Fairlight - To the Edge of Midnight

by Bluespectre

Chapter Eleven - Unlikely Companions

I’d never seen so many thestrals! Dying out they may be in the Withers, but the town here in Moon Hollows was quite literally heaving with them. Despite the military precision of the town’s layout, the roads simply weren’t wide enough to accommodate the sheer numbers out today. Of course, since wearing spiked armour was apparently in vogue regardless of whether you were going to war or just going to pick up half a dozen eggs, you had to watch your footing carefully. Still, irrespective of my concerns, there was no pushing, no shoving, just a gradual flow of warriors that slipped through the narrower streets like butter through a hot fork. And there was another food reference. I was hungry. Again. Good grief, since arriving here in the Darklands I’d been eating like a horse. Oddly enough I did feel stronger with it, providing I ate regularly. Unfortunately for yours truly I was decidedly low on money so that caused a particular problem in acquiring any type of comestible. Few of the vendors took equestrian bits here – no surprise there – but since the majority of my packs had been left back with Briar, including my coin purse, I was as poor as the proverbial church mouse. Thank the goddess that Maul had come through with a chit for… something. Perhaps even lots of ‘things’, who could say? The thestral writing was certainly interesting to say the least, yet try as I might I couldn’t make mane nor tail of any of it. To describe it would be, how can I put it… ‘runic’? Yes, that was it - ‘Runic’. Seemingly random scratches on a wax tablet closed with another wax seal and the appointment of a ‘guide’ was all I’d been sent out with. What fun. Unfortunately the guide was anything but, and had barely said two words to me since we’d been paired up. After my audience with Lord Maul had come to an end I’d been ushered into a sparse, if admittedly well appointed room, where I’d been collected in the morning like a set of luggage. As for Glimmer, I hadn’t seen her since my audience with ‘the boss’ had come to a close. Now, bimbling along behind the thestral whose name I hadn’t caught, I was heading off on my exciting quest to find an egg. A bloody egg! Of all the things I ever thought I would be asked to find, the last thing I expected would be an... egg. Only the gods knew how I was going to get it down a mountain without breaking the stupid thing, let alone locating it in the first place, but perhaps that was the real test here. I only hoped it held more value than as a novel menu item for the delightful Lord Maul and his bony pals. Still, egg or not, it would serve a purpose, and that was helping Glimmer get out of the mess I myself had caused.

I was still moping when my guide, ‘Argh’ or something, stopped in front of a vendors stall, the occupant of which promptly provided me with a set of packs. Looks like somepony had called ahead then, I thought to myself as they were unceremoniously dumped on my back. They were typically thestral in design, black leather with white stitching, but they sat nicely next to my own small pack that I’d been carrying with my towel and toiletries. The next vendor provided us with food, water, rope, and all manner of items that he adorned me with to the point where my knees were nigh on buckling under the weight of it all. My guide, I noted with disgust, carried nothing more than his thestral Sunday best: the ‘ever in fashion’ armour, crossbow and axe. The fellow in question was busy clicking and hissing at the vendor and shoving the chit under his muzzle, leaving me free to take a look at the busy market place.

Just like when I’d first arrived in Moon Hollows, the art of trade was in full swing. The heat and bustle was something that would put any equestrian market to shame, that was for sure. Shouts, yells, and the general hubbub seeped into everything as effectively as the smell of spices that were both tantalising and exotically different to anything I’d experienced back home. It was definitely strange with the permanently dark sky here, giving one the impression of a night market like the ones we had back home towards the end of the year. No Hearthswarming Eve decorations here though. Meat, armour, leatherwork, metalwork, and all manner of items that were more in line with the requirements of an army than a family home, were the predominant items on sale. Still, it had a charm all of its own, and-

“Fairlight?”

I looked round to see a familiar face above a grubby leather apron. “Nimbus? Hello, how are you today?”

The stallion nodded, “Fine. Listen, I heard you were going off on some sort of quest or something. Is that true?”

