//------------------------------// // XLII - A Meal to Die For // Story: A Beginner's Guide to Heroism // by LoyalLiar //------------------------------// XLII A Meal to Die For Several hours and at least enough pots of ink to draw ironic moustaches on an entire portrait gallery, my ongoing narration to Diadem was interrupted by a knock at the door of the library.  When it opened at the faintest tug of the resident archmage’s magic, I was surprised to find Gale waiting there alone. “How’s it going?” Gale asked, walking in.  She still wore the silver dress with the purple lining that I’d seen in the throne room, though her makeup and tiara had vanished in the hours since that fiasco.  I’m sure the intervening time has tampered with my perceptions in this regard, but I’ll still make this claim anyway: the young princess was a staggering beauty when she wasn’t going out of her way to seem as rough-and-tumble as possible.  I caught myself staring as she approached the owner of the library. “Diadem, did he explain that Typhoon’s an idiot yet?” “...I don’t consider the Commander unintelligent.  And no, we haven’t proven or disproven anything yet.  His story certainly checks out with what little I do know, but we can’t refute Typhoon’s claims.  And the appearance of a candlecorn in the Hollows is still a somewhat troubling piece of evidence.” “Who gives a f— excuse me, a flying feather what Typhoon thinks?”  As she corrected herself, Gale watched Diadem closely. The archmage raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “Can we let the record reflect that for Dad’s purposes, I didn’t say anything wrong?”  Diadem was still. “Whatever. Tell Star Swirl that Morty’s a great pony, even if he’s sometimes a douchebag—” “I resent that.” Gale ignored me.  “—and we can all get on with our lives.  Morty, we need to leave. Dad’s expecting us at home for dinner.” “Your dad.”  Images of a fanged mouth and huge walls of fire flicked across my mind, before I corrected them with the gentler, wrinkled, grandfatherly expression of the ‘Cane’ who freed me from my cell.  “Right… let’s not keep him waiting.” “I’ll see you tomorrow, Morty!” Diadem called rather cheerfully as I rose with Gale and left the library.  I elected not to answer her. Given I had been teleported into the library by Luna, I hadn’t actually seen outside its doors.  I had assumed I would find a long palace hallway on the other side of the doors. Hence when I walked outside, I was surprised to find Diadem’s library was not attached to the palace at all. I realized this with certainty after a trip through a short hallway and a second door, when Gale and I found ourselves on a stairway winding down around an enormous tower on the outskirts of Everfree City proper.  I could see the palace relatively nearby, as well as the citizens of the sprawling metropolis going about their evening work like tiny ants. I am informed that to distinguish myself from an ‘evil wizard’, I should clarify that the above was a compliment.  Ants are industrious and accomplish feats of strength and engineering far above their physical size or apparent capacity.  My only intended point is that Diadem’s tower was fairly tall. Gale sighed as a slight breeze caught us.  “So… you look nice in that, Morty. Better than the whole ‘cult robes’ thing.” “Do we really want to discuss that again?” I asked. She chuckled.  “Nah, I’m just fucking with you.  I didn’t want to lead with ‘how have you been’, because I know exactly what it’s like to sit there and get lectured by Diadem for six or eight hours.  You look like a fucking zombie.” I idly considered how slack faced and bag-eyed I probably did appear after a terrible night of sleep, but no matter how hard I tried, my cheeks refused to pick up my lips into anything resembling my usual confident resting grin.  “Is that how you learned your fancy dueling stun?” “Oh, yeah, Diadem’s a great duelist,” Gale replied with obvious sarcasm.  “Once, I hear she fought an entire encyclopedia by herself.” She rolled her eyes.  “Star Swirl taught me that. He’s the real fucking badass wizard. Diadem did teach me something, though.” Gale’s horn lit up, and with a rather quick cast for such a new student, she disappeared with a pop and the scent of fresh ozone. “Teleportation?”  I recalled her frustrations when I had tried to teach that lesson.  They vanished, rather quickly, when I heard a loud thud overhead, followed by a dull wheezing breath. “Fuck… I missed.” About three stories up the side of the tower from the library door, Gale hung from a set of stone crenellations, her hind hooves dangling in open air. “Wait… you couldn’t figure out teleportation from me, but the evil queen of libraries honestly got it to work for you?” “Yes, actually,” Gale replied.  “It was pretty fucking simple when she skipped all the crap about wine glasses and circles on the ground.  You gonna help or not?” “Well, you could just teleport back down,” I observed. Gale’s horn sparked twice, and then she groaned.  “It’s a complicated spell! I’m not used to casting while hanging off a damn cliff!”  After a few moments of attempting and failing at a pull-up, she turned her head to glare down at me.  “Enjoying the view, asshole?” “No,” I told her.  “Just waiting for you to drop.”  When that comment earned me another glare, I grinned and extended a hoof as if to catch her—though doing so would involve diving off the side of the tower stairs to my own death.  “Raponezel, Raponezel—” “I will geld you with Dad’s sword,” Gale interrupted.  “Grab me with your magic or something!” I sighed.  “Some ponies have no appreciation for drama.”  My horn flared, and with another pop, Gale landed sitting just beside me.  She stood up, brushing herself off as I shook off the wave of exertion and fatigue from the spell on top of the long day of sitting and being repeatedly accused of murder. “What did I ever see in you?” She muttered, catching her balance from the usual disorentation of teleporting. I shrugged.  “Almost super-equine good looks?  