeling the rhythm of magic all around him as he scrubbed pots and pans. It made the time pass quickly, but more importantly, he was getting better at it—for the first two evenings, it had taken nearly a minute to transition from the river to the song, but now he could latch onto the beat in moments.

Cleaning dishes was boring, but at least it gave him an excuse to delay going to the cabin he and his parents were sharing. Though the top bunk was inarguably more comfortable than the barrel, sleeping in his parents’ room was embarrassing—he hadn’t done that since he was a tiny foal afraid of thunder and lightning. And then there was the strange way his mom and dad kept acting…

He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but whenever he started on an excited explanation of his latest lesson, his mother had a tendency to go quiet and close off. His father was more supportive, but Apricot didn’t miss the way Inger’s eyes kept flicking toward Cranberry, or the worry buried within them. And sometimes, late at night while he stayed up late, skimming through Kemholtz under the covers by faint hornlight, he could hear urgent whispers below him. More than once, he’d heard his name, but whenever he tried to catch the words they fell silent again.

It was easy to forget about it in the light of day. Gradually, he felt something approaching, some new knowledge that he’d been skirting the edges of with Pollux. Even the combination of the northern ocean’s frigid winds and a particularly dull chapter on time signatures weren’t enough to quell his enthusiasm for the lessons.

“Tempo is vital,” said Pollux, rapping his hoof rhythmically on the deck. “It’s the way you pour energy into your spellwork. The faster the tempo, the more energy. But you must keep it controlled to perform spells with precision. If you don’t pay attention to the time of the music, your grasp will slip and you’ll lose the magic like water through a sieve.”

Pulling a loaned blanket emblazoned with the Katabasis logo tightly around him, Apricot shivered in the cold. “Are faster songs hard to control?”

“Yes. Aside from the mental strain, energetic magic is difficult to handle by nature. That’s why we practice time signatures until they’re an unconscious skill.” Pollux pointed down to the open book on the deck between them. “This one, 4/4 or common time, is what you’ll use most often. It’s simple to keep track of, and gives you plenty of room for variation. More complex spells might use 5/4, 7/8, or esoteric ones specific to the individual enchantment.”

Pollux raised an eyebrow as he lifted a strand of his hair. “I once came across a spell for growing out manes that was in 13/5. I didn’t have the courage to try it out before I forgot it… I’ve spent years wondering if it actually worked.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

Apricot nodded hesitantly, wondering how he was going to keep track of all these numbers while doing magic. Casting a simple spell already took all of his concentration; he didn’t think he could count some strange beat out at the same time.

Pollux calmly closed the book with a thump. “I’d say that’s enough theory for one day. Are you ready to get some practice in?”

“Already?” Instantly, Apricot berated himself for questioning his good luck. Of course he wanted to leave the book behind and do some real magic.

“That’s right. It’s time you did more than listen. I think you’re ready to try it for yourself.”

Apricot straightened so sharply that Pollux laughed. “Don’t get too excited. You’re not going to like this: it’s time you unlearn what you know about casting spells.”

His stomach sinking, Apricot tugged his mane. “What do you mean?”

“How did Mr. Strudel teach you to lift something with magic?”

“Well…” Apricot lit his horn. “I touch the river, and then… I just think about the thing lifting, and it does. I can make it do what I want by kind of… picturing what I want it to do, and then letting the river flow through my horn.”

Pollux nodded. “That’s called instinctive or visual spellcasting. A lot of mages, even professional ones, can go far with that alone. But there are deeper ways to use magic. Harder and more complex, but in the end, more rewarding.”

“Spellsinging,” said Apricot, echoing the word his mentor had used so many times.

Smiling, Pollux gave him a nod. “Thousands of years ago, the elk were the first to discover the art. Your mother knows all about their government and their artifacts, but it’s their magic that’s long interested me. I’ve spent most of my life learning the techniques they passed down to their descendants. At first, from an old book—a grimoire of spellsongs that my brother gave me when we were children. Later, I sought out living masters.”

