(“My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic,” its characters and situations are copyright of their respective owners. Story copyright 2012 by George Pollock, Jr. All rights reserved.)
Birthright
Part III
by
George Pollock, Jr.
“Rubies with flame sauce,” the young dragon said. It was the cheapest thing on the menu, and it fit his budget at the moment. But he liked flame sauce, so it worked out well.
“Coming up,” the older dragon said. He started throwing sauce ingredients into the huge wok on the lava-rock stove, and they began sizzling. He blew red flame into the stove, the rocks glowed a brighter red and the food spattered louder.
The smaller dragon, a purple-and-green late teen by his kind’s reckoning, watched the cook. The larger creature was apparently from the Orient, the eastern part of the dragon realm of Pyra. It was unusual to see an Oriental dragon this far into the Occident, the western part. The two, however, were at the mouth of an eastern-cuisine food cave, so it made sense. Even if it was a stereotype, the teen admitted.
The evening was rainy, but the dragons, the stove, the ingredient counter nearby and the adjacent table rock at which the teen sat were under a huge canopy supported by giant poles at the cave’s mouth. The young creature had folded in his wings to keep them out of the rain. The drops hitting the canopy almost matched the sizzling in the wok. Farther into the cave, around a corner, was the glow of an unseen chamber. But not unheard: The teen could easily discern a regular, loud chopping.
Torches just inside the cave lit the scene, so while the teen was bathed in light, the older dragon was backlit. The teen hadn’t seen many Oriental dragons in his young life. But the cook had all the common features: His body was narrow and snakelike, and his short legs and arms were at each end. His front half was raised off the ground so he could work the food. He had something like a mane all around his neck and a sort of mane around his jaw. The teen knew enough that it was called a “beard.” The cook also had a ridge of vertical scales on his back all the way to the end of his tail, like the young Occidental waiting for the food. The teen’s were green. The cook’s were red.
Unlike the youngster, the cook didn’t have wings. And he had two “feelers” – it was the best way to describe them – on the front of his snout. They swept back along the sides of his head. And he had something like antlers coming out of the top of his head. But it was all normal for dragons from the Orient. Nothing unusual about any of it. Nothing at all.
What had caught the teen’s eye more were the fine red jewel-like scales covering the cook’s body; his orange mane and beard; and his large yellow eyes. The youngster had seen dragons of all colors, even red. But somehow, the cook’s appearance made him seem – well, not mysterious. More like mystical. That the teen was sitting in the presence of some subtle power he couldn’t describe. It was just a sense, but it covered him like the after-tingle of lightning.
“What’s your name, kid?” the cook asked. He began to work a spatula quickly around the wok.
“Spike …” He seemed distracted, as if even his own name didn’t concern him right then.
“You’re new here, aren’t you? I know most of the regulars in this end of the cave colony.”
“I’ve been traveling, so, yeah, I’m new here.”
“Where’ve you been?”
“All around Pyra. Learning my heritage. That kind of thing.”
“Where are you from?”
“Ponyville. It’s a town in Equestria.”
The cook squinted. “You’re a long way from home, kid.”
“I know.”
“How’d you end up there?”
“I was born in Canterlot, the capital, and moved to Ponyville. Long story.”
“Huh.” The older dragon grabbed a nearby bottle of igneous oil and poured some into the wok. It raised its own sizzle, and the liquid immediately took on a dark-red color. “Where are you staying?”
“The hostel in the northwest part of the colony.”
“It closes at the twenty-second hour. You know that, right? You’ll need to be back there by then. Otherwise, you’re outside all night.”
“I know. That’s the first thing they tell you.”
“Good.” The cook began to toss the ingredients slightly into the air with the spatula. The sauce was already smelling great, the teen thought.
“So …,” the older dragon continued, “do you like Pyra so far?”
“Yeah. Been a little weird seeing dragons everywhere I go. They’re kind of a minority in Equestria. It’s mostly ponies.”
“Ponies aren’t so bad. I’ve met a few I’ve liked.”
“Oh, they’re good. Not saying they aren’t. Some are really nice. There’s this one unicorn I know. She’s been really nice to me for years.”
The other dragon stopped flipping the wok’s contents, and sizzling filled a long moment afterward. “Unicorn, huh?” he finally asked. He returned to stirring, but did it more slowly. And he looked thoughtful. “Unicorns are special. I met one once, myself. You’re lucky.”
“I think so …,” the teen replied.
“What’s she like?”
“Well … she’s a fashion designer. Really pretty. And elegant. And generous. Helps out her friends every chance she gets.”
A nod, with eyes focused on the food. “Sounds about right …,” the cook said, his voice strangely distant. He looked again at the teen. “Like I said, you’re lucky to know her.”
“I know. And … I think I love her. Really.”
A shrug. “Unicorns can be really easy to love. They’re like that.”
“And I think … she might love me.”
“That a bad thing?”
“No. She’s older than I am. That’s been … interesting … in the past few years. But she’s cool with it.”
The cook blew flame into the wok directly, then took it off the stove. “Just have to let it thicken now,” he observed. “So is this unicorn your girlfriend?”