“Well, yeah, of a sort.” I shrugged and gave an apologetic smile. “Looks like I’ve got myself into a bit of situation with Lord Maul. Got to go and get an egg would you believe.” I tried a smile. “Shouldn’t be too much of a hassle, but once I’ve done that I’m heading home. No disrespect, but home is where the heart is and all that guff.”

“He wants you to get an egg?” Nimbus asked frowning.

I nodded. “Yeah, from a rock apparently.”

“Wait… you mean a ‘Roc’?” Nimbus’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “As in the Roc of Alegarth Mountain?”

“I didn’t know the name of the mountain, but I guess so,” I nodded.

The tall stallion shook his head, “Goddess preserve us...”

I raised an eyebrow, “And this is bad because…?”

“Do you know what a Roc is?” Nimbus asked.

“A bird of some kind I suppose,” I shrugged. “Probably something nasty. This is the ‘Darklands’ after all, so I doubt it’s going to be some kind of bad tempered parrot.”

Nimbus closed his eyes and sighed loudly, the sound clearly audible despite the noise of the throng. “Fairlight, this isn’t what you think it is.” The stallion fixed me with his red eyed gaze. “The Roc is a demonic bird,” he explained, “an eagle, and one that’s as big as the great hall itself!” I turned to look up at the upturned boat-like structure and tried to make some mental calculations. “That thing terrorised the local villages in the Withers,” Nimbus continued, “and now it’s here we give it a wide berth. Why in the name of the goddess did you agree to such a thing?”

“Because...” I face hoofed, “I didn’t have much of a choice, did I? It was either that, or… something worse.”

Nimbus stared at me for a moment before saying, “Just tell me you’re not going alone.”

I shook my head, “I’ve been given a guide. Right miserable sod he is too. That’s him there, arguing with the market chap.”

The black stallion narrowed his eyes, following my gesture towards my appointed guide. “I don’t recognise him,” Nimbus muttered. He turned back to me but kept a wary eye on the fellow. “Fairlight, I don’t like this. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I replied quietly. “I just want to get this over with and get home.”

“Yes...” Suddenly Nimbus stood up straight, his demeanour one that drew my full attention. “Wait there.” In an instant the young thestral vanished into the darkness of his forge and reappeared a moment later carrying a package on his back that looked very familiar indeed.

“Wait… now hang on!” I lifted a hoof, “I can’t-”

“You will.” Nimbus knocked my hoof and my protest away, shoving the package onto my back. Quickly, he began to strap it in place. “This,” he said, “is yours.”

“What do you mean ‘it’s mine’?” I breathed. “I can’t pay you for this, Nimbus, please-”

“There is nothing to pay.” The stallion stood back, still watching the guide warily. “Nobody else I know wants the thing, and I don’t want it hanging around the workshop forever.” He huffed under his breath. “Fairlight, this is yours. I already told you that a weapon chooses its owner. It resonates with the warrior’s heart, and some even believe it bears the soul of the carrier. With you, I saw how the blade shone when you held it. It looked… natural.”

“I don’t know what to say...” I babbled.

Nimbus smiled, “A ‘thank you’ would be enough.”

I felt my heart thump in my chest. I couldn’t believe this! This magnificent weapon, this wonderful piece of art made by the son of my old friend, given to me for nothing? I didn’t know what to say, except, “Thank you!” I said quickly, giving my mane a shake. “I don’t…” I sighed, trying to calm myself down. “Thanks. I mean it, really.”

“May it keep you safe on your path, my friend.” Nimbus stood on his hind legs and brushed his hooves on his apron. “Heads up, looks like your other ‘friend’ is looking for you.”

He was. I lifted a hoof and waved to the guide who grimaced noticeably at the sight of me. What a nice fellow he was! Miserable little… “Goddess bless you, Nimbus,” I said, but the apron wearing stallion was already disappearing back into the gloom of the forge. Goddess bless you. I smiled to myself and hurried up to where the guide was waiting with yet another pile of equipment.