“How? Aren’t they all… gone?”

“Not all. Their descendants have forgotten much about their ancient kin, but spellsinging survives in the remote villages of the commonwealth. I traveled there with Castor a long time ago, after we left our homeland Alastria.” Pollux gazed fondly toward the horizon and the islands of the elk that lay somewhere beyond it. “I spent two years learning from the great spellsinging masters in the treetops of Cariboulla. They humbly call themselves bards; but they’re mages without equal.”

Apricot tugged his blanket tighter as a chill breeze passed. “Why’d you leave?”

“Castor wanted to return to the mainland. Katabasis was already a gleam in his eye, and he was certain I was ready to put my new skills into practice. I wasn’t so sure, but I owed him.” Pollux smiled toward the stern, where Castor stood conversing with the other pegasi. “I’d never have made it this far without my brother.”

With a hesitant grin, Apricot fiddled with the hem of the blanket. “Me either. Strawberry’s the only reason I’m not stuck back in Canterlot.” The smile grew strained as he looked over his shoulder toward the pegasi, whose wings were still glistening with condensation from cloudbreaking. Inger laughed at something Castor was telling him and Tybalt. “I hope my parents don’t get too mad at him…”

Pollux raised a sly eyebrow, not taking his eyes off Castor. “Oh, when my brother and I were colts, we broke plenty of rules. That book he gave me? Stolen, from a passing merchant.”

Apricot blinked, appalled. “He’s a thief!?”

“No, no,” said Pollux, laughing. “A bit full of himself, maybe, but he’s not in the habit of stealing things. That merchant had it coming.” His eyes narrowed. “No decent pony would refuse to spare a few scraps of bread to starving orphans just because one was red-eyed and pale.”

Curiosity at last overpowered Apricot’s manners. “Why is your coat like that?”

“Ah,” said Pollux, calmly. “You’ve never seen an albino before, have you?”

Grateful that his teacher wasn’t angry, Apricot shook his head. Pollux nodded, lifting a white hoof and turning it idly back and forth. “Whatever it is that makes your fur pink—”

“Cerise!”

“Cerise,” amended Pollux, with a chuckle, “I don’t have any of it.” He tugged his hood down further, shielding his face with shade. “Bright lights hurt my eyes, my skin burns easily in the sun, and at times I find it difficult to stay warm. But other than that? I’m the same as you.” He sighed. “Of course, not everyone sees it that way. Like anything rare, we’re surrounded by rumors.”

“Uh… like what?”

“Some say we’re vampires,” said Pollux dryly. “It’s the red irises, I think.” He pulled his lip back, revealing a set of ordinary flat teeth. Rolling his eyes, he let the lip fall back into place. “Others believe we’re evil from birth, the chosen ones of a dark god. And some…” he shivered, huddling deeper under his robes, “some think our bodies have unique alchemical properties, and want to collect.”

“Oh…” Apricot rubbed his foreleg uncomfortably. “Well, you don’t seem evil to me. My dad says I shouldn’t believe rumors about my uncle Rye, either. He’s a pegacorn.”

“Your father’s a wise stallion,” said Pollux, nodding. “Those who do believe such things…” His eyes lost focus for a moment. “Let’s just say if it wasn’t for Castor, I’d likely be dead by now.”

Awkwardly, Apricot nibbled a hoof. “Sorry I asked.”

“Don’t be,” said Pollux, suddenly cheerful. “You’re my apprentice. It’s my job to answer your questions. Now, back to the lesson.” His horn glowed, and Apricot instantly felt the sound of his magic. It was like his voice, bright and golden, sung with skill and grace. “Are you ready to try it?”

“Yes!” Apricot leaned forward, then hesitated. “So… how do I do it? I have to think about a song?”

“No,” said Pollux, lifting an eyebrow, “you have to sing one.”

Apricot’s ears flattened in embarrassment. “Out loud?”

