Cucumber Seed could almost taste blood in the air.
He knew that it was just the brine and salt and the reddish-pink sunset playing tricks on him, but the knowledge had only marginal success in calming his racing heart. He could practically hear it hammering away in his chest over the pounding surf and the cries of the gulls in the distance.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to soothe his nerves. Despite having fine, unstable sand beneath his hooves, he could still feel the reassuring steadiness of the earth beneath it, full of life and hope. The earth would never forget its children, no matter where they ended up.
Or so he hoped.
When he opened his eyes, he was still standing on the beach of Canterford’s bay. A long, semi-circular barricade of rocks farther out in the water protected it from the worst of the waves, providing safe harbour for their skiffs and fishing boats. Beyond that, he could see the upper decks and masts of their anchored galleys rising above the barricade, and the tiny silhouettes of sailors standing at attention. A good half of the fleet was present.
Two other stallions stood on the beach with him, casting long shadows in the sand.
Flint Weave and Lumber Stack, his fellow acolytes in the Ordo Aquarius.
At least a third of Canterford had also showed up for the ritual. Ponies of all ages stood higher uphill, as if keeping their hooves on dirt instead of sand would keep them safe from the dangers lurking in the sea that evening. They murmured amongst themselves, sounding very much like an audience in the theatre waiting for a play to begin.
Then, he heard it.
Faintly.
The song of the sea.
Every sailor, every mother, every mate in every part of the known world dreaded its haunting tune—the Siren’s call that could steal both a pony’s mind and body, taking them beneath the waves, never to be seen again.
The melodious notes of the otherworldly choir were sweet and soothing, yet they also carried a lingering undertone of loss and bitterness. Cucumber Seed found himself humming along, and he quickly realised that so was everypony else.
Then, he saw the pod arrive.
Like sharks, their spiny dorsal crests rose out of the waves and wound their way gracefully through the narrow channel that allowed fresh seawater into the bay. Six of them arranged themselves in the deeper part of the bay to form an arc, like an open manacle waiting to clamp shut on him.
One crest, however, moved into shallow water.
As it neared the beach, more and more of its owner rose above the water. Heavy-set back, reminiscent of a dragon’s. Thick, long and muscular neck. Angular head with a long muzzle, lined with spiny frills. Shimmering scales of seafoam green and aquamarine blue. Amber eyes. And razor-sharp teeth, oh so many teeth.
The other Sirens raised their heads above the water and continued singing whilst the closest Siren mutely inspected Cucumber and his peers.
A minute passed.
Then another.
Cucumber felt sweat erupting from his pores.
Then, the Siren locked eyes with him, and his breath hitched in his throat as the inevitable realisation bore down on him like a ship’s bow at full speed.
You. I choose you.
He swallowed and took a couple of hesitant steps forward, ignoring the relieved sighs from Flint and Lumber on either side of him.
The Sirens’ song rose in volume, as did the pounding of his heart.
Cucumber turned to look at the crowd, hoping that some of his kin had shown up, but found no one of his blood. The only familiar ones among the sea of faces was that of Elder Pine Hoof of the Ordo Aquarius, who gave him an encouraging nod, and that of the Lender’s Guild’s collection master, who scowled at him whilst clutching a massive ledger covered in suspicious, dark stains.
It was time to go.
Time to make something of his unremarkable life.
Years spent in the order studying and meditating had prepared him for this moment.
He turned back to face the Siren and stepped into the water.
When he was almost neck-deep, the Siren reared out of the water and loomed over him, taller than a house and mighty as a dragon in all her terrible beauty. She had a grotesque scar in the middle of her deep chest, where something had been torn from her flesh and scales.
He also saw a misshapen lump on her midriff, around the part where her tail began, where the coarse, plate-like scales gave way to smoother, fish-like ones. The lump itself sported a tuft of red hair, and her scales were somewhat warped and twisted around a distinct slit on it, giving the impression of a sleeping eye…
But before he could make out further details, the Siren spoke.
“What is your name?” she asked with a voice soft as silk, yet with the sharpness of a hidden knife.
“My—my name is Cucumber Seed,” he said, averting his eyes.
“Well met, little pony. My name is Calando Stella. But for those who are dear to me, I also answer to Cally.”
She then placed a cloven hoof under his chin and raised his muzzle so that their eyes met, and continued, “Do you fear death?”