The teen sighed. “I … don’t know. We’ve kind of been great friends for a long time. Had a crush on her since I was a kid.”
“Does she know that?”
“Uh-huh. For years. We’ve become kind of an item to our friends.”
“Sounds like you’re more than just great friends, then.”
“Maybe …”
“So why don’t you just admit that? To her and yourself?”
“I’m a little … scared.”
“Why?”
“Well … it was easy being a kid dragon with a crush on an older pony. Ponies thought it was cute.”
The cook smirked. “It is kind of cute, kid. I’ve actually seen it.”
“When?”
A sigh. “Long time ago. Long story. So what’s different now?”
“When I got older, I began to feel that ponies weren’t as comfortable with us. ‘Baby dragon and young unicorn’ was cute. ‘Teen dragon and midlife unicorn’ was … strange.”
“Is that what they said?”
“Could see it in their eyes.”
“Or did you just think you saw it?”
A pause. “I dunno …”
The cook crossed his arms. “You said you two had friends. What do they think about it?”
“They’re cool with it.”
“So does it matter what anyone else thinks if your friends support you two?”
“Guess not ...”
“What about your folks?”
“I was an orphan egg. Closest I have to family is the female unicorn who hatched me with magic.”
“Huh. Orphan. That’s rough.” The cook considered something. “This isn’t the same unicorn, is it …?”
“No.” The youngster shivered. “That’d be like having a crush on my mom. That’s creepy.”
“Actually, tradition is that a female unicorn who hatches a dragon is considered an older sister. It avoids the ‘mother’ confusion but still keeps the relationship at arm’s length.”
“Ya know … I always have thought of her like that …”
“So what does she think about you and the fashion designer?”
“She’s one of the friends. So she’s cool with it.”
The larger dragon uncrossed his arms and again stirred the sauce, which was getting viscous. “Then it seems it’s just your feelings left. Let me ask you: When you go home, is she the first you’ll want to see?”
“I think … she’ll probably have to be ...”
“But do you want her to be?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t be ashamed of what you have with her, kid. And don’t play around with her. If she’s that special to you, she deserves better than that.”
“I think … we’re past playing now.”
“Why’s that?”
“I got a letter from her today.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We had … an encounter … before I left. My first time.”
The cook grinned hugely. “Well, you two sure as hell aren’t just ‘great friends’ anymore, are you? Damn … With an older female. A unicorn. You lucky son of a salamander …”
“She got lucky, too, I guess …”
“Why?”
“She says she’s pregnant now.”
“Uh.” The older dragon thought. “All right … what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know …”
“What the hell do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I don’t… know …”
“You’ve just made a new life, boy. You need to understand that. Or is that pretty pony of yours just a plaything?”
“No!”
“Then are you going to be a dragon and step up?”
“I’m just … so young, compared with her … I didn’t think that …”
A quick scowl at the sauce. “Damned right, you didn’t think,” the cook mumbled, looking back at the teen. “And you’re old enough to get a unicorn pregnant, so don’t whine about how young you are. Playtime’s over, kid. You wanted adult fun, you take adult responsibility. That’s the way it goes. Now, do you have any kind of skill? Trade? Talent? Ability? Anything?”
Now the teen thought. “I actually like …” He didn’t finish.
“Like what?”
“Baking.”
“Baking ...”
“Yeah. There’s a pastry shop back home I’ve helped out at. Like with fire breath.” He looked embarrassed. “Light the stoves. Melt sugar for some recipes. Things like that ...”
“That melting is called ‘caramelizing,’ kid. Learn the lingo.”
“And I’ve learned a lot about making stuff just by helping out.”
The cook broke into a grin so wide, the teen was sure the older dragon was about to guffaw in ridicule. And the cook did guffaw. Just not in ridicule.
“HA!!” The cook shook his head and slapped the counter with a forepaw. “Kid, look around you! I make gems and sauce and other crap for a living! It pays the bills. And it supports a daughter. If I can do it with just gems and sauce and crap, you sure as hell can do it with baking. Pastries are high-end items. And ponies pay through the nose for them. Willingly! Damn! OK – would the shop be willing to take you on as an apprentice baker?”
“I guess I could ask.”
“Don’t guess. Ask. And meantime, do such good work, they’ll want to take you on.”
“Yeah, but …” The teen frowned. “… a kitchen career. … Thought I’d get to do something a little more exciting with my life …”
The older dragon paused a moment, then thoughtfully surveyed the food stand top to bottom, left to right. He then looked back at the other dragon with narrowed, slightly belligerent yellow eyes. “Watch it, boy …,” he growled in a low voice. “I’m trying to help you out here …”
“Sorry.”
The cook recovered his calm, then sighed. “Look … I know it’s going to be a lot of hard work. You’re a teen parent now. Got to be honest: not the best of all possible worlds. Like I said, playtime is over. There’s a life on the way that you made. That kid is going to need you more over the next few years than you’ll ever need getting drunk on lava ale with your buddies in the same time.
“And you did it with a unicorn, kid. Do you have any idea how rare that is for us? A unicorn and a dragon getting together in real love is like finding a blue diamond. Maybe like finding three. If you’re lucky enough to do that, your life is going to be special. Because the best unicorns are special. Especially the mares. And it sounds like you landed a very special one for her to have stayed with you this long.”