“Well, that might help at first, but it’s not necessary.” His teacher’s horn glowed, and his robes fluttered. He lifted his hem with a hoof to let three small wooden blocks float out, each bearing a carving of one of the traditional signs of the pony tribes: a tall, thin horn for the unicorns; a pair of spread wings for the pegasi; and a five-petaled flower for the earth ponies.

The cubes settled in a row between the two unicorns. Pollux swept a hoof over the blocks. “All right. Go ahead and lift them. Do it the way Mr. Strudel taught you.”

Apricot nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. He’d lifted things heavier than these blocks before, but… he still had trouble levitating more than one thing at the same time.

Screwing his mouth up, he squinted fiercely at the blocks. This was the first time Pollux had asked him to cast a spell. He wasn’t going to botch something this simple. His horn glowed a soft rose.

It was still more natural to dip into the river than the song, so he followed his old habit and felt the coolness rush around him. Picturing the center block lifting, he was gratified to see a rosy sparkle around it as the block leaped into the air.

There’s one… He licked his lips, trying to loosen up his legs. Why was he so tense? He’d done this spell a hundred times.

Not with your new master watching, whispered an unhelpful voice in his head.

His eyes flicked between the other two blocks. The left one wobbled, before jerkily rising from the deck. The other gave a spastic twitch, before flopping limply over onto another side. Apricot’s brows knit in frustration. He squinted harder, his horn flaring with light. The third block quivered, its corner lifting a few millimeters from the wooden panels.

Suddenly, he felt a searing heat in his horn, and a brilliant white flash forced his eyes shut before the light winked out entirely. The blocks clattered to the deck as he yelped, holding his forehead. A familiar pain was already setting in.

“Horn overload,” said Pollux sympathetically. “Sorry, kid. Take some slow, five-second breaths; it’ll make the headache fade faster.”

Apricot inhaled deeply, and let the breath out slowly. To his surprise, it worked. After a few repetitions of the breathing exercise, the dull throbbing that always followed one of those flashes had lessened to a slight ache. Normally he was out for at least five minutes after one of those.

As the pain faded, his cheeks burned. Levitation was basic stuff, hardly the kind of mastery he’d wanted to learn from—and, if he was honest, show off to—Pollux. Mr. Strudel could lift a dozen different pots, pans, and silverware settings at the same time while he flitted about the kitchen, doing the work of a whole restaurant staff by himself. If Apricot couldn’t even handle some stupid foals’ toys, how was he ever going to match that kind of skill?

A nudge on his shoulder drew him back to the present. Pollux gave him one of those quiet head tilts. “You’re getting lost inside your head.”

“Sorry.” Apricot looked away, humiliated. “I must’ve—not been paying attention.”

“Hm.” A sudden freezing wind passed them, and both unicorns hunched against the cold. Pollux shook a few drops of sea-spray from his hoof. “You know, most unicorns your age have difficulty with spells.”

“I’m not—” Apricot bit back a foolish like most unicorns. Everyone always said his brother was an exceptional flier for his age. As much as he wished for it, no one had ever said the same about his magic. Glum, his shoulders slumped under the blanket. “I just thought…”

“You feel like it ought to be easy for you,” said Pollux.

Apricot looked up at him warily, but the older unicorn sounded warmly understanding, not accusatory. Unable to hold his gaze, Apricot turned back down to his hooves. “I know how that sounds,” he said, scraping one against the deck with guilt.

“After all, this is what you’re supposed to be good at, right?” Pollux hefted the unicorn block with a hoof, looking down at the horn symbol emblazoned on its faces. “Your brother and father have their wings…” He tipped the pegasus cube over. “And your mother’s got her knowledge…” He nudged the earth pony block. “But you’re the only one with magic.”

“It just—” Apricot stared down longingly at the carved pegasus wings. “It just seems so easy for them.” He shook his head, feeling rebellious tears at the edges of his eyes. He took a deep breath and buried the urge to cry. He was embarrassed enough. “I know Strawberry practices all the time, but sometimes it seems like he never has any trouble learning things. And I… I can’t even lift a stupid block.”