A certain indescribable charm? All the makings of a dashing he—” The word choked on my tongue, even before Gale grabbed my throat with her magic.  “You smug fucking douchebag.” After holding me for a moment, she let go. I rolled my eyes, not even having been choked long enough to gasp for breath.  Blowing off my own hesitance at my last thought was easy. “Like I said. No appreciation for drama.” “If you’d sat through a third of the fucking theatre I have, you’d hate drama too.”  After saying that, Gale glanced nervously over her shoulder at the stout door of the tower.  When she saw nopony present, she took a visible breath of relief, and then turned to me again.  “I don’t really give a shit what Diadem thinks of me, but Dad said if he caught me swearing again he’d make me keep attending court in full ‘royal regalia’ for the next year.  And I think I’d rather kill myself.” “I’m surprised you’re afraid of what your father will do, given you ran away with his sword.” “That didn’t have anything to do with Dad,” she told me, staring off into the distance.  I’d learned enough to know whatever had caused her to run away hadn’t been resolved. “Mom was just being a prick, and…  Look, don’t worry about it. It’s stupid. Royalty shit.” “If you say so.”  I rolled my neck and took in the fresh air.  The evening still held a lingering heat higher than anything we would usually experience in the Crystal Union, even in summer.  Still, after River Rock and the eternal blizzard, I wasn’t about to complain. I glanced up and down at Gale’s immaculate dress and her clearly styled (though still rough and short) mane.  “You look phenomenal, by the way.” As she rose, I started on my way down the tower’s stairs. “Doesn’t really make up for having this fabric most of the way up my ass, but thanks, I guess.”  She shook her head, and fiddled with the collar of the dress with a brief burst of telekinesis. “After I got back, Mom and Dad were right up there with the dress for a week.  ‘No swearing, go to court everyday, wear a real dress, have dinner with the suitors…’ I was about ready to kill somepony waiting for you to show up.” “Suitors?” Gale gritted her teeth.  “You know about monsters, right?  Is there such a thing as a giant fucking leech that can turn into a pony?  Or maybe a walking cock with almost as much ego as you?” “I see…” I replied, and even those two words were hesitant. Gale shook her head.  “You should just drop it, unless you’re gonna help me deal with them.” “I don’t know if I can help with something like that,” I told her.  “I don’t do assassinations, despite what everypony seems to think. And I can’t exactly force your parents to do… well, anything, really.” “Fuck that!  I mean we should run away again.”  With a burst of energy and surprisingly agility for a mare in a dress, Gale leapt up onto the railing of the stairs spiraling around the tower, balancing on the thin metal with barely any apparent effort.  “I heard from Pathfinder—he’s one of my dad’s old scouts—that there were some elk asking for help against some kind of monster down to the southwest, in the desert colonies. And Star Swirl says there’s some settlement down there where the ponies had to fight off a sphinx.” “You want me to help you run away?  From your dad?” Gale jumped down from her perch and then slapped me across the face hard enough that I flipped over the railing and fell off the stairs.  Fortunately, we were about two stairs from the ground anyway, but without describing the flip over the railing you likely wouldn’t understand how much the blow hurt. “Stop being such a pussy.  My dad isn’t going to hurt you, even if he thinks it’s funny to give you shit in the throne room.  It’s Mom you’ve gotta watch out for.” “...at dinner?  Or just in general?” “Gah!” was Gale’s answer, and she trudged down the stairs and onto the streets of Everfree City, leaving me to sprint and catch up. “Sorry?” I offered when I once again matched her stride.  Despite my height advantage, it was tiring keeping up with the frustrated mare, whose pace was only a few bent knees short of a gallop.  She didn’t bother to reply to my half hearted apology beyond a sidelong glance in my direction. I let that silence sit for a few moments, and watched the city as it passed us.  Ponies milled about, though a few did recognize Gale and offer her a bow or a wave, calling out ‘Princess’ or ‘Your Highness’ as she passed. My friend’s response was to walk a bit faster past each of them and to avoid further contact. Finally, nearing the entrance to the palace itself, I felt the need to relieve a burning question.  “Gale, about River Rock… I figure with what happened in court, we’re good, but I just wanted to make sure.  Are you okay? With me?” Gale stared at me silently for a long few moments.  Then, to my relief, she snorted back a laugh. “Nah, I just blow all my casual acquaintances in public.  Yes, Morty, we’re fine. And before you let that go to your head, the hornjob was to save your life.” “What?” I asked her.  “How could you possibly save me with—” “It got Mom to completely forget about dealing with you, and made her so fed up with court she gave you a day’s reprieve.”  Gale observed. “It wasn’t about you.” “Oh.  Well, then—” “If it were about you, I’d have taken my time with it.” I blinked, dumbstruck, and my hooves followed Gale the rest of the way to her home without any input from my now thoroughly muddled brain.  I only managed to gather some semblance of a sentient thought when we finally reached our destination. Hurricane’s villa was a wide orange thing, with smooth plaster and pillars supporting a fairly deep patio that looked out on a small farm of hops and barley and a few other grains between the city street and the front door.  The upper floors featured a number of open archways protected from the weather by wide eaves in place of windows—a fact I would later identify as a feature of most upper-class pegasus architecture—allowing a nice breeze to flow through the building and letting flying visitors come and go as they pleased. When we arrived, two other ponies were also standing on the porch.  