The Age of Wings and Steel

by DSNesmith

13. Memories and Magic

It had been over a week since they had left Canterlot. The three ponies were nearing the edge of the Antlerwood, the enigmatic forest that dominated the northern half of Norlund. At last it had appeared in the distance, swallowing up the horizon and the road.

Every step Rye took was one further than he had ever been from the city. He was already starting to feel a slight pang whenever he thought about the bakery, wondering how his parents were dealing with his disappearance and the summoning of the Firewings.

Cranberry, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. She still hadn’t shut up, and though Rye would never admit it, he found the constant babbling a comfort. He nodded along as she talked, a faint smile hovering on his lips.

“And after the chieftain of the Grevyi tribe finally gathered his zebras together, he met the other chieftans in battle on the Yanke plains. I’ve read a few different accounts on the battle, but most of them agree that he fought the other chieftains in single combat and—”

Ahead of them, Inger had pulled to a sudden stop. He turned his head and held up a hoof. Cranberry fell silent.

“Let’s set up camp here,” said Inger. “We’ll be staying on the road tonight. It’s safer that way.”

He let his saddlebags slide to the ground and began fishing inside them for the tent and the stakes. Rye looked curiously around in the late afternoon light. “It’s barely five o’clock. Why are we stopping so soon?”

Inger shot a furtive glance to the north at the treeline that now dominated the horizon. “I would rather not enter the Antlerwood at night.”

Cranberry looked curious. “Why not?” She sat down on her haunches and stretched her front legs.

“There are dark things in there.” Inger’s naturally grim expression grew slightly apprehensive.

“You mean like the Everfree Forest?” asked Rye, taking a bite out of one of their few remaining apples.

Inger shook his head. “The Everfree Forest is wild, untamed, just pure nature running rampant. The Antlerwood is… different. I’ve heard tales of spirits and horrors that steal the souls of those who wander into the darkness.”

“Oh, please,” said Cranberry with a snort, “Don’t tell me you believe those old ghost stories.” She slid a map out of her bags, lying it on the ground.

The pegasus shrugged uneasily. “Perhaps the forest is free of restless spirits, but there’s something in there. Something unfriendly. Many that go in never return.”

“Maybe Nightmare Moon ate them,” said Cranberry, rolling her eyes.

“You can laugh, Miss Sugar, but I knew a pony who vanished in there.” Inger shivered. “It’s my hope that we can pass through in a day or less.”

Cranberry pursed her lips and made a hrmm sound. “I’m not so sure. Take a look.” She spread her scroll out as Inger and Rye gathered around. The parchment contained a detailed map of the northeastern corner of Equestria. The entire northern half was dominated by streaks of green oils representing the Antlerwood. “You see what I mean? It’s at least forty miles to pass through there, thanks to the twisting road. And I don’t think leaving the path would be a good idea.”

“No,” agreed Inger. “We can’t risk getting lost.”

“I think it’s going to be a two-day trip at the least. Maybe more, depending on how well-kept the road is.” She poked a hoof at the small tower drawn in the mountain range north of the forest. “Once we’re through, we’ll be right at the pass of Midrothel. I assume you two had a plan to get past the guards at the tower?”

“We bear the symbol of the Princess,” said Inger, finally retrieving the tent stakes. “They’ll let us pass.”

Rye swallowed the last of his apple. “I’m more worried about the pass itself. Isn’t it supposed to be full of giants and werewolves?”

“There’s no such thing as a werewolf, Rye,” admonished Cranberry, “And the giants haven’t been a problem in over seventy years, after the Nordponies and Equestrians pushed them back into the forest; the last giant war was over a hundred years before that. I’ve got a book on the giant wars if you wanted to take a look,” she said, proffering her saddlebag.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Rye declined. He looked behind them at Inger, who was silently assembling the tent. “Let’s help him get that set up.”

The three of them gathered the poles and stakes, and erected the simple tent. It was very plain, military-style. Tiny but sturdy, it was shaped like a simple inverted ‘v’. There was no way all three of them could fit inside, but Inger demanded they post a watch regardless.