“I know what it’s like, believe me.” Pollux’s horn flashed, and the wing block leaped up into his other hoof. “I know how it feels to lie awake at night, burning with envy, wishing you were something else. Someone like your brother, strong and confident, able to do anything or get any gir—ahem.”

Clearing his throat hastily, he turned the block in his hooves. “The hard truth is that you’ll always have to work more for it. The road to true mastery is longer for unicorns than pegasi or earth ponies. Our gift is complicated, dangerous, intangible. Few ever learn more than basic telekinesis and a few spells related to their marks.”

He lifted the unicorn block up to the sun. “But those who do can move the stars.”

Apricot’s mouth was dry. He remember the way Princess Celestia’s magic had felt that day in the cemetery. “Even me?”

“Well, not if you give up.” Pollux stood and lightly tossed the unicorn block down to join the other two. “But you’re not the kind of pony to quit, are you? Come on, let’s go again. This time, just lift one of them.”

Holding the blanket around his neck, Apricot stood and took another deep breath. Focusing, his horn blazed to life, and the block hovered a half-meter into the air.

Slowly pacing a circle around him and the blocks, Pollux nodded. “Now, listen to the spell you’re casting.”

Apricot closed his eyes, maintaining the image of the block. He sank into the magic, listening for the beat. And there it was, calm and steady, but… there was something new. Something shaky and hesitant, but familiar. His eyebrows lifted in surprise as he found the sound of his own voice amid the rolling drumbeat of the current.

It was a faint, simple tune. He liked the sound—his magic was light and filled with verve. Smiling, he listened to the notes. “Hang on… didn’t we hum this together yesterday?”

“That’s right. You’re hearing the melody of levitation.” Pollux whistled the short, repetitive ditty, somehow perfectly in tune with the one in Apricot’s head. “It’s one of the simplest songs.”

“Simple, huh?” Apricot opened his eyes, watching the other two blocks gloomily. Not simple enough for me to lift three foal’s toys…

“Don’t let your guard down just because it’s not complex. Simplicity is strength. You can easily alter a simple song, make it louder, softer, faster, weave other music into it…” Pollux pushed the floating block with the tip of his hoof, and Apricot felt a sudden pulsing chord as it spun. “Now, instead of focusing on the block, concentrate on the song itself. Keep the magic flowing.”

A little confused, Apricot obeyed. He let the block fade from his attention, focusing entirely on that song. Unconsciously, he hummed the melody under his breath. “This isn’t so hard…”

“Good. You’re singing the spell—you’ve gathered all the power you need, and you’re ready to release it. For complex enchanting, you’ll lay the groundwork for releasing that magic ahead of time, but for simple spells like levitation or ones that require speed, like battlemagic, you can just visualize the spell as you did before.”

“But how’s that any different than using the river?”

Pollux’s smile had a triumphant edge. “It’s the difference between throwing a rock and aiming a loaded trebuchet. Before, you were wasting most of your energy just summoning up the magic to do what you wanted. Now, you’ve already got it primed in your horn, just waiting for you to let it out. Lift the block.”

Not quite understanding the distinction, Apricot shrugged and looked back at the unicorn-carved block. Still singing the song, he pictured it rising. It shot into the air, hovering instantly at eye-level without a quiver of motion.

“Good. Now…” Pollux tapped the block again, but this time it didn’t spin. Apricot’s eyes widened slightly. The intrusive chord had appeared again, but he was so deep in singing that it didn’t shake his magical voice at all. Pollux smiled. “Lift the others.”

Apricot’s heart beat faster. This is it, he suddenly realized. This was why he’d come to Pollux. Almost fearfully, he envisioned the other blocks rising.

Immediately, they flew up to join the first, bobbing to the rhythm of the song. Apricot stared, transfixed.

“Now you see it,” said Pollux, hushed. “It’s not that spellsinging makes you stronger. It’s that it gives you control, letting you use all your magic to do exactly what you want. Skill trumps power every time.”

Still singing, Apricot sent the blocks spinning around each other in a circle. Fascinated, he quickened the pace of the song, and watched them whirl faster. It wasn’t even a struggle… all he had to do was keep the melody going.