Blizzard and the pestilent wart that was Tempest sat by the door, apparently having just knocked.  As we approached, I heard Tempest speaking. “Calm down a little, Blizzard.  Take a deep breath. I don’t know what your dad thinks, but Grandfather is about as friendly a pony as they come.  He might tease you a little, but family is pretty much the only thing in the world he cares about.” “That, and his beer,” Gale cut in, gesturing to the crops behind us as she stepped up onto the porch.  “And before you get worried, he’s not an alcoholic. He's just a snob. Apparently, the beer here in Equestria just doesn’t taste like it did when he grew up, so he brews his own.  Also, hi, Blizzard. Tempest.” “It’s good to see you again, Gale.  That dress suits you.” Blizzard smiled, though it faltered when Gale groaned and snorted up a wad of bile to spit on the soil beside the garden path.  Blizzard was taken aback, and after a flustered moment to regain control of her wings, she glanced in my direction. “Good to see you again too, Morty.” “Thanks.  I’m surprised you all got here this quickly.”  I glanced around the porch. “Where’s Graargh? And Angel?” Tempest snorted.  “Your pet and the rock are with the goddesses.” Tempest’s scruffy tuft of a beard and his unkempt mane removed any threat from his pointed glare, so I answered him with a civil smile—though looking like a zombie as Gale had observed earlier, I’m not sure it even came off that well.  “Thank you for letting me know where you stand, then, Tempest. And he isn’t my pet; Graargh is a pony with a curse.” Tempest groaned.  “Well, on the carriage ride over here, the pony he decided to be was Lady Celestia.  I just about had a heart attack when he jumped out of the carriage trying to fly.” “He turned into Celestia?” Gale asked, incredulous.  “Wait, what? Morty, he can turn into other things? I thought he was just a bear…” “It’s a long story,” I noted.  “Celestia thought we should keep that quiet, though I suppose Graargh isn’t helping that.  I’ll explain later, I promise. In the meantime… is the Commander coming?” Gale chuckled.  “Right.” And then she pushed open the door with her magic.  “Of course.” The view through the doors revealed a room that sat metaphorically at the intersection of a foyer and an atrium, and literally at the intersection of a kitchen, a dining room, and a stairwell.  It was into the penultimate of those options that I followed Gale, and it is that dining room which still haunts my waking nightmares to this day. Lifting her voice, the princess shouted into the home.  “Dad, you’ve had guests at the door for a while now. Are you sure you don’t need Star Swirl to look at your ears?” “Hmm?” called the voice of the legendary Commander Hurricane, somewhere within the villa.  Tempest entered the home calmly, but it wasn’t until Blizzard and I both hesitantly entered the foyer that the stallion appeared.  “Sorry, did you knock? I was cooking.” Sure enough, the one-winged living legend held in his teeth a chef’s knife roughly long enough to touch a stallion’s spine, if inserted from the belly.  Around his neck were the straps of a white apron covered in rather a lot of text. Obviously, I couldn’t read it at the time, but later encounters mean I can convey that writing now. Near Hurricane’s blue-black neck, bold red letters embroidered in the fabric read World’s Best Dad.  Somepony had actually taken the time to embroider a black line through the writing from left to write, as though a pony with a quill had scratched through it. Beneath that label, in somewhat less clean script, the apron proclaimed that Hurricane was a great dad.  That too had been crossed out. Some third label appeared below that, but I have to assume Gale wrote it.  I say this because rather than a black line through the center of the text, the entire segment of script had been covered with a thick black strip censoring whatever lay below. Finally, nearing the bottom hem of the apron, somepony had stitched in two words in crisp red:  A Dad. And even then, the mysterious censor had struck, adding another word into the cramped space to the left of that label: Technically. Hurricane seemed to have taken the scathing commentary on his family role in good humor, since he was was willing to wear the thing in front of me.  He answered his daughter with his gigantic knife still between his teeth. “You and Tempest both know the door is always open to family.” Gale snorted.  “So fuck Morty, then?” “I would prefer if you’d stop that, especially in public,” Hurricane answered firmly after sheathing his knife under his wing (yes, really).  He stepped forward and extended one leg opposite his single remaining wing. “Blizzard, it’s wonderful to finally meet you properly. Welcome to Everfree!” “Thank you, sir.”  Blizzard awkwardly accepted a one-winged, one-legged hug from the graying stallion, holding him like someone might a damp, muddy foal with a distinct scent of sewage. “Don’t feel like you need to be so formal.  ‘Grandpa’ is fine. Or ‘Cane’.” I felt lost in a whirlwind as the pony I had grown up fearing so completely proceeded to hug his grandson and his daughter in a sort of awkward, aproned ritual of family.  At least they answered the motion firmly. My mind rebelled; where was the Hurricane with the sharpened fangs who would as soon eat another pony as greet them? Where was the Butcher of Amber Field and his cloud of living lightning? I lost track of those thoughts mostly because Hurricane finally approached me. A hoof extended toward me.  “So, Morty… welcome to our home.” “Our?” I asked, hesitantly accepting the hoofshake. Gale rapped me behind my ears.  “I live here too, stupid.” “Gale, hospitality,” Hurricane chided.  “But yes, Morty. ‘Our’. Gale and I live here, along with my wife on those rare occasions that she’s able to escape the palace.  She won’t be joining us today—” “Thank Celestia,” Gale muttered. Hurricane grumbled something under his breath.  “—but don’t be surprised if you run into her in the future.”  