“We’re not near Canterlot anymore. It should still be fairly safe, but I don’t want to take any unnecessary chances.” Cranberry and Rye gave little groans, and Inger rolled his eyes. “You two go ahead and sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”

They ducked into the tent, arranging themselves as comfortably as possible on the hard ground. The two ponies ended up stuffed together like a pair of socks, squeezing as tightly as they could to avoid knocking down one of the tent’s sides.

Cranberry sighed in content as she finally found a comfortable resting position. “This is just like all those times your parents took us camping in the Cottontail, Rye!”

“I always hated having to share a tent with you.”

“What? Why?”

“You snore.” He winced as Cranberry kicked him. “Ow.”

“Quiet down, you two,” said Inger from outside. “Get some sleep. You’ll need it for tomorrow.” He muttered something under his breath. Rye thought he caught “civilians”.

“Night, Rye.”

“Night, ‘Berry.” Weary from the long day of walking, he closed his eyes and let sleep carry him away.

* * *

Outside the tent, Inger stood watch as the hours passed. He sighed, resigning himself to taking the lion’s share of watches for the next few weeks. The two civilians were doing surprisingly well so far, but he didn’t expect them to be very effective watchponies.

For the thousandth time, he wished he could simply take off with the treaties and fly to Sleipnord himself. By wing, he could be over the border this time tomorrow night, and be back with an army in less than two weeks. If only he hadn’t been saddled with the others—no, he admitted to himself, that was unrealistic. Even if he could reach the Nordponies, he had no idea if the treaties alone would compel them to join his cause. Moreover, he couldn’t even speak the language.

He gave a low harrumph at the thought. He fully intended to pick up a real translator at the tower and have the guards escort Miss Sugar back to Canterlot. He didn’t intend to take somepony so naïve and untrained with them into the dangerous northlands.

But weren’t you just as inexperienced, once? Inger smiled wryly. He’d been spending too much time with the Princess. He was starting to think in her voice. He sighed. It was true, after all.

Inger smiled as the memories began rising up. He craned his neck back to look at his cutie mark, thinking back to the day he’d earned it. It was the day he’d officially joined the Equestrian guard. He hadn’t even been three, a child by even Equestrian biology, but he’d always been a large foal, and the recruiter hadn’t inquired too much about the age he’d given.

He’d jumped at the opportunity to join the military as soon as it presented itself. It was the only avenue of escape he had from a life of abject poverty on the streets of Canterlot. With his mother dead, and his unknown father long gone from his life, Inger’s first few years had been unpleasant ones. The feeling of constant, desperate hunger was one he would never forget no matter how hard he tried.

When the yearly recruitment drive for new pegasi to join the aerial military units came around, he’d decided to take the chance to lift himself out of the slums and find a purpose in life. The enlistment process was far simpler than the trials the officers had to go through, but there was still a physical before the enlistment was finalized. And it was there that his life had changed forever.

He stood on the cloud, listening to the officer outline the physical for the young trainees. When the whistle finally blew, Inger flew like he’d never flown before, diving through rings of cloud and soaring around the Canterlot skies as if he’d been born to.

At last the officer called them all to a halt, and led the successful recruits down to the castle where they would be fitted for armor and begin their real training. But as Inger turned to follow them, he was interrupted by a sky-blue pegasus in golden armor.

“Hello, young stallion,” she said, alighting on a cloud next to him. She removed her helmet, shaking out her fiery mane.

“Uh… hello,” he said, confused. “I’m sorry, I think I should be going with the others…”

“Don’t worry. You won’t be going with them just yet.” She started in annoyance. “Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Windstreak Firemane.”

Inger’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard of you. You’re the Captain of the Firewings.”

“That’s right. And who are you?”

“My name’s Inger,” he said shyly.

“And what’s your last name?” she asked, amused.

“I… don’t have one.”

“Oh.” The Captain digested the implications of that. “Who is your mother?”

“She’s… gone. She died when I was only a year old.”

“I see.” The Captain gave him a curious look. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Inger. Now, I have some questions for you. One question, really. Why did you come here today?”

Inger considered the question. The obvious answer was the stability and safety a military career could provide him, but that seemed superficial. “I guess… I guess I want to do something with my life. To help Equestria.” He sounded ridiculous, he knew. He was barely a foal, what could he possibly do compared to the experienced soldier before him?