Without even a single word from my miserable companion, yet more packs and general oddments I apparently ‘required’ were strapped onto my back. I didn’t get much of a chance to see most of it but I was sure it was all essential. By the feel of it I was damned sure they’d included the proverbial kitchen sink too. I grimaced bitterly to myself, trying to keep focussed on the task at hoof. My not-so chatty guide unsurprisingly walked away without another word, merely expecting me to follow like some bloody serf. Not that I exactly had anywhere else to go of course, nor for that matter, any idea where I was even meant to be going. I hope the guide knew the way. With a horrible sinking feeling I caught up with him, dodging past yet another heavily armed thestral and taking care not to impale myself on those ridiculous spikes. They were certainly intimidating, sure, but practical? I doubted it. I can recall a conversation I had some years ago with one of my friends in the Withers about this very subject. It was about the different types of armour worn by the various races, their form, function, and practicality. Spikes it seemed were as dangerous to the owner as they were to an opponent. A blade could catch on them and embed itself in the metal rather than glancing off. The analogy had been related to roofing slates, whereby the various plates should overlap one another so that they deflected an incoming attack instead of absorbing it. Personally I couldn’t give a monkeys what it looked like so long as it kept me intact and didn’t weigh so much I was virtually immobilized. Speaking of which, the next stop on our route took us to another stall that was piled high with - you guessed it – more spiked armour. My guide garbled something to the stall holder who stared at me as though I’d suddenly grown an extra head or something equally bizarre.

“Celestian?” he asked.

I shook my head, “No. Equestrian.”

The shop keeper huffed. “Not many of your kind visit these days,” he replied. “What are you, a wendigo?”

“Just a pony visiting friends,” I smiled.

I’d hoped to divert the conversation away from what and who I was, but to my surprise a spirited discussion then broke out between the stall holder and my guide, one which I half expected to end in drawn weapons if the waving of hooves and snorts were anything to go by. Thankfully this extraordinary display resulted in an exchange of coins and an agreement of sorts.

The stall holder nodded to my guide before turning to me. “Come with me,” he said, and jerked his for me to follow.

The stallion lead me into an area behind his counter which stank of oil and metal. Various pieces of crystal armour sat in stacks beside metal fittings, leather work, and the numerous tools of the armourers trade. My eyes must have been like saucers as I took it all in. In many respects it was like walking back in time to the days of the Legion and Nightmare Moon. From what I’d seen so far, thestral society was probably the same now as it had been then. There were no technological or magical advances in their society so far as I could tell, in fact everything about them was geared up for one thing - war. Good gods, if I’d been in charge of the herd, to have an army sitting on the other side of a portal like this would have had me looking for the nearest demolition team! But of course, this was normal for them wasn’t it. They were born to it, steeped in it from the cradle to the grave, and even in the afterlife that attraction to the ways of the blade never left them. It begged the question, if I’d been born into a wendigo family, would I have been much different? I was still staring at the armour as the stall holder began to pull the myriad of packs and items from my back.

“I can’t measure you when you’re covered in junk like that,” he grumbled. “You look like a tinker’s wagon.”

“I couldn’t disagree with you there,” I quipped.

The stall holder harrumphed as the last pieces of equipment were unbuckled and dumped unceremoniously onto the rough wooden floor. “You’re too round in the belly for regular armour,” he muttered half to himself. “Too round, too short, and flabby in the rump.”

“Thank you for such a kind observation,” I groused sarcastically. “I’m perfectly normal for a stallion I’ll have you know.”

“For a pony,” he replied drily. The armourer shook his head and sighed, the frown on his face displaying all too clearly his dismay at my physical dimensions. “When I was alive I would have had armour to fit you, but here… Hmm...” He grimaced, “I wonder...” I watched in silent fascination as the thestral knelt down and started to rummage under a large set of shelves. Pieces of armour, old tools, grubby rags, and other assorted items that clearly hadn’t been used in a very long time were pulled out until, finally, a large mass of stained and mildewed straps and plates of leather emerged into the light. They looked, and smelled, decidedly foisty to say the least. So much so that my poor nose wrinkled the second the mouldy aroma hit me. “Old, but should fit you,” the armourer said with a bob of his head. “I’ll give it an oil first, and then you can try it on.”