Slowly, his eyes slid toward a coil of rope lying by the railing of the ship. I wonder how hard it would be…

In the magic, he raised his voice, and a glimmer of rose light surrounded the rope. The entire coil lifted, drooping in his magical grip. Still, there was no strain, just a slight increase in tempo. The blocks continued spinning.

“All right.” Pollux smiled. “I think you’ve got enough to practice on your own tonight. Tomorrow we’ll pick up time signatures again before we move on to harmonics.”

Only half-listening, Apricot nodded. Turning around as the blocks swirled about him, his mouth hung open in wonderment. It was so easy this way…

A few nearby barrels scraped the deck before rising into the air. Pollux turned, noticing them, and his eyes widened. “I think that’s enough for now, Apricot.”

“Please, just a little more,” said Apricot, lost in the song. He wasn’t even thinking about the objects anymore. The notes rose in crescendo as he sang, feeling his magical voice ring through his horn. The blanket fluttered around him, lifting from his shoulders.

“Careful, now. Don’t try too much, too fast. Take it slow.”

“Just a little—”

“Apricot. Slow down.”

Apricot’s eyes snapped back down to see his teacher’s robes billowing around him, glowing rose. He froze. “Y—your clothes… I’m not trying to do that.”

“You have to control it,” said Pollux, his steely red eyes calm, yet full of buried urgency. “Slow the tempo.”

He tried, but the music was so loud and quick that it was hard to concentrate. Apricot clenched his teeth, trying to hum slowly under his breath, but it was as if the song was carrying him away. “Pollux… I think something’s wrong—”

“Sing with me,” said his master, horn glowing. Apricot felt Pollux’s voice join the song, and tried to follow, but he couldn’t seem to match his teacher’s lethargic tempo. It was like running down a hill, trying to stop before crashing at the bottom. His own momentum carried him forward.

The blocks climbed upward, passing the forward sail. Apricot spaced his legs out, trying to balance in the swirling magic. “Pollux!”

“Listen to my song!” Pollux’s horn flared brighter, his eyes locked intently on Apricot’s. “Slow it down. 4/4!”

Apricot focused on his teacher’s voice, heart pounding as he grasped for it, but the moment he reached out, his own song surged forward faster than ever. Frantic, he looked around at barrels, loose yardage, belaying pins, and their own clothes, all floating as if gravity had vanished. At the far side of the deck, his father and the other two pegasi had all turned to watch with bafflement.

“Control, Apricot, you need control,” said Pollux.

The deck lurched beneath his hooves, and he cried out, “Dad!”

* * *

Inger snorted. “You’re telling me that actually fooled the guards?”

“Oh, my brother’s disguise was very convincing,” said Castor, grinning. “Had them eating out of his hooves. Pollux looks good in a dress. At least, that’s what I say when I want a rise out of him.”

“You’re making this up…”

“If you ask Pollux, he’ll say I am.” Castor shrugged, still smirking wickedly. “Once we were past the guards, finding our employer’s stolen ledger was easy.”

Tybalt’s snort was eerily similar to Inger’s. “Where was this, anyway? I’ve never heard of Brackwater Village.”

“Alastria,” said Castor, his smile souring. “It was our last job before leaving our homeland. If we’d stayed any longer, then we’d have been there when the griffons marched into the protectorate and seized the capital.”

“Ah,” said Tybalt, nodding grimly. “I expect there was plenty of work for mercenaries after the—” He paused, looking at Inger, who was staring at him in puzzlement. “What? Have I got something on my face?”

Inger pointed mutely at his father’s locket, which was floating above the collar of his summer robe. All three pegasi stared in confusion.

“What the—” Castor suddenly spread his wings, watching water droplets drip up off of them into the air, where they hung like beads. His head whipped toward the bow of the ship, where Apricot and Pollux were in the midst of their afternoon lesson. Inger peered at them, suddenly alert.