But the Captain nodded sincerely. “A worthy goal.”

Inger looked at the vanishing specks of the other trainees. “Uh… Captain Firemane… why aren’t I going with the others?”

“Because you and I are going to talk to somepony very important. Follow me.” The Captain took off, and Inger followed with a growing curiosity.

They circled the glittering spires of the castle, the glow of the golden domes and crenellations in the warm morning sun creating a sea of liquid light for them to swim through. They sank down into the courtyard, where Captain Firemane guided him in to land. His hooves touched the grass inside the Castle’s walls for the first time. He stared around at the splendor of the Sun Castle in awe. A gentle shake brought him back to the present, as Captain Firemane beckoned him inside the Castle itself.

They walked through hallways filled with vast tapestries and stone sculptures to put the finest art in the kingdom to shame. At last, they arrived at a massive door guarded by two more Firewings. The Captain nodded to them both, and the doors swung open as if by magic. The Captain stepped inside, and Inger followed with a racing heart.

On the other side of the door was the vast council chamber that housed the throne. It was empty save one pony: there, in the great golden chair, seated on a cushion of royal violet, was the largest pony Inger had ever seen. She looked nothing like her picture on Equestrian currency. No metal engraving could capture that ageless beauty, that calm demeanor, that fluid hair that shimmered with all the colors of the aurora.

Princess Celestia shifted to face the two ponies, smiling. “Greetings, Windstreak. I see you’ve found your recruits for the year.”

“Only one, this time.” The Captain looked over at Inger. “He’s an excellent flier. As for the rest… only time will tell.”

The Princess—Inger instantly thought of her as milady, though he would not dare to call her such—looked at him appraisingly. He felt paralyzed by her gaze. He watched as the Captain approached and held a whispered discussion with the Princess.

At last they separated and the Princess turned to face him. He felt as though the sun itself was staring at him, the heat of a summer day filling him up. The Princess’s face was lit with a smile as warm as her eyes. “Every year, the Celestial Army accepts new recruits to defend our nation from any who would cause us harm. It’s a high honor. But every year, we select a few very special ponies to serve in a different way. My personal guard, the Firewings, are the elite group of pegasi who serve as an extension of my will throughout the nation.”

Inger felt sweat bead his brow. “And you want…”

“What I want are the best, Inger. I need ponies who are fierce, loyal, honest, and above all, willing to devote their lives to preserving the peace of Equestria.” She narrowed her eyes and stared at Inger in a way that made him feel as if his soul was being laid bare. “Are you worthy of joining them?”

“I…” Even street urchins like Inger had heard the legends of the Firewings. It was like he’d just been asked to join the ranks of the gods themselves. He felt a drop of sweat crawl down his back. “No, milady.” He cringed at the slip, hoping she would not take offense at the breach in protocol, but the Princess beamed at him.

“There’s one more quality I look for in my Firewings, Inger. Humility.” At this she and the Captain shared a smile. “Now that you’ve passed that little test, I ask you the real question. Do you want to become a Firewing?”

His eyes darted back and forth between the alicorn and the pegasus. “I don’t… I don’t know… I haven’t had any training, I’m not a real soldier yet. I’ve never fought in any real battles, I can’t—”

“Inger,” said the Captain, “we all started somewhere. When I became a Firewing I’d never even seen a spear before. Don’t worry about training, that comes with the job. The only thing here that matters is you. What do you want?”

“I’m not sure,” he said fearfully.

Captain Firemane gave him a piercing stare, then smiled kindly. “You don’t need to be alone anymore, Inger. We’ll be your family.”

He felt tears well up and blinked them away. “Yes. I want this.” He nodded, as if to convince her—or himself.

Windstreak withdrew to the side, bowing to the Princess. Celestia stood, her hair drifting gently through the air. “Inger of Canterlot, do you swear by sun, moon, and stars, to follow Our commands and serve Equestria, to pledge yourself to the defense of all ponies, to commit yourself mind and body to upholding our society and our civilization, to give yourself over completely to service in the order of the Firewings, and above all else to safeguard the lives of each and every Equestrian it is within your power to protect?”

Inger felt a flame ignite in his chest. He felt larger than he ever had, emboldened by the Princess’s words. He stepped forward, his head held high. “I do.”