True to his word, the stall holder dumped the old set of barding on his bench and pulled the stopper from an earthenware jug he produced from a nearby shelf. He poured a little onto an old cloth and began rubbing the dark fluid into the leather. Whatever colour it may have once been had long gone, and the padding beneath the leather was heavily stained. But slowly, piece by piece, the tooled leather work began to come back to life. Closer inspection revealed the images of stars and moons impressed into the surface. They still bore faint traces of the white paint that had once picked them out. I suppose once upon a time it must have been quite impressive, but now after years of neglect it was a shadow of its former self. Still, so long as it kept me alive I could put up with some musty smells and faded designs. So long as I didn’t breath in too much...

“Lift your head.” With a flick, the freshly oiled leather barding swung up and landed over my back. It was surprisingly light and nothing like the steel plate armour I had worn in the herd. If anything I would say it had more in common with my barding in the watch. Nostalgia aside though, the smell of it was anything but pleasant and I let out a sneeze when the chamfron was fixed on my head. The stall holder ignored me as he continued to adjust the straps and buckles until, with a snort and a nod of his head, he stood back. “Good. Can you move around for me?”

All the parts were there. My rear was covered by a crupper; a set of articulated leather and thin metal plates that were delightfully light and flexible. The crinet that covered my neck was equally supple, not that I liked having my mane stuck beneath such a thing, but that was armour for you. It was just as well it had ventilation holes or it could get very hot and sticky back there. The peytral covering my chest and the saddle armour were a little snug, but still allowed for a good range of movement. I reared, stretching out my legs into a fighting stance, walked back and forth several times, and finally shifted my hind legs around as though readying to attack. Throughout it all the stall holder nodded to himself and muttered under his breath.

“Any discomfort?” he asked.

“None,” I replied. “It’s very comfortable actually.” The thestral smiled slightly and began to push the junk he’d removed earlier back under the shelving, his job done. “Is this thestral armour?” I asked.

“It was my son’s,” he replied simply. “He outgrew it.”

“So this is…”

“Colts armour? Yes.” The stall holder gave a short chuckle. “He was big for his age, but Equestrians are broader around the belly, so all in all it fits better than I’d hoped.”

I wasn’t sure how to take that comment. I’d always thought of myself as a fairly slim, if moderately muscular sort of fellow. Since passing over to the herd my ideal body type had been restored to all its former glory too. Okay, so perhaps I’d added a few pounds here and there due to the comfortable lifestyle and lack of exercise, but I was hardly what you’d call overweight. Right? Goddesses, maybe I was! Still, the armour fit me very well indeed and-

“Lift your foreleg.” The stall holder tapped me on the shoulder and to my surprise slipped a large scabbard under my leg and over my head. In no time at all he’d buckled the thing into position and had unpackaged my war-scythe, pushing it into place and sliding the keeper over the end so it wouldn’t fall out unexpectedly. “Got that from Thorn’s lad, did you?”

I nodded.

“He’s a good boy that one. I fought with his pa in the old days.” The stall holder smiled, “Good days they were. Good days...”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?” I offered.

“Don’t need to know it,” came the cryptic reply. “Sometimes the less you know, the safer you are. Come on now, your friend is waiting for you.”

Some friend! The moody glower that met me outside was one that never failed to raise my spirits. I sighed and pushed aside the more sarcastic replies that were itching to be released, mentally shelving them in my subconscious for use at a more opportune time. Laden down once again I set off following the silent creature out along one of the main arterial roads leaving the thrum of thestral town life behind us. No sooner had we passed the town limits when the perpetual darkness of the rather aptly named Darklands began to swallow us like the maw of some primordial beast. And ‘beasts’ was something the land of the thestrals had in abundance.