He gestured to the foyer stairs. “I’ve set aside some rooms for both you and Blizzard,” he glanced over to his granddaughter with a smile.  “And you both have the run of the villa, provided nopony goes stealing things out of my office.” That comment earned Gale a glare. “Oh, and that everypony should stay in their own rooms at night.  Platinum says I have a tendency to sleepwalk, and I was a soldier long enough that I startle awake easily. I’d hate to hurt anypony by accident if they weren’t where they were supposed to be.” I cannot emphasize how strongly his piercing magenta eyes dug into my soul as he issued those words. “I… I’m not going anywhere.”  After a moment’s consideration, I added “Sir.” “Good.  Then I’m sure we’ll all get along.  Dining room is in there,” he added, gesturing with his wing.  “Go ahead and take some seats at the table; dinner is almost done, and we can all catch up more comfortably then.” The dinner table had six seats, though the foot of the table lacked a plate or any silverware to speak of.  Hurricane’s seat at the head of the table was amusingly obvious, as he had placed all of his utensils and his drinking cup on the left side where he still possessed a wing.  Gale quickly stole the seat to her father’s right, and Blizzard almost as quickly took the opposite corner, out of reach of her still unfamiliar grandfather. Tempest looked straight at me and smiled like an ill-groomed shark.  “Welcome to Everfree, Morty.” Then he took the remaining seat out of Hurricane’s direct reach, leaving me to sit at Hurricane’s left, where the commander’s one wing could easily touch me. “Well, Morty, don’t feel like a stranger.”  Hurricane’s voice shook me from the realization of the seating as he approached from behind carrying no fewer than four skillets and pots, all apparently made of skysteel.  “I don’t want to burn you with any of this.” How he spoke around their handles, I will never know, but the fact that he carried the sizzling iron on his bare coat and wing and the handles in his bare mouth were more than evidence of his strength over the element of fire. Gale grabbed me by my shoulders with her magic before I even had a chance to move and hauled me to the remaining seat.  Hurricane followed swiftly, setting down the food he was carrying: two loaves of bread, a full salad of mushrooms and lettuce and cabbage and tomato decorated with berries and nuts, a soup of some kind that smelled of corn, and a number of small buns decorated with a sticky tempting icing. And then he put down the last skillet, and my stomach reprised the award-winning Crystal Flugelwaltz it had previously performed at the tavern named in Hurricane’s honor in Lübuck.  At least three dozen strips of browned flesh looked back at me, the last remnants of some poor animal I couldn’t even identify. “Steak?” Tempest smacked his lips, and I noticed even Gale smiled at the dish. Hurricane nodded with a smile of his own.  “Almost ready. Gale, can you grab the wine…? Gale?” I followed the Butcher’s gaze and saw Gale adjusting her dress with increasing frustration.  “Something wrong?” “If I sit on the hem, the dress is going to choke me to death.  This collar is so high, and the whole thing is just… just so f— gah!” Blizzard chuckled, but the rest of the native Equestrians seemed less amused.  Tempest rolled his eyes and Commander Hurricane sat back in his chair as Gale’s frustration grew more and more visible and less and less linguistically complete. Finally, Gale lit her horn more potently, and ripped off the entire collar of the garment. “Your mother isn’t going to be happy,” Hurricane observed flatly. Gale rolled her eyes in reply.  “Well, when Mom wants to get strangled, I’ll be glad to put it on her neck.  Now, wine. Right.” The mare opposite me kept her horn lit, and glanced over the kitchen.  From somewhere out of sight, a few long-stemmed glasses and two bottles of wine floated into the room.  “Anything else, Dad?” I stared at the floating dining crystal with wide eyes.  “Wait… what are those?” Gale looked at me like I was insane as her magic finished setting the table.  “They’re wine glasses, Morty.” One of the little cups with the tall stems floated down in front of me, and it was quickly filled almost to the brim with a rich red wine that smelled of berries as well as grapes. I blinked twice and then broke out laughing.  “Oh!” As everypony stared at me, I held a hoof to my chest.  “Oh, okay. I see now. This is why you were so confused in Lübuck.  When I was trying to explain teleportation… This isn’t the shape I meant at all.  I’m sorry, Gale.” “Are Crystal wine glasses shaped different?” Hurricane asked, cocking a brow and leaning forward. “Yes, but Wintershimmer hated virtually everything about ‘barbarian’ culture.  Almost everything Wintershimmer owned was unicorn made, and most of it he’d enchanted himself for one thing or another.  His wine glasses were... I don’t know if I actually know a word to describe it, but they didn’t have an ‘inside’ and and ‘outside’ you could tell apart.” “What?” Blizzard asked.  “That’s doesn’t make any sense…” “Tell me about it,” Gale muttered. “I’ll show you all later,”  I promised. Then I took a deep breath, if only to punctuate the thought.  “Sorry for the interruption.” “It’s fine,” Hurricane answered.  He gestured to the food spread across the table with his sole wing.  “Well, everypony, let’s eat.” Salad and soup and bread all passed around the table clockwise, balanced on wings or gripped in magic.  Nopony spoke during this surprisingly well-choreographed process, though at least Blizzard’s unfamiliarity shared in causing some minor delays in the otherwise oiled system.  Nopony commented on my lack of meat, and I held my tongue about the atrocity the others at the table were committing. A few minutes into the meal, Hurricane settled his attention on Blizzard.  Before he could ask whatever was on his mind, she turned her attention in my direction and spoke hastily.  “How was your trip here? Aunt Typhoon brought you?” “Oh, it was wonderful.  