“Then kneel.”

He fell to his front knees, bowing as deeply as he could. The Princess bent her head and touched her horn to his right shoulder. “Do you, Inger of Canterlot, accept the title of Firewing and all that it entails?”

“I do.”

She moved her horn to his left shoulder. “And do you take this oath, forever and always to hold yourself to the principles of the Firewings until the day you cease to draw breath?”

“I do.”

The Princess withdrew, spreading her wings. Her horn flashed in a blinding light, and he was forced to close his eyes. When the light faded, he looked up to find the Princess solemnly looking down. “Then rise, Inger of the Firewings, and join your brothers and sisters in the service of Equestria.” She held the pose for a brief moment, then suddenly winked. “Welcome to the club, Inger.”

The Captain again bowed to the Princess, then turned to Inger with a broad grin. “Come with me, Inger. We’re going to meet your new family.” She led him in the direction of the door. As they passed out of the throne room, she gave him a mischievous look. “You can show them all your new cutie mark.”

“My what?” Inger was nonplussed. He whirled his head around to get a look at his flank. No longer bare, on each side he found a simple golden ring imprinted on the skin. “Ha! Haha!” He bounced, cantering around her with delight. The Captain laughed, and together they went onward to meet his future.

Inger smiled, lost in the reflection. He’d kept that oath close to his heart for the last eight years. That sense of duty had been his guiding light through every struggle he’d faced in service to the Firewings. Including the current one.

But… he sighed with disappointment in himself. Perhaps he’d been following the letter of the Princess’s words, and not the spirit behind them. He glanced back at the tent, where the earth pony’s snores could faintly be heard. He wouldn’t hesitate for a second to sacrifice himself to save their lives… but he couldn’t pretend he had any real respect for them.

In fact, Inger couldn’t remember the last pony he’d had any regard for that hadn’t been in the Firewings. When had that attitude begun? With his childhood, he could scarcely hold himself above the commoners. Inger frowned, unable to answer himself. He’d had nothing but contempt for his traveling companions so far. Miss Sugar, at least, deserved better treatment than he’d been giving her.

The pegacorn was another matter. Inger knew all about that race’s black reputation. Although it was fairly clear to him by now that Rye Strudel possessed no dark magical powers, he still wasn’t willing to trust his life to such a twisted creature. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps the pegacorn would prove himself in Sleipnord.

He sighed, the weight of their mission pressing down on him. “Don’t worry, Princess. We’ll get it done. Somehow.” He would wake the pegacorn in a few hours to take the second watch, but for now he looked up at the stars and wondered about the future.

* * *

For the first time in a week, Rye found that he was not the last one up. He took a sadistic delight in waking his new traveling partner. He shook the pink earth pony with his hoof. “Get up, Cranberry, it’s time to get moving.”

She groaned, pushing his hoof off. “It can’t be more than four in the morning.”

“That’s right,” he said, chipper. “Inger and I are ready to pack the tent up. Time to get out of bed.”

Cranberry growled at him. “What bed? We’ve been sleeping on the ground all night. My back is killing me.”

“Camping’s just wonderful, isn’t it?” sang Rye. He grabbed her blanket with his teeth and pulled it off. She curled up and shooed him away. He called for Inger.

After they’d finally dragged Cranberry out of the tent, the packing went quickly. The sky was gray and gloomy, promising a heavy rain all morning. They decided to forgo breakfast in the hopes of a dry lunch, and managed to get everything stowed away in their saddlebags in less than an hour. The three ponies galloped north along the road, and slowly the green line on the horizon expanded to dominate the land in front of them.

They nearly made it. They were still a few hundred meters from the treeline when the first droplet splashed onto Rye’s nose. He wrinkled his head and pulled his cloak’s hood up. “We’d better run faster.”

Cranberry paused to make sure her cloak was covering the saddlebags containing her precious books and maps. She pulled her hood down over her head with irritation. “Why can’t they send the bad weather south?” There was a low rumble of thunder, and the rain began to intensify.

Ahead of them, Inger laughed. “You think this is bad weather? This is just a drizzle. Have you ever seen what happens when they schedule a hurricane?” Nevertheless, they quickened their pace.