He leaned over and stared into the teen’s green eyes. “So … do not throw all that away like some stupid punk, kid …”
The young dragon said nothing. The cook backed away and noticed that the sauce was ready to serve. “What’s her name?” he asked.
“Rarity,” the teen replied.
“How appropriate.”
“Yeah …”
“Did she say how far along she is?”
“She said a few months. Most foals are born in 11.”
“Well, it might be a little longer in this case. Historically, kirins usually take about 13. Those are pony-dragon offspring. And they don’t happen too often at all. The parents have to be about the same size at the time of conception. Let alone have an encounter. Let alone ever meet each other. You two apparently have great timing.”
“She said in the letter they were called ‘kirins.’ She tried to describe them, but I still can’t imagine what one would look like.”
“Really.”
At that, the cook surveyed the ingredients counter: Beakers and boxes and bottles and utensils and the stuff that sauces are made on. And bowls of prepared gems: Opals and diamonds. Amethysts and emeralds. Alexandrites and aquamarines. Topazes and tourmalines. Peridots and garnets. Even common quartz. And a bowl with a tiny pile of sapphire shards at the bottom. Usually, it would be filled to the rim or more with the blue gems, chopped and appetizing. But it held only precious dust.
Next to it sat a bowl with a mountain of rubies rising above the rim.
“We’re going to need rubies,” the cook finally said.
The teen indicated the bowl. “They’re right there,” he noted, trying to be helpful.
The older dragon glanced at him. “We’re going to need rubies,” he repeated, as if that was the end of the discussion. All it did for the younger dragon was confuse him completely.
The cook turned toward the cave. He paused long enough for the chopping sound within – which had been lost under their conversation – to continue for a moment more. “Miyuki!” he called. “Get out here!” The chopping stopped instantly.
“WHY?” A female voice yelled from the lit yet unseen chamber around the interior corner. “I’m not done chopping those sapphires yet! What do you WANT?”
“Just get out here, please!”
There came an irritated sigh and the sound of some utensil being dropped obnoxiously onto a surface. After which was heard the unmistakable hollow tones of hooves. Louder and louder with each step.
And she appeared around the corner.
A young mare. But not quite a mare. She was about the teen’s size and thus much smaller than the Oriental dragon. She was covered from her snout to her rump to her hooves in fine red jewel-like scales, accented by an orange mane and tail. Small red vertical scales flowed along her back, and even the mere torchlight made her eyes alive with blue.
On her head stood a stunning gold-colored unicorn’s horn.
She stopped at the cave’s mouth, where she proceeded to look thoroughly annoyed. “WHAT?” she demanded impatiently.
“I need some rubies, please,” the cook said pleasantly.
She peered at him, then scanned the counter and pointed a hoof. “There’s a whole bowl right there.”
He looked. “Ah, yes!” he answered in false surprise. “My mistake. Thank you, Miyuki.”
The mare-yet-not-a-mare regarded him with visibly deepening confusion. “You are so … weird sometimes, Dad …,” she said at last. With a quick glance at the younger dragon, she turned around and departed into the cave. There was a quick disappearance around the lit corner, and the chopping sound started anew. The teen swore he also heard frustrated cursing.
The cook took a pawful of rubies from the bowl and laid them on a plate. Grabbing the spatula and the wok, he herded the thick, chunky sauce over the edge and drizzled it across the gems. As he then placed the dish before the teen, he chuckled.
“She’s just like her mother,” he said. “She was barely able to stand my quirks, too.” He turned toward the cave and pondered it thoughtfully for a moment, then faced the youngster again. “But when I’d see their sapphire eyes, I could never get angry at either of them. And even when she gives me attitude like that, Miyuki is precious to me. She’s all I have left to remember her mother by.
“You see, kid,” the cook concluded, “children are most precious when they’re your own.”
The teen took up a spoon, looked at the rubies and stirred them absently in the sauce. And he realized that the preciousness in his future would more likely be a mix of purple, green and white. Maybe with a lush sapphire-colored mane and tail. Especially if the child were a filly. Those would be very special on a filly, he thought.
They’d be just like her mother’s.
“So what are you going to do?” the other dragon asked.
The youngster lifted a spoonful of rubies and held it in front of him. For a moment, it seemed as if the food was the most compelling thing in the world to him. It wasn’t.
“I’m going to find a quill, some ink and a scroll,” he said, “and write a letter.”
“I have all those in the back chamber. You can use them. Write the letter here at the table. It’s still early in the evening. You’ll be able to get back to the hostel in time.”
“All right.”
“I’ll send it by smoke when you’re done. That way, you’re not tempted to get rid of it before you send it. I think that’s best.”
“OK.”
“What’s it going to say, kid?”
More gazing at the spoon. “That it’ll take me about three or four days, starting tomorrow, to get back to Ponyville. To support a very special friend.”
The older dragon smiled quietly and nodded. “Enjoy your meal, kid. On the house.”
“Thanks …”
With that, Spike began to eat.