His son’s horn was glowing a brilliant rose, and debris was floating all around him. Inger’s mouth went slack. Were the two unicorns casting some spell together? He’d never seen Apricot do anything like this. He’d never seen anyone do anything like this.

Suddenly Tybalt’s locket jerked upward, choking him. His wings flapped. “Gah—!”

“Dad!” cried Apricot.

Inger exploded into motion, galloping across the deck toward his son. Wind rushed past his face, forcing him to squint at the searing light attached to Apricot’s head. Soap bubbles from a spilled bucket floated past him, casting his frantic reflection back.

Beneath him, his hooves lost traction on the deck as gravity seemed to wither. For a moment, his legs scrabbled uselessly at the air as he hovered, before his wings flared wide and he streaked through the air. Pollux was reaching a hoof out to touch Apricot, his own horn blazing red. “Cut off the spell,” he shouted. “Stop the song, before you—”

There was a tremendous flash of white and a vast tectonic rumble. A spherical shell of rose light burst outward over the entire deck. Inger’s wings froze for a moment as he plummeted back down, landing on wide-spaced legs with catlike grace. Barrels and loose tools clattered to the deck as gravity reasserted itself. Ahead, Apricot had fallen too, clutching his head with both forehooves.

Inger reached them in moments, wrapping a hoof beneath his son and lifting him. “Apricot!”

“He’s all right,” panted Pollux, head hung low with exertion, but face turned up with alert eyes. “Another horn overload. Bit more intense than the last one…”

Apricot was huffing and puffing, his eyes still squeezed shut. “S-sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

Inger wasn’t even sure what had happened. All he knew was that Apricot apparently wasn’t injured, and that was enough for a flood of relief to crash over him. He hugged his son tightly, tucking Apricot’s head under his chin and releasing a heavy breath that puffed through the colt’s mane. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a headache,” said Apricot, opening his eyes at last and letting his hooves drop. He winced, glancing up at Pollux. “I didn’t mean to…”

“And that,” interrupted the older unicorn, sounding worn but bizarrely cheerful, “is why we memorize time signatures.”

Wide-eyed, Apricot nodded. He squirmed against Inger, who let him go and stood back. “I—I understand. I’ll learn them all, I promise.”

Pollux raised his head at last, brushing the front of his robes. “Good!”

All three of them looked around, surveying the damage. One of the barrels had cracked open along one side, spilling liquid—water, fortunately, not flammable alcohol—across the deck. Others were still slowly rolling as the ship swayed. The ship’s crew were all staring at them from the deck and the rigging above, giving the unicorns a wide berth as they secured loose pins and rope.

Apricot looked pale and shaky under all those wary eyes. Inger stood between him and the others, tipping his son’s head up with a hoof. He peered into Apricot’s pupils, which were wide and dilated. “I think you should go back to our cabin for a while.”

Mutely, the colt nodded. He lifted his heavy book from the deck—with his hooves—and tucked it under one foreleg. Pausing, he looked up at the other unicorn. “Pollux…”

“Don’t worry,” said the mage, beaming as he tugged the hood of his robe back on. “No one got hurt. Just make sure you keep it small and slow when you practice from now on, okay?”

“Okay.” Apricot hesitantly trudged past Inger toward the stairs to the lower decks. Inger moved to follow him, but paused as he saw Cranberry standing at the far end of the ship. Their eyes met, and she gave him a tight-lipped shake of her head.

All eyes followed the young unicorn as he crossed the deck to meet her. She ushered him down the stairs, casting another worried look back at Inger, before she disappeared after him.

Tybalt and Castor breached the gap between them and the rest of the crew, trotting up to join Inger and Pollux. “All right,” said Castor, raising an eyebrow. “Mind telling us what the hell that was about?”

Pollux favored his brother with a breathless grin. Turning to Inger, he said, “Lord Vallen, your son’s the most powerful unicorn I’ve ever seen. For a moment there, I thought he’d send the whole ship floating off into the sky.”