“Yes.”
“Do you fear the abyss?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
Her crest and frills flared out. “Do you fear me?”
His ears flattened. “Yes.”
Her eyes then softened as she lowered her frills and stroked his cheek with a hoof. “My little Cucumber Seed, become one with me, and you will never fear again. My might for your love, as is the pact between our people.”
“I… I am yours.” His voice quavered as he murmured the final words that would seal his fate. “My life for the herd, my life for you, as is the pact between our people. From now to the end of time.”
She sang to him, and he sang back to her. Whether with words or primal sounds beyond the understanding of equines, he couldn’t quite tell.
He only knew that the lilting notes filled his heart with hope and longing. Desire, too. When no earthly mare had ever seen fit to grace him with her favour, Calando had chosen him without a second thought. She was more beautiful than any mare and kinder than any mother, and she had chosen him, a lowly stallion with no more than a barren farm and a life of debt to his name.
She caressed him with her forelegs, her frills and her tail. He shivered at her touch and nuzzled her snout, breathing heavily.
Her scales glowed faintly, and with more than just the last rays of the sun. His coat seemed to glow as well, tingling with ancient magic. The churning water around him had filled with thick strands of slime similar to that of a hagfish’s, and he could feel a burning, itching sensation all over when his wet skin came into contact with it. There might’ve been a few clumps of his tan coat floating around in the water as well, but he had his mind on other things.
The voices of the other Sirens around them rose to a crescendo as she embraced him with both forelegs and pulled him beneath the surface, dragging him into deeper and deeper water. Undeterred, Cucumber Seed clung to her even as his last breath escaped through his nostrils as a stream of bubbles.
Calando grinned when he eventually found the correct orifice for his member, and their muzzles met in a shameless kiss that sent a delightful series of pulses down the full length of his spine and… other extremities. She then blew a warm breath of seawater into his starved lungs, and the inky blackness clouding the edges of his vision finally surged over him, carrying him into the abyss.
Cucumber could not tell how much time had passed since he last had a thought rattling around in his head, but it must’ve been an appreciable amount. Certainly for longer than the deepest sleep he’d ever had, and untouched by dreams, too.
He felt like a foal, swaddled up in many layers of cloth and stuffed in a crib almost too small for him, with a mattress that undulated and waved beneath him as if inhabited by a monstrous snake, forcing his body to twist and bend with its movement.
All that movement did no favours for his sore body; he felt like he had been scrubbed raw all over with a scouring brush.
His eyes felt like somepony had glued them shut.
Opening them took a while, and when he finally succeeded, he was rewarded with a blinding explosion of light that stung his eyes and seared them with salt.
He screamed, but neither sound nor air escaped him even though his chest heaved and his cheeks puffed out.
Slowly, the pain in his eyes subsided, and Cucumber couldn’t help gazing in wonder when the haphazard splashes of colour sharpened and reorganised themselves to form a stunning picture of a great mountain valley. He soared above it like an eagle, silently marvelling at the vast expanse of trees and flocks of birds in every colour of the rainbow, all drenched in varying hues of blue.
Then, his eyebrows shot up when he realised that he was looking a forest of coral and schools of fish.
Turning his head proved next to impossible, so his eyes roved around instead, until they focused on where he’d expected to find his chest and forelegs.
He saw only a broad expanse of pink flesh sparsely covered in soft-looking scales, vaguely reminiscent of the contours of a body curled up in a foetal position and lying on its side.
His body.
He tried to scream again, but to no avail. The pink flesh had covered and sealed up his mouth and nostrils as well, right up to the bridge of his muzzle. No air escaped.
No water escaped, either.
His mouth and throat and lungs were flooded with saltwater. He couldn’t breathe.
Stars above, I’m drowning!
Cucumber thrashed and squirmed, but his fleshy crib did not afford him more than some feeble twitching and stretching. He could still feel his legs pressed up against his body, but they did not obey the urge to gallop.
Memories of that evening came flooding back to him.
Sunset. Beach. Sirens. Water. Singing. Drowning. Lovemaking…
Calando Stella…
With the memories came the realisation that he should’ve passed out already. Oddly enough, that knowledge only helped to calm him down. His lungs did not burn despite being filled with water, and his thoughts remained clear and lucid, so he apparently did not need to breathe, after all.
And then he remembered.
The Ordo Aquarius had prepared him for this.