I don’t think I’d ever get used to living here. As fascinating a place as it was, like many places I’d visited over the years it was nice to visit, but nicer to be going home. Unfortunately ‘home’ was beginning to look a damned sight further away than ever right then. I still had no idea where we were going, nor, probably more importantly, what the hell I was going to do when I got there. I’d never heard of a ‘Roc’, and I’m pretty sure I would have remembered if I’d been told about an eagle the size of a house, despite my inattention during class. Equestria was chock full of weird and wonderful beasts of every description, and goodness knows how many more lay undiscovered beyond its borders. Wendigo probably seemed pretty tame compared to some of the more exotic fauna, especially dragons and their like. I hadn’t been modest when I’d been speaking to Lord Maul either; that damned dragon had nearly had me, and it was only thanks to Shadow who’d stabbed the monstrous lizard in the head with a dagger which I’d been given by… one of Thalio’s comrades…
Now that was a question. Had they known I would need the thing? No, they couldn’t see into the future surely? If they could have then they would have known I was going to threaten them into leaving me alone in the Withers. Damn it all, was I overthinking things again? Out here in the middle of nowhere you had little to occupy you other than your own thoughts. And if there was one thing I’d rather not do it was to think too much, otherwise I’d be thinking about what awaited me back home: Meadow, a wrecked cottage, and last but not least what the soul hunters were going to say when I magically reappeared as though nothing had happened. Hell, I hadn’t even left a message to say I was going to be away for a few days! If Meadow came home and saw the damage who knows what she would think? She’d- Damn it! I was doing it again! Stop thinking about things! Clear your mind, empty your head of thought. Listen. Breathe. Calm… Calm…

I closed my eyes and pictured a clear blue sky. No clouds. No birds. No sound. A gentle breeze playing across my fur as I glided across the snow capped mountains of Everwinter. Everwinter… So beautiful, so unimaginably breathtaking in its majesty. My home…

My ear twitched. Somepony, or some thing, was approaching. I sensed it before I heard or saw it. Clearing my head of the clutter of memories and extraneous thoughts allowed my senses to stretch out, my keen hearing focussing on any potential danger. It was faint, but the sound was clear enough to identify. They were heading our way. Hooves, several sets of them, crunched along on black sand as breath steam in the cool morning air. Necks twitched, tails swished, leather creaked. Mentally I checked my own equipment. It wasn’t good; the heavy packs and straps constricted my body and restricted movement far too much. If we were attacked out here I wouldn’t stand a chance with all this baggage. I had to be free to move if I had any hope of using my weapon to be effective. Whether my thestral guide had picked up on our as yet unseen company up ahead I couldn’t say, but my hackles were up and my hooves itching as the possibility of battle loomed like a spectre from the depths. I could feel my teeth tingling and my brows drew down as my excitement began to rise.

“Why have you stopped, Equestrian?” the thestral asked.

“We have company,” I hissed low in my throat. “Ready yourself.”

Cursing under my breath, I didn’t have time to remove the equipment weighing me down. Encumbrance in battle meant death, and a reason why ambushing an army on the march was so effective. Canteens and packs could foul your weapons, straps catching your legs and holding you down, slowing you to the point of helplessness. I felt for the keeper holding my weapon in place and considered my options. I could flee, but the weight would slow me down. I could try to remove some of the packs, but without help that was going to take time I didn’t have. I felt for my scythe with my magic. If I could pull it free I could use the blade to cut the girth strap and with that gone the whole lot would fall away. Yes, that would do it. I had the scythe halfway out when the first of our visitors crested the rise. My guide had seen them, and yet strangely showed no wariness or surprise at their appearance. Quite the contrary, judging by his relaxed posture he seemed to know them. I decided to wait, but kept my weapon close to hoof just in case.

The party approached us from along the road with a steady and measured pace. There were five of them in total, all grey, all with black manes. Although I couldn’t make them out at this distance I knew the colour of their eyes would all be the same too. Wendigo. They halted several yards away from us before one of their number, a relatively tall figure with a long purple cloak and a small set of neatly made panniers, stepped forward positively oozing self confidence. He spoke quietly with the thestral guide, glancing in my direction several times. Although I couldn’t hear their words it was clear that their appearance had been anticipated. Without a word the guide nodded his head, turned, and then walked past me as though I didn’t even exist.