By the time they made it under the first of the trees, Rye’s back felt damp through the cloak. They paused under a large ash tree to make sure the treaties and Cranberry’s books had survived their exposure to the elements, then continued on.

“Inger,” said Cranberry, startled, “why are you wearing your armor?” Rye looked. Inger still had his helmet stowed away in his bags, but under his cloak was the faint gleam of gold that signaled the gilded armor of the Firewings.

“I told you last night, I’m not walking into this forest unprepared.” Cranberry laughed at him, but Inger just shook his head and kept walking.

The trees around them filtered out most of the rain. The cobblestones of the Great Road beneath them remained dry as they began to tread into the forest proper. The trees thickened, and the sound of the rain on the leaves began to gradually fade.

Cranberry coughed. “It’s so quiet in here.”

“Hey, Cranberry, what did the mother buffalo say to her kid when she sent him off to school?”

Looking apprehensive, she said, “What?”

“Bison.” Rye grinned like an idiot as Cranberry made a face at him. “Okay, okay, try this one. What did the green grape say to the purple grape?”

“What?” Cranberry looked resigned.

“Breathe, you idiot!”

Inger gave him a backwards look of disgust. Rye cackled and kept going. “Did you hear about the fire at the circus? It was in tents.”

Both of them groaned and said in unison, “Please stop.”

“A sandwich walks into a bar—” He paused. “Do you two hear rain anymore?”

“No,” said Cranberry, surprised. “Do you think the storm’s stopped already? We’ve only been inside the forest for fifteen minutes.”

“Weather doesn’t just switch off like that,” said Inger, frowning. “I’m going to have a look. Wait here.” He set his bags on the ground and took off into the trees. A few leaves drifted down to the ground in the dim light. Cranberry and Rye waited for a few minutes, wondering what exactly was going on.

Inger rocketed back down, dripping. He landed in a puddle, shaking his feathers to clear the water. “It’s still coming down hard out there. But it took me over a minute to get clear of the trees. They’re freakishly thick all around us. The entire outside world is muted.”

“I guess we should be grateful,” said Rye hesitantly.

“I’m not so sure.” Leaving those ominous words hanging in the air, Inger re-shouldered his bags and began walking.

None of them joked now. They strained for the sound of rain, but there was nothing. No songs of birds, no scratches as squirrels moved through the trees, no snapping of sticks or rustling of leaves. The forest was completely, absolutely silent.

But the quiet wasn’t the only strange thing. The air itself seemed to be thickening with the trees, hot and oppressive. Rye felt like every breath took more effort than the one before. He squinted into the darkening depths of the Antlerwood.

“Ow!” came Cranberry’s voice.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hit a tree! The stupid path swerves, and I can’t see a thing in here.”

Inger said, “I’ve got a torch in my saddlebags. Let me get it out.” There was a rustling noise as he dug through his bag. Rye was starting to think those saddlebags were bottomless.

He looked around. It was almost midday, but he could barely see his hoof when he held it up a foot in front of his face. He looked down at the road, but he couldn’t even make out the individual cobblestones. Inger and Cranberry were barely-visible silhouettes.

“Goddit,” came Inger’s muffled voice. He moved the torch to the side of his mouth so he could speak around it. “I’ll never be able to find my flint in this darkness. Pegacorn, can you light the torch?”

“Uh,” said Rye doubtfully. “Hold it out, I’ll give it a try…”

As Inger proffered the torch, Rye closed his eyes and concentrated. His horn began to glow orange as he extended his mind. He had the feeling he was about to humiliate himself, but he didn’t want to seem unhelpful. He reached into the magic, expecting to run into the wall again.

Something was wrong. The wall had vanished. Rye’s heart leapt into his throat. He pushed further, reaching for the magic. What he found was completely unexpected. The river was no longer a cool trickle, but a raging torrent that snapped and growled at the banks. It roiled like flame, spilling out around him. He tentatively reached into the flow.

He gave a gasp of pain as he felt a searing heat blaze his senses. Reflexively, he broke the contact and his eyes snapped open. His horn burned, like he’d just shoved it into one of his father’s ovens.

“Rye? What’s wrong?” Cranberry’s voice sounded strange, like it was coming from a great distance.