Cucumber banished all present thoughts and stilled his mind, focusing on his heartbeat—which felt unusually distant and powerful, as if it was thrice its usual size and located somewhere behind his back. He went through the myriad texts and manuscripts he’d memorised as well, mentally reciting the lessons his masters had drilled into his head over many moons.
Click.
Click-click…
He frowned and redoubled his focus. Linguistics, anatomy, history, philosophy—even though he’d struggled with much of them, there was more than enough to keep him occupied.
Click-click… Clack. Tick-tick, click…
His eyes widened when he recognised the series of clicks and pauses as the order’s basic imitation of the Sirens’ native tongue.
“Hello? Can you hear me?”
Calando was speaking to him!
Cucumber hastily clicked back to her using his teeth. At least his jaw muscles still worked flawlessly.
“My love?” he asked, roving his eyes around. He still couldn’t see her.
“Nope. Neighbour, more like.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Look. To your left.”
Cucumber did so, but he couldn’t see much beyond the mound of pink flesh and scales covering his body. He strained to shift his head just a little more, and then he spotted a lump close to his ribs, which vaguely resembled the shape of a forehead. It was covered in tough scales and had a tuft of red hair floating lazily in the water, and its solitary purple eye winked at him when he met its gaze.
“Greetings, brother. I’m Pic!”
“You… brother?”
“Of the Ordo Aquarius, yes? I presume that is why you even know how to speak like this.”
“Oh. Yes. Hello.” He’d forgotten about the records, about the first stallion given to Calando Stella. They’d never met. “I’m… I’m Cucumber Seed.”
“Nice to meet you.” Pic winked again. “Been looking forward to having somepony new to converse with! Don’t worry, Cally takes good care of us.”
Before Cucumber could answer, the valley below suddenly went vertical, and he had a brief bout of dizziness before growing accustomed to the change in orientation. A massive shadow loomed over him like a great arch, bending closer until he could clearly see the Siren’s sharp muzzle and gentle smile.
With that, the last piece fell into place.
He had merged with Calando’s midriff – flesh, bones, hair and all – as Sirens were wont to do with stallions they caught.
“Good morning, my loves,” she clicked as she nuzzled their faces. “Especially to you, my little Cucumber Seed. You have had a swifter and more coherent Awakening than most, quicker even than my dear Pickle Jar’s. Are you ready to see the world?”
Cucumber gulped—apparently, he still could do that.
This was his life now, wasn’t it?
A tiny part of him despaired at the prospect, but he pushed it aside with the understanding long passed-down from the order that regrets would do him no good. Not when any meaningful way to change his fate lay far behind him already. The only path left open was to make the most of it.
He managed an awkward grin that no one else could see. “I… Yes, I think so.”
Calando did show him the world, and she began with the Griffish Isles. She had been called upon to escort several galleys there, not long after his Awakening.
Storms abounded on the route to the Isles.
Cucumber remembered hating storms, back when he was still earthbound. He used to crawl under the bed as a colt, crying whenever thunder boomed in the sky whilst the house groaned and shuddered in gale winds and cold, pelting rain.
Things didn’t improve for him even after he’d grown up.
He’d been on a ship once, without a Siren escort. The Ploughshare’s crew probably still told stories about how he’d soiled himself on the poop deck whilst clinging to a rain barrel, too frightened to even crawl through the hatch to safety.
He always told himself that there was no shame in fearing such storms at sea, though.
Most earth pony settlements had poor relations with Pegasopolis and Unicornia, and so did not have cloudsmiths or wizards to bend the elements to their will.
Canterford was no different in that regard, but they did have the aid of Sirens.
And this time, he had Calando.
The monstrous waves smashed against hulls and tossed the galleys around like toys, but they might as well have been ripples for all they did to her sleek and powerful form. She did not fight the water. Instead, she flowed with it, or outright parted it like a blade through butter when it did not align with her will.
By extension, Cucumber felt the power of the storm and sea through her body. He felt every surge, every lull, the impact of every bolt of lightning on the roiling surface. It all resonated in his very bones, even right through the hardening scales that grew over his body.
And in the midst of the turmoil, Calando sang to them all.
Her melodious voice easily pierced through the cacophony of the storm with a slow, wordless, ethereal tune that bade them forget their fears. It filled their hearts with courage, reminding them of the steadfast might of the earth that lay beneath them, though it was separated by many fathoms of ocean.