“You must be Fairlight, right?”

I nodded, “I am.”

The newcomer reached out a hoof. “The name’s Taurs, late of the Four Winds.”

I didn’t recognise the name but shook his hoof with a polite smile all the same. “Well met, Taurs.” I motioned towards his colleagues with a bob of my head. “Do wendigo normally travel in armed groups?”

“Huh?” He looked over his shoulder, “Oh them! Well, you can never be too careful here in the Darklands, am I right?” He chuckled throatily, “This isn’t the eternal herd, my friend, and here ponies don’t heal the way they do there. It doesn’t pay to be, shall I say, unprepared?” I gave a wry smile in response as he continued, “Forgive me for asking, but are you by any chance related to the Four Winds tribe yourself? I wouldn’t normally ask, but one hears things you know.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I answered anyway, “My mother was a descendant of the tribe.”

“So you’re not a full wendigo, then?” Taurs asked curiously.

I shook my head, “Not pure bred, no,”

Taurs raised an eyebrow, “But you can change, right? I mean, you could before you died?”

“I could,” I admitted.

“I see, I see.” Taurs nodded to himself in thought. “You know, I recall hearing something about a pony calling himself ‘Lord Fairlight of the Four Winds’ recently. An unusual name for a member of the tribe to be sure, but perhaps not so for a, forgive me, half wendigo?”

“Some called me the Lord of the Four Winds,” I said calmly. “If you can believe that.”

“Oh, I can believe it!” Taurs chirped. “Some ponies will believe anything if the speaker is convincing enough. Not that I don’t believe you of course, Lord Fairlight.”

No, I’m sure he didn’t. Taurs’ smile sent shivers down my spine. I didn’t like the look of him or his goons, regardless of how impassive they may appear on the surface. The glint of weapons hidden beneath their cloaks and equipment was nothing unexpected here in the Darklands, but their presence along with their owners was more than enough to have me on my guard. “What’s going on here, Taurs?” I asked levelly. “I thought the thestral was guiding me.”

“He was,” Taurs nodded pleasantly, “up to here. Now, it’s our turn.”

“Your turn?” I tried to hide the concern in my voice. “This doesn’t make any sense. This is the thestral realm and-”

“Fairlight, Fairlight...” The grey stallion closed his eyes, shaking his head with a sardonic smile. “Are you always so untrusting? I can understand it coming from an Equestrian, this is a dangerous land after all, but from a wendigo?” He chuckled quietly, “We are your brothers and sisters. There is nothing to fear from your family.”

“Considering the circumstances I’m sure you can understand my trepidation,” I said, keeping a wary eye on the others. “Nopony told me I’d be changing guides.”

“And I suspect nopony told you that you wouldn’t either. Am I correct?”

“You are,” I agreed. “But omission doesn’t imply an intent.”

Taurs shrugged, clearly becoming exasperated with me. “You are free to try to find the Roc’s nest on your own if that is your desire,” he suggested. “Naturally we’d be happy to show you the direction you’ll have to take, but should you run into any trouble you would be on your own.” He sighed, shaking his head sadly. “I have to say, Lord Fairlight, that I had expected the sincere offer of help to one of our brothers would have been met with joy, not with… suspicion.”

At face value the grey stallion’s reply came across as open and genuine, but that nagging little voice at the back of my mind, so quiet of late, was now screaming its lungs out in warning. It needn’t have bothered, I already knew I couldn’t trust these ponies. I don’t know why precisely, it wasn’t as if they’d displayed any any outward signs of aggression towards me at all, but the looks in their eyes and their body language spoke volumes; they trusted me as just about as much as I trusted them. Taurs’ eyes gleamed in the dim light as he sized me up, waiting for my response. Something about this situation stank, and it wasn’t simply the fact that I hadn’t bathed since I’d washed Glimmer’s boyfriend out of my fur either. Finally, I decided that tact, not necessarily one of my strong suits unfortunately, was going to be the best option here.