She accused me of murder.”  I lit my horn, speared the first bite of my food, and enjoyed a bit of a genuinely incredible salad.  Chewing took only a moment, and then I continued. “Kind of a lot actually. Her secretary was nice, at least.”  I glanced from Blizzard to Tempest. “Help me understand something: given your mother’s obvious preferences, where did you come from?  Are you adopted?” The first response I got was Hurricane violently choking on a piece of lettuce.  Only a moment later, Gale picked up with violent laughter. Tempest sighed.  “You really want to do this, Morty?  Here?” I shrugged.  “I thought discussing intimate romance was a family tradition.  Especially after River Rock.” I looked toward Hurricane, who after clearing the lettuce in his throat had adopted a curiously straight face that should have terrified me.  “Cyclone threatened my life when he assumed I was… sleeping with Gale.” “You aren’t?”  Hurricane sighed.  “Oh, thank Celestia.” “Dad!” Gale shouted. “I take offense at that!” I cut in.  “I mean, if I might be so bold, the foals would look incredible.” Hurricane coughed heavily and sat upright again, looming over me in a way that most pegasi physically can’t.  “As long as you’re rating the appearances of foals, let me just say I object to having a pedophile as a son-in-law.  And Tempest is right, that’s more than enough discussion of romance at the table.” The aging soldier then leaned back in his seat again and turned to the opposite side of the table.  “Blizzard, how is River Rock? Is your father doing well?” Blizzard recoiled a little bit at the attention of her grandfather.  “He’s healthy.” If anything, the terse response only seemed to worry Hurricane.  “Did he mistreat you? Is that why you came here?” “No…” The silence in the room grew heavier and heavier, until I felt the need to come to her rescue.  “We’re looking for her mom,” I cut in. The simple sentence left Hurricane recoiling, almost as if I had struck the living legend.  I was careful not to press him, leaning back to give the topic space, but I continued nonetheless.  “Did you know her? Summer?” Hurricane cleared his throat, and I caught the hint of a growl in the action.  “Only from a distance.” His head swiveled slowly to look at Blizzard, and he spoke with the speed and force of an iceberg, carefully choosing each of his next words.  “I will tell you what I can, Blizzard, because you have a right to know. But I would just as soon encourage you not to worry. You’re nothing like her.” Blizzard nodded.  “I think I want to know anyway, Sir.  Er, Grandfather.” The soldier nodded, but the wrinkles on his muzzle deepened.  “Summer Celsus was a medic who worked for one of my Legates, Iron Rain.  I met her more than once when I first became Emperor, and then after our exodus from the griffons.  Her father was a senator, and one of my closest advisors. Both Summer and her father were Nimbans…” He sighed, and to my surprise, he turned to me.  “How much of our history you know, Morty?” “Just snippets…” I answered hesitantly.  “You had a war with the griffons and their god, right?”  A flash of unprecedented anger slipped over Hurricane’s expression, and I caught glimpse of a hint of a spark on his wings.  It faded quickly, but the momentary expression told me that not all Hurricane’s scars were as obvious as his missing wing. “But that’s basically it.  What is a Nimban?” Hurricane nodded.  “I see. Nimbus was a Cirran city.  A citadel sitting right on the griffon border.  The city was renowned for its warriors. Blizzard’s mother, Summer, took that reputation to an extreme in the war.” “Hold on,” Gale interrupted.  “If Summer fought in the Red Cloud War, wouldn’t she be your age, Dad?  Because if she was f— ” Hurricane’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Hooking up with Cyclone, that’s… a little creepy, right?  She’d be like thirty years older than him.” “Closer to twenty,” Hurricane noted, but he nodded as he said it.  “They weren’t married. On recommendation, I tasked Summer with tutoring Cyclone when he was about your age.  She was the strongest fire empath in the Legion at the time. This was back when we’d first discovered how to use our magic, after the war, and I had the sense that mastering our magic the way the unicorns had was the way Cirra was going to survive.  And even as a colt it was obvious fire was where Cyclone’s talents lay.” “Was he an angry colt?” I asked.  At Hurricane’s raised, incredulous brow—probably wondering at the audacity of my question, I held up my hooves in a calming gesture.  “For pegasi, fire comes from anger, right? So I would assume that meant Cyclone was angry, if it was obvious he was going to be strong with fire.” That explanation seemed enough to spare me the Commander’s ire, and he nodded.  “Cyclone always had a temper, and a rebellious streak.” Nopony said a word. Hurricane continued without comment on the pointed silence.  “As far as I know, Cyclone and Summer were never really in love.  Their romance came from a few nights of indiscretion. Summer was married to…”  The blue-black stallion’s brow twisted into a knot for a few moments, before he gave up on his memory.  “Some cloud architect, I think, though I can’t recall the name. Whoever he was, they could never have foals.  They both thought it was Summer’s fault.” Blizzard frowned.  “But she had me… Was it magic?” “Magic?” Hurricane shook his head and chuckled.  “No, nothing so special. They were just wrong. It was the stallion.  But Summer was the one who took the blame and it tore her marriage apart.  She had no foals, she was getting too old to fight on the front lines, and she felt like she had nothing else to live for.” “Are you kidding?” Gale asked with a snort.  “That would be fucking great. Literally.” “Gale,” Hurrricane whispered harshly. “Oh, come on, Dad.  Tempest is thinking it too.”  At Gale’s comment, Tempest held up both his wings, waving them slightly as if to ward off any association with his… was Gale his aunt?  That certainly seemed strange, given that he was older.  