The storm could do nothing to break their spirits, not even when it snapped one of the masts like a dry sapling, not even when it snagged and tossed a few ponies overboard. Calando simply fetched them as they paddled on the churning surface and returned them to ship.
Before long, nearly everypony in the fleet was belting out a boisterous song in defiance of the storm.
Cucumber was somehow able to make out the words as well, despite having burst his eardrums when Calando dove into the abyss for a nap. Magic or not, he sang along with clicks of his own, including the parts where they proclaimed all the naughty things they would do with mares once they were on shore leave.
He couldn’t help clicking his teeth so rapidly that the only meaning left in the chatter was elation, laughter. Pic was doing it, too.
He was one with the sea.
One with the crew.
One with the storm.
One with the Siren.
He was alive.
Storms weren’t the only perils at sea.
The ships they escorted, especially those belonging to merchants, often attracted pirates.
Calando seldom needed to do more than reveal herself as guardian of their ships in order to deter such unpleasant ponies and griffons, but those brave and foolish enough to attack would quickly find themselves jumping overboard for a befuddled swim the moment she started singing. And if any pirates had wizards or warlocks who dared to retaliate with magic, she would simply smash holes into their ships until they had more important things to worry about than plundering the vessels under her protection.
Once or twice, ponies actually had the audacity to come at them with cruel hooks and harpoons, but Calando was far too agile in the water for such clumsy weapons to work. And even if they grazed her, they could not penetrate her tough scales, not even the thinner ones growing over his foetal body.
After every exhilarating battle, she would dive into the gloomy depths, where they would reaffirm their pact and make sweet love to one another.
Cally showed him many places, from the loneliest fjords of the Frozen North to the fiery shores of the Dragon Lands. Together, they explored the deepest ruins and shipwrecks of long-forgotten civilisations, collecting whatever baubles and trinkets that struck her fancy. Some she shared with the fleet, but most she discarded once their novelty had worn off.
When she wasn’t escorting ships, hunting or exploring, she often gathered with other Sirens of her pod in various grottos throughout the sea.
Cucumber quickly gave up attempting to estimate the locations of these communal grounds, since most of them were far beyond the reach of the sun’s light, and becoming one with Cally had not granted him the powers or aptitudes that enabled her to navigate in complete darkness.
Such places, however, were seldom dark.
The Sirens had cultivated gardens of coral and crystal that glowed with ghostly light of every colour of the sea. There, they played and frolicked in the mild currents, conversing far too richly and rapidly in their native tongue for him to follow.
The other Sirens rarely took much interest in him, beyond maybe complimenting Cally for having found an impressively lucid and sizable stallion to be her mate. He wondered if any of them saw him turning beet-red, or if he was even changing colour at all. There were no mirrors under the sea.
Other stallions, however, proved far more companionable.
Whenever Cally slept together with other Sirens on a soft bed of jelly-like coral, she always made sure to place herself close enough for him to converse with at least one of their mates.
Of the six other Sirens that Cally frequently napped with, five of them had mates just like him – acolytes who had been trained in the order and could speak their tongue. They – those who were awake, at any rate – spoke of anything and everything that came to mind, telling each other of everything they’d seen and learnt since becoming one with their mates. Cucumber especially liked Brim and Sloop, who were both fantastic at weaving tales just like the bards that occasionally visited Canterford.
Pic seldom joined in. He often slept through entire gatherings, as did a couple of other stallions in the pod.
One stallion in particular always made Cucumber a little uncomfortable, though. He belonged to the oldest Siren in the pod, who must’ve caught him on her own, because he neither spoke nor acknowledged the presence of his peers. And the one time Cucumber did manage to meet his eyes, he found only madness lurking in the depths of those twitching, shrunken pupils.
“Will I become like that one day?” he remembered asking Cally.
“All songs must end, my love,” she’d answered solemnly. “But you were well-prepared, and for a brave and clever soul like you, I think a far more peaceful and dignified finale awaits.”
“Will it be worth remembering?”
She’d nodded firmly. “I will make sure of it. Your legacy will live on in my songs, till the end of time, when there are neither ears to hear nor minds to remember.”
Cumber dreamed.
Such was life as Cally’s mate.
The sun and moon didn’t hold much meaning for him anymore. Days didn’t matter. Not months, not years, and certainly not the tinier measurements that earthbound ponies loved to use for organising their entire lives around.