“Forgive me, Taurs,” I said politely, “that was rude of me. I’d be happy to accept your kind offer of help.” I nodded, “Lead on… brother.”

For a split second I saw Taurs’ eye twitch. A nervous tick that I’d found many ponies shared when confronted with a situation that made them feel uncomfortable. At least for now however, Taurs and his crew had been pleasant and accommodating. But I’d be watching them. Very closely indeed.

“Excellent!” Taurs beamed, his discomfort vanishing as though it had been no more than a trick of the light. “Let us away then. Brothers! Come, let us welcome our lost brother back to fold.”

Goddess help me, it was all I could do to hold myself back from reaching for my weapon. But for once though I managed to control my impulsive defensiveness and accepted the pats on the shoulder and kindly smiles for what they were. Perhaps I had been a little over-reactionary. These stallions seemed genuine enough at face value, each and every one of them welcoming me with a warm smile, a shake of the hoof, and introducing themselves. Typically a lot of it went over my head I’m sorry to say. I never had been any good with names. Mostly I remember ponies as ‘Thingy’, ‘Whats-is-name’, or the all time favourite, ‘Mate’. Overused they may be, but they usually got me by for the most part. Now with all the weird and wonderful names of ponies in Equestria you would think that I would have been a little more conditioned to the strangeness of foreign names, such as thestrals for example. And for the most part that was true, but wendigo names were a world apart. Ponies tend to have names that are, for the most part, linked to their cutie marks. Don’t ask me how it works, it gives me a headache just thinking about it! But in fairness a picture stuck on your arse was one hell of a good memory jogger. My parents of course decided differently, but at least I wasn’t alone. Thestrals on the other hoof, now there was a real problem. They were all very similar in appearance, especially at a distance or at first glance, and physically tended towards variations on the theme of skeletal. It never ceased to amaze me how a creature could look emaciated and muscular at the same time, but they managed to pull it off. Appearance aside they did differ in other subtle ways. For example their eye colour, mane and coat shade, stature, teeth, and so forth. But most noticeable of all was the distinct lack of a cutie mark. It would have been a watch officers nightmare, especially on identity parades. I could imagine it now: No, his teeth were a little longer. I think his coat was blacker than that. No, not quite terrifying enough. That one looks like he had a meal last night. Goddess above! Back onto the subject of wendigo, I hadn’t exactly met that many outside of the memories I’d inherited. Now that I was in the company of five of them, here in the fur so to speak, it was amazing how similar they all were. All of them, myself included, shared the same grey coloured coat. We even had the same black mane and tail. But whereas these guys all had yellow eyes, mine were brown, the same as my father’s. I couldn’t see all of their cutie marks, but what I did see seemed to fit alright: snowflakes, images of mountains, and variations of cold bleak scenes told me all I needed to know. These five were the real deal, and me? Well, I was part wendigo wasn’t I? After meeting them I wasn’t so sure, and Taurs’ reaction to my being the ‘Lord of the Four Winds’ set a tiny seed of doubt in my mind that I didn’t like at all. There had been a hint, a near undetectable taste of mocking in his tone. It made my hooves itch.

“So, Maul asked you to lead me to the Roc’s lair, eh?” I asked conversationally as we trotted along.

Taurs took a swig of his wineskin before passing it to me. “Nah. We heard from one of our lads that he had one of our kin out on one of those stupid little errands he likes to dish out.” He shrugged, “We just decided to pop along and lend a hoof, so to speak. A few coins can do wonders to loosen tongues.”

“You paid off the guide?” I asked in surprise.

“Why not?” Taurs spat on the ground beside us. “Thestrals are living beings just like us. Metaphorically speaking.” The wendigo stallion smiled broadly, “Tell me, why did you come here? I mean, this isn’t a normal holiday destination for ponies is it?”

I shook my head, “You got that right. No, I have a friend here who died saving my skin in the Withers. She comes to see me from time to time and I decided to come and see her.” I shrugged it off as being of little importance. “I ran into her and her mate, and before I knew what was happening one of your chaps appeared and frog marched me over to see the charming Lord Maul.”