Gale certainly didn’t seem troubled with the relationship, or for that matter with the words she was spewing.  “As much rolling around in the hay as you want with no eleven-month stomach aches afterwards? Sign me up.” “There’s a simple spell for that—” I dropped the thought very quickly when Hurricane glared in my direction. Blizzard nervously looked down, avoiding Gale’s attention.  “Pegasi only take nine months, Gale.” “Oh?” Gale shrugged.  “Whatever. You get my point.  And Morty, you should have said something. We should talk—” Hurricane cracked a hoof on the table.  “Ahem.” I emphasize that he did not, in fact, clear his throat.  “Obviously, teenagers do not change through history, since Cyclone seems to have had the same idea that some of you are having.  And since you obviously need a cautionary tell, let me remind you that he was wrong. Summer was perfectly healthy, it was her husband who was infertile. I had no idea Summer was pregnant, Blizzard.  She and Cyclone kept you secret from both me and your grandmother, Swift Spear. But that was only a few months before Cyclone’s rebellion, and she chose his side.” “Oh.”  Blizzard looked away.  “Father said she had been killed…” “She was,” Hurricane confirmed.  “I wasn’t there, but if it is important to you to know more, Iron Rain can tell you more.  I can introduce you if it is important to you.” I put my hooves on the table as calmly but firmly as I could.  “Cyclone told us she was dead as well. But either it isn’t true, or somepony besides Wintershimmer and I is practicing necromancy in Equestria.  Very evil necromancy.” “Hmm?” Gale cocked her head.  “You sure this isn’t Wintershimmer, Morty?” “I tried to seance Summer.”  I glanced toward Hurricane, who had quirked a brow.  “Like what Luna did in the throne room. It’s necromancy, to bring a soul back from the Summer Lands or from Tartarus and talk to them.  But Summer wasn’t in either place. Somepony has done something to her.” “It’s Lady Luna.” The table was utterly silent after Tempest’s abrupt announcement.  “I don’t know anything about Blizzard’s mom in particular, but I know Lady Luna has been known to raise the dead in the past.” Gale shook her head firmly.  “Bullshit. Aunt Luna would never do anything evil with her magic.” “I don’t know; she certainly seems to enjoy being evil verbally,” I noted. Hurricane spoke up. “Tempest is telling the truth, Gale. Though despite what Morty seems to think, she is well within her rights.”  His focus remained locked on Tempest. “You and I are going to have a long, private, conversation about how you know that.  And as for the other three of you, do not bother Lady Luna about this.” “Hold on, what?” I turned to Hurricane.  “You’re saying that you know with absolute certainty that Luna is taking dead souls away from their afterlives and binding them into undead servants, but I’m the one on trial over what happened in Platinum’s Landing?” “You are not a goddess,” Hurricane answered sternly. I stood up from my seat.  “Okay, let’s assume that’s a remotely valid argument and there is something special about Luna herself that makes her gigantic and immortal, instead of some artifact she touched or some secret spell she cast.  Even accepting that, do you have any idea what happens to a soul trapped inside an undead body when the body gets destroyed? Or what happens when a soul is left in a body like that for too long? You're telling me that Summer is out there, walking around undead right now, and I should just let Luna grind what's left of her soul to dust?  And all you can give in justification is some pegasus religious wisdom?” “Life wisdom, Morty.  It isn’t our place to interfere in the wills of the gods.  I know more about them than anypony alive, and all it’s brought me is suffering.” Hurricane took a long slow breath, and then a slow sip of his wine.  “Let the gods judge the dead. It isn’t our place to drag them back. Especially not the damned.” “Oh.”  I shook my head.  “Great. This is all about Tempest and Solemn Vow, not Summer.  Glad we could clear that up. For a second, I thought you were about to offer an actual logical justification to look the other way while Luna turns the souls of the dead into evil spirits.  Come on. Tell me why a chat with Solemn Vow makes me evil. I'm all ears.” Tempest snarled.  “Sit down Morty. You’re sticking your nose some place it doesn’t belong again.  You have no idea what Vow was like.” “Why does it matter?” I shouted, feeling the bones of my spine pop at the speed with which I turned on Tempest.  “I asked him three questions. I didn’t let him do anything. The ponies lives I saved matter a lot more than some bad day you had as a little colt.  I’m getting very tired of arguing this with you.” “Be quiet.”  Hurricane didn’t shout; it was that same strange magic from the throne room, as I suddenly found myself unable to breath.  This time, he didn’t draw out the strange experience at all. His magic—and I was certain it had to be magic—only lasted long enough to win him silence.  Then he turned to Tempest. “Give us some room.” Without so much as another word, the sky blue stallion walked away. Hurricane’s already wrinkled forehead furrowed between his brows as he turned to me.  He wasn’t angry, but rather he seemed burdened, as if somepony had placed a great weight on the center of his skull.  “Morty… I do not fault you for what you did. I won’t pretend speaking to Solemn Vow was a crime, and if you have been telling us the truth, you had every reason to want answers from him.  But if there is any warning I can give you, it is that meddling with the dead will only lead you to suffering. I know that Celestia and Luna consider it a sacrifice to judge the dead.” The graying old stallion reached forward, speared himself a piece of steak, dropped it on his plate, and then regarded it with some sort of ennui.  At last, he lifted his head enough to look at his granddaughter. “Blizzard… put aside all this talk about magic. Your mother is dead, and if you do ever meet one of Luna’s servants out there, she won’t be the mare you’re expecting.  