“I don’t… I don’t know. The magic…” Rye shook his head, trying to clear it. “There’s something wrong with the magic. I’ve never felt anything like it before. It hurt.” He blinked. “I’m going to try again.”

“Hurry up, then,” said Inger, annoyed. “We can’t stand here all day.”

Rye reached for the magic again, bracing himself. The current of magic smashed into him like a waterfall. He gritted his teeth and plunged into it. It felt like fire spilling around him, enveloping him in the blaze, but not burning his skin. He held himself there, letting the liquid flames lick his face.

His father always spoke of magic as a cool, calming stability, but this was something else entirely. This magic was violent, an assault on his mind that seemed to block out the rest of the world. The only thing he could think of to describe it was sheer, unbridled power. He found himself panting for breath.

He opened his eyes, remaining submerged in the raging river. He looked at Inger, still holding the torch. The pegasus’s eyebrows raised uncertainly. Rye breathed deeply, and focused on the torch. Fire.

The torch erupted like a bomb, the blast of heat and compressed air sending the three ponies flying. Rye’s back slammed into a tree, and he fell to the ground. His contact with the magic broke instantly, leaving him feeling cold. He staggered to his hooves, swaying dizzily. “Everypony okay?”

“Still alive over here…” came Cranberry’s moaning voice. Inger’s was less friendly.

“You idiot! You could have killed us with that blast!” The pegasus was spitting mad, his face covered in soot and his eyebrows literally smoking.

“I’m sorry!” Rye was starting to panic. “I didn’t know it would do that! I’ve—I’ve never even gotten a flame before.” Still trying to process what had just happened, he suddenly smiled. “Did you see that? I used a spell!” He gave a disbelieving laugh.

Inger wasn’t amused. “Don’t try casting any more, or you might set the whole forest on fire.” He searched around for the torch, now lost in the gloom of the forest. “Well, our torch is gone. After that it’s probably been burned to ash.” He snorted angrily. “I guess we’re walking in the dark.”

“I could try giving us some light,” volunteered Rye. The pegasus gave him a withering look. “I’ll try not to blow anything up. This is the one spell I’ve actually managed to get to work before.” He closed his eyes and dived eagerly back into the maelstrom.

He was already growing accustomed to the magic, feeling the boiling waters of power spill over into his mind like they were alive. He let it flow through the conduit of his horn, bursting forth as a shining light as bright as the full moon. It was so brilliant that the normal orange glow was lost in the blinding whiteness. Inger and Cranberry shielded their eyes.

“I suppose that works,” said Cranberry in awe. “What’s it feel like?”

“It’s amazing,” he said, basking in the heat that filled him. “I can’t even describe it.” He grinned. “I could get used to this.”

A sudden dark thought chilled him. The magic had to be related to the forest. It was the only explanation that made sense. Did that mean that once they left, so too would this newfound gift? Rye decided to worry about that later.

“Let’s get moving, then!” he said, trotting off along the path. The light from his horn threw every branch and leaf into stark relief, washing out all color. The longer Rye held it, the brighter it grew. He felt better with every moment he remained in touch with the magic. An irrepressible smile crept onto his face.

Hours passed as they walked through the gloom. Though the cold magical beacon held the darkness at bay, the black forest seemed to wrap around the bubble of light like tar. The air was still stifling, but Rye felt more energized than he ever had before. “Come on, you two! Hurry up!” He cantered ahead, his steps light.

“Rye, we need to stop,” said Cranberry, gasping. “We’ve been going for hours without a break.”

“Yes, pegacorn, we need a breather.”

Something inside Rye snapped. He whipped around, eyes narrowed. “Stop calling me that. I have a name.” The light from his horn surged briefly.

Inger withdrew slightly. “My apologies, pe-Rye. I wasn’t trying to offend you.”

“Weren’t you?” Rye glared. He fluffed his wings angrily and turned around. “Fine. Let’s stop for lunch.” He didn’t really want to hurry through the forest anyway.

As they munched on the grass by the sides of the path, Cranberry approached him. “Rye, are you feeling okay? You sort of yelled at Inger back there.”

“He deserved it.” Rye chewed a mouthful of grass, scowling.