He counted dreams, instead.
Dreams of land. Trees. Ponies.
Of things he used to enjoy. Like tilling the soil and planting seeds. Waiting for the first harvest to ripen. Something as simple as eating a daisy sandwich.
Nightmares, too.
Falling down an endless pit, waiting for an abrupt stop that never came, no matter how long he clenched in terror with his tail between his legs. Fleeing from an unknowable creature from the deepest pit of Tartarus, hell-bent on devouring him. Holding his teeth in his hooves, feeling them dribble out of his mouth like rotten seeds, watching as his hair, skin and bones turned to dust in the wind. Being caught wearing scandalously tight saddle and socks out in public.
Sometimes, the horrors were so terrible that he would wake, chattering and trembling, until Pic or Cally soothed him back to rest.
Some recent nightmares in particular stood out to him.
A blue filly with a dark, mottled rump and teal eyes sometimes came to his rescue, driving away the eldritch horrors that plagued his dreams. They would often speak in Equine, but he could never recall what they spoke of, only that she pitied him and wished that she could do more to save him.
Cumber always made sure to thank her, despite not knowing whether to trust somepony who had both wings and a horn.
At other times, the nightmares were real.
They crossed paths with Sirens from other pods. One at a time. Or two, sometimes three.
Sirens with red, glowing gems embedded in their chests.
Most of the time, they acted as if she did not exist, treating her as little more than flotsam even when they happened to ride on the same ocean current.
But if they ever met during a hunt, or worse, whilst escorting ships… their eyes and gems burned with angry, red light.
They hated Cally. They hated him.
“Weakling! Traitor!” they roared, baring their teeth as they bore down on her and the ships she protected. “Ponies are not our masters!”
Their screeching songs filled his mind with the dread of an inescapable predator, the betrayal of an unfaithful lover, setting his shrivelled body all aquiver with terror to the point where he almost expected his heart to start thumping away again. Their loathsome lyrics leached lies into his very bones, telling him that he was no more than a worm, a parasite, unworthy of love or pity, only fit for the lowliest of briny bottom-feeders.
Cumber squirmed as if to tear himself away from Cally’s flesh, unable to break free or deafen himself to the horrid song.
Even sleeping Pic would stir uncomfortably, clicking out vague mutterings about unpleasant neighbours and tax collectors.
And then Cally’s heart would thunder.
“You dare?” she roared back. “They are mine! Mine to love and cherish!”
Her counter-song drove away the pain and terror, freeing his mind. Hot blood pulsed in her veins whilst her muscles bunched and flexed, powering her through the water like a lance as she surged and darted around her adversaries, snapping at them with her jaws and striking them with her hooves and tail.
Upon hearing her war anthem, the sailors aboard the ships rallied and came to her aid with harpoons and barbed nets. No single pony could pierce a Siren’s scales even when they launched a harpoon with all their might, but Cally had strength to spare, and she did not shy away from wielding weapons from lesser creatures.
The other Sirens called her weak and foolish. They called her traitor, but they were wrong.
Their blood darkening the water attested to that.
Sometimes, her foes might snatch away a careless stallion or two, and they might score her hide with gashes or bruises from a few lucky hits, but never more than that.
Cally was stronger, wiser and more loyal than any of them, and together with the fleet, she always rose victorious, leaping high above the waves as her beaten foes retreated. And Cumber clicked out his relief and joy as the sailors cheered above the waters.
“Mister Seed, there is no use hiding! Come out before things really get out of hoof!” yelled the burly stallion as he kicked aside and overturned empty crates in the barn.
Cumber crouched behind a couple of hay bales in the dry field, feeling beads of sweat sliding down all over his coat as he watched another gruff stallion rummaging through his tool shed.
They’d come to collect, and he didn’t have any bits left.
Mother and Father had disappeared, fled on a ship bound for Gallopway, if the rumours were true. Or maybe they had hiked up the mountains in the dead of night to wait things out.
Either way, the Lender’s Guild didn’t care.
They’d squeeze him for every mite of copper and gold left to his name and repossess the farm, but even that probably would not be enough to settle the debt accrued by Father’s gambling habit. Depending on how wide the margin was, they’d either send him to the salt mines or the cane fields, and nopony who got sent to those places ever came back. At least, not to a life that didn’t involve begging on the streets or sleeping with the rats and fleas after being broken by endless labour.