Inger blinked, stunned. That lurch he’d felt beneath his hooves, all the floating objects—his son had done that?“That’s not—Apricot’s—I mean, until now he’s had trouble levitating pans and opening doors. How could he do all that?”

“Spellsinging. I’ve never seen someone pick it up so quickly,” said Pollux, shaking his head in wonder. “The kid’s a natural. If he actually starts doing the readings I assign, in a few weeks he’ll be putting the apprentices at the Celestial Magisterium to shame.” His smile faded at last. “Which makes it even more important that he learns to control his abilities.”

“I’ll say.” Castor whistled, looking around the deck. “You’re not planning on teaching him any battlemagic, are you?”

“Not until he’s had a lot more practice with the basics.” Pollux puffed out an apprehensive breath. “At any rate, Lord Vallen, you ought to be proud. He’ll be a fine mage someday.”

If Inger was feeling any pride, it was still buried by cooling terror. Grimly, he watched the shattered fragments of a barrel rock on the deck. “I’ll make sure he takes your lessons seriously.”

Pollux gave him a brief nod. “Now, if you gentlecolts will excuse me, I’d like to give the ship a thorough examination, make sure there’s no leftover magic lingering anywhere.”

“Go ahead,” said Tybalt, looking around at the mess on the deck with fascination. “Please, report back if you find anything.”

Castor gave Inger a nudge with his hoof. “Guess it’s a good thing we’ve got him along after all, eh? Nothing in the Elderwood’s going to trouble us with two mages around.”

Inger swallowed, hearing Cranberry’s voice echo in his head. The dangers aren’t always things you can hit with your hooves…

“I’m going to go check on our supplies,” said Castor, turning to leave, “make sure nothing moved around or broke open down below. I’ll see the two of you at dinner.”

After he departed, Inger stood silently, head whirling with thoughts. A touch brought him back to earth. Tybalt was standing beside him, looking curious. “Quite impressive.”

“I didn’t know he could…” Inger slowly shook his head. “He’s been struggling with the simplest spells for months. Mr. Strudel told us that some unicorns don’t master levitation magic until they’re five or six.”

“I wouldn’t call it mastery yet,” said Tybalt, glancing at the broken barrel. “Still. Such power… and neither you nor Cranberry are even unicorns. Where did he inherit such a gift?”

“Cranberry’s father was a unicorn,” said Inger, fluffing his wings with a puzzled frown. “I’ve heard it skips a generation.”

Tybalt stared off the bow, unreadable. “So it would seem.”

Inger folded his wings tightly, taking a bracing breath. “I’ll need to talk with Cranberry about this. She wasn’t happy with him coming before, and now…”

“Now, she oughtto be thrilled to have somepony as competent as Pollux teaching him.” Still expressionless, Tybalt touched a hoof to his locket. “Surely leaving him untrained would be even more dangerous.”

Doubt gnawed at Inger. “This might sound ridiculous, but did the first expedition report any strange feelings in the Elderwood? Any kind of… magical weariness? Any suspicion that they might have been enchanted?”

“No.” Tybalt’s enigmatic facade finally dropped as he scoffed. “To tell the truth? I’ve come to believe that the tales about these old forests are all myths. The elk are notoriously private. They spin those wild tales about monsters and renegade magic to keep visitors from poking around their homelands, nothing more. I doubt we’ll be in any more danger here than we would be in the glades outside Canterlot.”

“They’re not all myths.” Inger swallowed, remembering the stifling darkness under the trees of the Antlerwood. “And Apricot’s gifts might make him a target.”

“A target for what?” Tybalt laughed warmly, patting Inger’s shoulder. “There’s nothing in there but trees and elken ruins.”

“I—” Inger caught himself, sighing. “You’re right, you’re right.” The reassurance was more for himself than his father. “And clearly, the lessons are working. He’s learning so quickly…”

A loose barrel slowly rolled past them. Inger’s gaze followed it, as he felt something strange stirring in his breast. Pollux was right, he realized, with a belated smile. I am proud of him. With a faint smile, he murmured, “The most powerful unicorn he’s ever seen…”