“Well, yes, he was being a bit of an idiot, but… it’s not like you to snap at ponies like that.” She looked worried.

“And how would you know?” Rye snarled. “You’re not the one that has to deal with that garbage every day.”

“I… Rye, I’m sorry, I…” Cranberry looked bewildered, and backed away. She lowered her head, slinking off to the other side of the path.

Rye took another bite of grass. He felt angrier than he had in a long time. All the pent-up annoyance at the Firewing’s behavior over the last week and a half had finally burst forth. He was surprised at just how much of it there was. The raw emotions were spilling out around his carefully maintained air of good humor. He needed to get control of himself.

Troubled, he turned his thoughts instead to the magic. He plunged back into the flow, feeling the power coursing through his horn. It was like coming up for air after drowning his entire life. He wanted nothing more than to stay here and explore his new powers, but he didn’t feel like arguing about it with the others.

Instead, he began trying different spells. Little things, for now: he shot sparks off the end of his horn, letting them shimmer in the air. He tried lifting small pebbles around him, a task as simple as thinking about the spell he wanted.

He heard the mumble of Cranberry’s hushed voice from across the path. He concentrated for a moment, drawing on the magic to enhance his hearing. Suddenly her voice was as loud as if she were standing next to him. “Inger, Rye’s acting strangely.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“He’s not usually so terse. I think something’s wrong with him.”

“Well, we’ll just have to keep an eye on him. I doubt he’ll be a danger to us.”

Of course, thought Rye. He sees me as either a nuisance or a threat. He swallowed another mouthful of grass.

“It’s not us I’m worried about.”

“We’re only going to be in this forest for another day at most.” Inger’s voice rose. “I think it’s time we moved on.”

“Fine,” said Rye. “Try to keep up this time.” He took the lead again, striding along the road, his horn blazing a path through the darkness. The soft clip-clop of hooves on the paving stones was the only sound.

“You were right, Inger,” said Cranberry uneasily. “There’s something wrong with this place. I feel like we’re being watched. The air’s suffocating in here.”

Rye laughed. “I guess superstition’s contagious. You two are jumping at shadows. This place is fantastic!” He sent a shower of rainbow sparkles from his horn, dancing through the light. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Cranberry and Inger sharing a worried glance. He shrugged it off, bathing in the heat of the magic.

The three ponies continued on into the deep, black heart of the forest.

Comments

[KMCA]

I'm always disturbed by chapters with no comments, especially on older stories

[Thread Necromancer]

Ahead of them, Inger laughed. “You think this is bad weather? This is just a drizzle. Have you ever seen what happens when they schedule a hurricane?” Nevertheless, they quickened their pace.

WHY WOULD THEY EVEN THINK OF DOING THAT!?!?!

[PaulAsaran]

There’s no such thing as a werewolf, Rye.

Well, I know what these ponies are going to be running into.

Ugh... I wish you weren't just outright telling us Inger's past. This is the kind of thing I'd much rather see revealed in small snippets or, at worst, being confessed in a time of weakness to his traveling companions. Oh well...

What? Seriously, they just pick out a trainee, ask a couple questions and boom, instant Firewing? I pray to Luna there was some kind of background espionage going on to confirm a recruit's qualities, because otherwise that's total bull. That's not how you recruit the best of the best; it's a miracle some of the Firewings never betrayed the crown or went corrupt.

Have you ever seen what happens when they schedule a hurricane?

Better question: why the buck would they schedule a hurricane at all?

Dark, creepy forest? Check. Mysterious environmental effects of inexplicable source? Check. Blatant corruption of all magical flow? Check. Good guy going bad? Double check. This is all rather classic. If they actually figure out what's wrong with this place and fix it, I will be thoroughly disappointed.

[Golden Fang Ryu Shenron]

The pegacorn was another matter. Inger knew all about that race’s black reputation. Although it was fairly clear to him by now that Rye Strudel possessed no dark magical powers, he still wasn’t willing to trust his life to such a twisted creature. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps the pegacorn would prove himself in Sleipnord.

Oh buck off!

[Draco Dei]

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My fanon is that destructive weather is the Pegasus equivalent of carpet bombing. If so, hurricanes would be training exercises.