Cumber clenched his teeth and scrunched his eyes shut.
“Tartarus take it all…” he muttered.
It wasn’t his fault!
But the Guild didn’t care, and if he wanted to avoid spending the rest of his life being a slave in all but name, there was only one path left open to him.
Cumber peeped over the hay bale one more time, and after making sure that the stallions were looking the other way, he sidled off, moving as quickly as he dared across the dry earth, praying that his hooves would fall on no sticks or leaves to give him away.
A minute passed in silence, and he’d made it halfway across the field without—
“Stop!” somepony roared.
Cumber yelped and broke into a gallop.
He risked one glance back and saw them charging after him.
His lungs burned as he tore across fields and leaped over fences, then through street after street, past carts, stalls and shop-houses.
Only one more neighbourhood before he reached the chapter house of the Ordo Aquarius. If he made it through their doors and pledged his life in service to the herd, even the Guild wouldn’t dare take him away.
“Stop him!” yelled the stallions. “Don’t let him get away!”
Ponies didn’t bother. Not even when he accidentally bumped into and overturned an entire shelf of expensive spices.
Everypony knew that somepony had to serve.
Better him than them.
And, as if by fate, the chapter house’s heavy doors opened just as he dashed into the courtyard. He barrelled right into the poor slob who’d unwittingly opened it for him, and they both tumbled head over hooves for several paces before skidding to a halt on the smooth floor.
“Take me, please! My life for the herd!” he cried to a robed, elderly stallion who sat at a massive desk piled high with books and scrolls.
Outside, he heard the Guild’s collectors snarl and stomp, but they did not enter after him.
Cumber heaved a sigh of relief and splayed out across the floor, panting.
He was free. At least for a while longer…
Cumber blinked, and the chapter house vanished, replaced with a sloping plain of sand and kelp, shimmering in dancing shafts of sunlight beneath the waves.
He remembered.
A time long past, before he met Cally.
“Nice,” he clicked to himself.
It was better than waking up crying and unable to remember why.
He just wished he could talk to Pic about it. It’d been many, many dreams and memories since they were last awake at the same time. They didn’t get to talk much anymore.
“Good morning, my love. Is something the matter?” asked Cally.
He clicked back an affirmative. “I miss Pic.”
A pause, then…
“And… other things,” he added softly. “I could gallop, once. I could shout and sigh and pant. Hear my heart race. I planted trees and made them grow and…”
He tried to turn his head to look at Cally’s face, but he didn’t have neck muscles anymore. No legs, either. And he was quite sure that his lungs, heart and just about every organ that had once resided in his ribcage and belly had all shrivelled into nothingness. He could only blink and click his teeth.
“And… and now I just… can’t,” he finished as thick, viscous tears clouded up his eyes.
A little bit of his beige forelock floated across his vision when tugged by the current.
Cally gently brushed his mane aside. “I’m sorry, my love.”
“Not your fault. Just wish I was… more.”
“I love you, Cucumber Seed. And I will always be here for you.” She licked away his tears and stroked his cheek. “Come, I think there is something you will like to see.”
She swam to the surface and floated on her back.
The air stung his eyes a little, but he soon forgot about the pain when he saw a massive ship, twice the size of the biggest galley he’d ever seen, with five masts instead of the usual two or three. A green island sat farther in the distance, with many tiny skiffs going to and fro between shore and ship.
Cally indulged him and floated on her back for hours alongside the ship so he could see the sky and birds and watch the ponies at work. And when evening came, she swam farther out and floated again so he could more easily see the sun set beyond the island’s rolling hills.
And when the moon had risen, they made love under its soothing glow in the shallows, surrounded by a forest of kelp. She sang to him, and her caressing touch sent waves of pleasure rippling out from every point of contact, rushing through the shrivelled vestiges of his once-earthbound form, culminating sharply in an organ beneath her flesh and scales that he’d almost forgotten about.
Cumber shivered with glee.
At least one thing down there still worked.
One of Cumber’s dreams ended with an unusual amount of noise.
When he opened his eyes, he found Cally lying down in the sand of a rather cosy cave. Blue globes of light hung on strands of pink jelly from the low ceiling, and he could feel the immense weight of the abyssal water pressing down on him.
Then, a pair of lime-green eyes appeared before him.