Tempest and Gale and I are your family, not some ghost you’ve never met.” Carefully, Hurricane’s wing guided a knife through his meat, and he took a single contemplative bite. I watched the apple of his throat bob as he swallowed it. I sat back down in my chair, regarded a piece of bread on my own plate, and decided I wasn’t terribly hungry.  “Why is Vow so much worse than Cyclone?” I want you to understand that I am not exaggerating when I describe to you the impact that simple question had on Hurricane’s dining room.  It was as if I had snapped a chalkboard in half and then grated the cragged, sharpened edge of one half against the surface of the other. Everything stopped.  Not just speech but movement. Hurricane slowly looked up.  And then, just as slowly, he spoke.  “I am going to give you the chance to explain that question.” The sudden feeling of danger made me swallow and focus my words.  “Both of them tried to take over Equestria, but everypony is specifically comparing me to Solemn Vow.  If I’m going to defend myself against what Typhoon is saying, I at least need to understand what about Vow makes him such a preoccupation for everypony.” Hurricane nodded slowly, but it was only when his chest rose and fell once that I felt like air returned to my own lungs. “He doesn’t talk about it,” Gale explained in the ensuing moments of her father’s silence.  “You might as well go ask Celestia, or—” “No, Gale,” Hurricane interrupted.  “In this case, it matters. Coil is right.” “Wait, what?”  Gale didn’t come across surprised so much as offended.  That emphasis grew stronger when she stood up from the chair.  “You’re honestly just going to tell him right now? Some random-ass stranger you met today?” “Actually, yesterday,” I unwisely contributed. “Go fuck yourself, Morty,” she snapped without even looking at me.  Her focus was purely on her father. “I’ve been asking you to tell me all this shit for ten fucking years!  But no, Gale doesn’t need to hear a damn thing about her own father? What is it? Are you worried I’m too gods-damned sensitive?” Hurricane frowned with a look bordering on guilt, and he did not correct his daughter’s cursing.  “Gale, I do not want to tell Morty this. But his life is on the line. He is right. He does need to know.” “Oh, okay, that makes sense,” Gale snapped sarcastically.  Then her voice picked up to a full shout. “I mean, we’re gonna make Gale rule a third of the entire fucking country, but she’s not about to get killed over it, so who gives a damn, right?” “Gale…” Blizzard tried her best to give a consoling voice, though I barely even registered the placative over Gale’s volume. Gale’s magic grabbed onto her wine glass, which she downed in a single gulp before flinging the precious crystal against the wall.  It shattered rather spectacularly as she began yelling again. “Since I wasn’t born with wings, I guess I’m enough of this family to get any straight answers about my parents!” “Gale, this isn’t about—” “The fuck it isn’t!” She walked away from the table.  “I’m going out, Dad.” Hurricane stood up at that, speaking with much more resolve.  “Gale, you are not—” Unfortunately, parental condemnation didn’t stand much of a chance against outright teleportation.  Gale vanished from the room in a flash of magic and a whiff of ozone, leaving Hurricane standing with his wing outstretched toward thin air. “Gale…” He whispered to himself, and then collapsed back in his chair. “Do we need to go look for her?” Blizzard asked. Hurricane chuckled rather sadly.  “No… and you’ll never find her if you do.  I usually have to go get a scout to track her down when she disappears, and even that takes the better part of a day.  She knows the city too well. And you two don’t know it at all.” “So she’ll be okay?” Blizzard pressed. Hurricane nodded.  “She always is. I’m sorry you both had to see that.”  Then the aging soldier swiveled his chair away to face straight toward me.  “To answer your question as briefly as I can, Morty… Cyclone was a soldier. He planned in secret, he attacked directly with military might.  Vow was a manipulator. A schemer, and a politician. Everypony knew who he was. He cast himself as a hero of the unicorns and the earth ponies, and tried to argue the Legion being all pegasi was what had let Cyclone rise up in the first place.  Until Typhoon uncovered the truth, most ponies thought I was a cruel, oppressive warlord and he was their champion.” “Hero…” I muttered to myself. Blizzard slipped a wing over my shoulders.  “Morty, that isn’t you. You really do want to help ponies.  I know it.” I nodded.  “So does Wintershimmer.  And ponies keep getting hurt because of it.”  My memories flew to Silhouette, and on a whim, I reached into the pocket of my vest to retrieve her glistening black void crystal amulet. Staring at the shard, it hit me.  “Wait, how did…” “Is something wrong?” Hurricane asked.  “Is that void crystal?” “It’s supposed to be,” I answered.  “But Luna teleported me from the throne room to Diadem’s tower.  And…” I lifted the amulet up with telekinesis. It offered no resistance.  “…if this were a real void crystal, this would be impossible.” I dropped the amulet onto my dinner plate, lifted a knife, and brought it down rather like a sword. Behind the thin outer layer of black crystal, the interior of the crystal dribbled half-molten tallow. “What?  How are you doing that, Coil?” Hurricane asked, eyes narrowing. “I’m not.  Though I can’t prove that with this alone.”  I sighed. “Commander, give me a second to think.” “Is that candle wax?” Blizzard asked.  “Like what you said about Wintershimmer?” “It is,” I told her.  “I got this when Wintershimmer claimed he had given me Silhouette’s body.  Now, let me think please.” Hurricane stood up wordlessly and walked into the depths of his home as I plotted and schemed. “Can I help?” Blizzard asked.  “I feel so lost here…” “Bear with me,” I answered.  My eyes glanced toward where Hurricane had disappeared, and I swallowed.  “I’m going to need your help in just a little bit, Blizzard. Do you trust me?” “Of course!” she answered.  “You helped me with my dad.” “You trust that I didn’t kill those ponies in Platinum’s Landing?” I pressed.  “You trust I didn’t kill Silhouette?” Blizzard nodded.  “Morty, what is this about?” I dropped my voice to a whisper.  “I’ll tell you in a few minutes, I promise.  For now, just don’t question what I’m about to tell Hurricane.” I waited for a few moments, scheming as I sat, until Commander Hurricane entered the room. Hurricane walked back into the dining room, having deposited his amusing apron in favor of a purple sash attached to a sheathe running under his wing.  The now familiar hilt of Procellarum jutted out from under the limb. “I’m going to need an explanation now, Coil.” I nodded.  “Commander, this wax crystal proves Wintershimmer is behind what’s been happening.  It’s magic, but I can explain it to Luna and Star Swirl or whoever else you might need to know.  But right now, we have a problem. When Typhoon brought me here from Platinum’s Landing, we also brought the body of Silhouette, the Crystal Union guard captain.  Or at least, we thought it was her body. I believe there is actually a candlecorn loose in Everfree City right now.” Hurricane frowned.  “So what do we need to do? Call up the Legion?” “You need to get your void crystal armor from Typhoon, or she needs to go out.  Wintershimmer will rip out souls, so we can’t risk anypony who can’t defend themselves from his necromancy.  The Sisters may be able to fight him; I’ll let them judge themselves. But there’s another problem. Wintershimmer may be gunning for Gale.” Sparks danced over Hurricane’s wing.  “Why?” “Leverage,” I answered.  “She’s isolated herself and become an easy target.  I don’t know if he’s actually likely to go after her, but I’ll need to find her and get her someplace safe.  You said there was some scout you usually look for?” Hurricane nodded.  “Pathfinder. But she’s my daughter; you should warn Celestia—” “Commander, with all due respect, they haven’t all seen me cut a solid crystal in half and spill out a bunch of wax.  We do not have the time to wait for them to make me prove my innocence. They’ll trust you, and Gale will trust me.  Now, where do I find this scout?” “His name’s Pathfinder,” Hurricane replied, then glanced to Blizzard.  “Behind the villa, there’s a pegasus chariot. I need it to get up to Cloudsdale with one wing these days.  Attached the saddlebags on the harness, you’ll find a milky looking green potion. Morty will need to drink that.” “What?” I asked.  “Why?” “The potion will let you walk on clouds.  I keep a few handy for Gale. You’ll find Pathfinder at the Legate’s Lookout; it’s an old legionary tavern in Cloudsdale.  Right on the very edge of the clouds; you can’t miss it. Tell him I owe him six barrels now and he’ll know you came from me.” “Six barrels?” Blizzard asked. “No time,” I interrupted.  “Thank you, Commander. Sir.” Hurricane nodded.  “There’s a door in the back.  Go. And if you’re right, Morty, you’ll always have a welcome under my roof.” I scampered off toward the back of the villa as Hurricane’s spry but elderly gait took him toward the main door.  Blizzard followed me, and together we slipped out the back door. A rather rickety looking chariot sat on the dirt before us, in a small clearing between two small fields full of more of Hurricane’s hops and grains.  It certainly belied the Hurricane I would have claimed to know earlier. “Morty, what were you talking about?” Blizzard asked as she stepped toward the chariot. “Hmm?” I glanced at Blizzard. “You were super worried and asked a lot if I trusted you.  Why were you so worried?” I sighed, and stepped up to help her with the straps of the carriage’s harness.  “I just lied to Commander Hurricane’s face.” “You lied?” Blizzard asked. I nodded as I fiddled with a large buckle over her haunch, trying my best not to pinch her wings.  “I can’t prove anything with that glob of wax. Even if it is part of a candlecorn, unless Wintershimmer is actively inside it, I have no way of proving I wasn’t the one in control.  And as far as Star Swirl or Diadem or Luna know, I stole a candlestick in one of the palace hallways and just shoved it in my pocket to pull that stunt. Visual illusions are easy, but often effective.  That’s how Celestia got your father to believe I was innocent.” Blizzard turned to face me, inadvertently yanking the chariot in a half circle.  “Then why lie to Grandfather?” “I can’t prove my innocence in court.  Luna proved that brutally today.” I climbed into the back of the chariot.  “All that academic debate and law is for ponies like Luna and Diadem. That’s Wintershimmer’s game.  But if I break out and keep digging for why he’s going through all this trouble to frame me and get me killed, maybe I can find some real evidence.”  Nervously, I joked “Plus, if I can’t beat him, at least this way I’ve got a head start when I try to run away to live with the dragons or whatever.” “You’re worried you won’t find anything?” Blizzard asked, taking a few steps forward to get a feel for the chariot harness. “I think I’m terrified,” I answered her as calmly as I could.  “But I’m not about to give up now. I feel like there’s something important about that wax crystal, but I haven’t stopped to figure out what yet.  I need to not die first. Come on. Let’s go find Gale.” Blizzard glanced back over her shoulder at me.  “Why? I thought you just said that to get grandfather’s help.  Is she actually in danger?” “I doubt it,” I replied.  “But Hurricane said she knows how to hide better than anypony else in Everfree City.  And… honestly, I think I need her help.” A few moments later, as Blizzard broke into a gallop, I shook my head.  What was it about that mare that made me say things so bluntly? I still don’t know if I understand the effect Blizzard had on me. In the moment, with my face exposed to the wind and an increasingly fatal fall waiting just a few feet behind me off the back of the chariot, any such introspection was lost to gut-wrenching inertia.