“Cally?” he clicked as he narrowed his eyes.
Wait, no. His mate wasn’t supposed to be the size of a pony, and he was never supposed to be able to see the entirety of her sleek body all at once. Certainly not the tan scales on her back and her beige dorsal frills.
Another pair of eyes appeared. Purple ones, belonging to another pony-sized Siren with beige scales and blue frills.
And then another little siren darted into view. Brown eyes just like his, and her somewhat chubby form was covered in bluish-green scales with mottled patches of beige on her tail and back.
“Ah, you are awake.” Cally’s head loomed over them with a toothy smile on her muzzle. “Perfect timing.”
Cumber frowned. “Cally, who are they?”
Cally raised her foreleg and nudged the little Sirens closer. “Andante, Chorale, Fermata… say hello to your father, the bravest stallion in all the sea.”
They looked at her and blinked, then turned to him and nuzzled him with their blunt little snouts, all whilst clicking and crooning. Their frills tickled.
Cumber chattered and giggled, swelling with pride as he listened to their happy, foalish babbling.
No dream or memory could compare to it.
If anypony asked him if he would do it all again, he would’ve said yes. A thousand times, yes.
Canterford had grown.
Cumber saw huge stone piers stretching out into the water, far enough that even their largest ships could be boarded directly from land. Watchtowers as tall as lighthouses guarded the bay, armed with ballistae and catapults. He could even see the new fort looming over the city.
Cally and the rest of the pod sang in the bay whilst their youngest member chose a sire from the acolytes presented by the Ordo Aquarius. They’d left their fillies in one of the pod’s underwater grottos nearby, since they were still too young to worry about such things.
After the mating ritual, Cally swam to a more secluded section of the docks, where they found an old, greying stallion and a younger one waiting. He exchanged a greeting with Cally in Equine, and then shed his robes to dive into the water.
The old stallion floated alongside Cumber and periodically dipped his head under the surface so they could more easily converse.
“Greetings, brother,” the old stallion clicked. Then, hesitantly, he continued, “I… I am Elder Flint Weave of the Ordo Aquarius. Cucumber Seed, do you remember—”
“Stars above, Flint!” he clicked, blinking rapidly. “You’re still around!”
“Yes, it is most perplexing,” Cally chimed in dryly. “Of all the candidates I’ve seen, I would’ve expected you to be snatched up not long after I chose Cucumber. You were my second choice, you know.”
Flint winced a little. “I see. That’s very flattering, thank you.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Cumber clicked. “Flint, I’m a father!”
“Happy for you. Truly.” Flint rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. “Lumber got to be a father, too. Elder Pine was absolutely livid when he found that he’d snuck out and bedded a mare. Had him soundly whipped and put on latrine duty for a decade!”
They laughed together, and maybe even cried a little together as they reminisced about those who had passed on into the Elysian Fields.
Flint asked him many questions about his adventures, about life bound to Cally and all the changes he’d undergone as her mate. Cumber told him of his dreams and memories, and even gave advice on lesson plans for acolytes, to better prepare them for the trials ahead, whilst Flint relayed his answers to an assistant scribe on the dock.
Strangely enough, Flint knew about the blue filly with both horn and wings in his dreams—now a beautiful mare, touched by the Moon. Other chosen acolytes had seen her, too, in every part of the sea they’d dreamt in.
No records before their time had ever mentioned her, so it was a relatively new phenomenon.
Nopony knew who or what she was, and there were rumours in the far shores of mainland Equestria of another mare like her, who bore the mark of the Sun on her flank.
One thing they knew for sure, however.
Those mares were harbingers of the future.
Dreams and memories flowed past him like leaves in a river.
Names and faces, too.
Cally was the only constant in his life, aside from Pic.
But at some point, a new constant entered his life—a new neighbour!
And as luck would have it, his neighbour just happened to be stirring, still tightly swaddled up in the new folds of skin and scales on Cally’s midriff. He had a very scruffy purple mane with streaks of orange running through it.
He chattered to get the fellow’s attention.
Click-click… Clack. Tick-tick, click…
It took a while, but the stallion eventually shifted his gaze until their eyes met.
“Who… who are you?”
“Greetings, brother. I’m Cum. Nice to meet you!”
Author's Note
An entry for Jake The Army Guy's Horsewords Extravaganza.
Inspiration.