Taurs raised an eyebrow. “That would be Herath I presume?”

“And cue my happy little quest to find the Roc,” I concluded. “I take it you know Herath?”

“You could say that,” Taurs agreed with a sniff. “We go way back. He helps out at the hall these days. We… don’t talk much now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I had the distinct impression I’d walked into something between these two that was a decidedly taboo subject. “Are most of the wendigo here from the tribe of the four winds?” I asked, changing the subject.

“All wendigo are of the four winds,” Taurs stated levelly. “There are no other tribes.”

“None ever felt the desire to say, go off and do their own thing?” I asked curiously.

The stallion’s laugh made some of the others glance our way. “Why would anypony want to leave their family?” Taurs asked. “We are not like ponies who rush off to start their own families as soon as they are able. We stick together, generations of us, and hold fast to our traditions. If you are a wendigo yourself then you would have experienced some of this, yes?”

“I have the tribal memories,” I confessed, “but I never grew up in a wendigo home. In my time the fortress had gone to ruin and I only recently found out there was a community in the far northern mountains.”

“Did you try to find them?” Taurs asked.

“No.” I shook my head bitterly. “I never had the time, and even if I did I had no idea where to start looking. I expect that was by design too. Celestia has no love for our kind.”

“The white witch...” Taurs’ eyes narrowed and I detected a bitterness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Have you met her?”

“The Princess?” I looked up into the sky as memories of my rather less than amicable encounter with the white coated alicorn playing back through my mind like some old time movie reel. “Yeah, I met her,” I said quietly. “You could say we didn’t exactly see eye to eye.”

“No.” Taurs let out a mirthless laugh. “Neither did we.” He glanced up at the sky for a moment, apparently deep in thought. Eventually he asked, “How is it she did not kill you as she did with the rest of the tribe?”

“Who knows?” I replied honestly, “Maybe her lust for genocide faded over the last thousand years. I suppose I was lucky that she decided just to exile me instead.”

“But you escaped, yes?”

I nodded, “After a fashion. Being half drowned after crashing into a river is not my idea of escape, but I lived to tell the tale. For a while at least.”

Taurs smiled and nodded, apparently taking in everything I told him. Or rather didn’t tell him. I was careful to avoid many of the more specific details that could cause him to question me in more detail. “I know this must seem rude, Lord Fairlight,” he continued, “but may I ask how you died?”

“A big explosion,” I said with a shrug. “I was walking home and then there was this huge bang and off to the herd I go. Not much more to tell than that. The rest of my story is all sunshine and rainbows, as I’m sure you already know.”

The corner of Taurs’ mouth twitched, “Yes… Yes, we do.”

“How did you come to be here then, Taurs?” I asked polightly. “Did you escape the attack on the fortress?”

“Escape?” Taurs’ eyes narrowed and he huffed angrily. “Escape… If you can call fleeing like a coward from the white witch and her bastards to live the rest of my life as a bitless beggar wandering the land, fearing that at any moment I could be discovered and executed, an escape, then yes. I did escape.” He stared straight ahead into the distance along the dark dusty road, but I could see in the reflection from those bright yellow orbs that Taurs was seeing far more than just the stark bleakness of the Darklands. He was there, back at the end of the reign of the Four Winds. The last days of the wendigo. “My people broke apart,” he explained quietly, “fragmenting and vanishing into history like chaff from the thresher on a summer breeze. One by one we fled for our lives, our brotherhood, our family bonds, all forgotten in our desperation to save our own hides. All around me our people fell: the old, the sick, foals, colts, fillies… it didn’t matter to the Celestians. They killed any and all as the blood fury took them. The white witch and her vermin did their job well that day, and our fortress, our home, was destroyed beneath her fiery wrath.”

“But what of Maroc ?” I asked. “He’s with you now in the Darklands isn’t he?”

“Maroc?” Taurs’ yellow eyes flashed. “He fled the battlefield to save his hide like the rest of us.”

“He had to protect his family,” I reasoned calmly. I could sense the anger radiating from Taurs. It would certainly be interesting to see how he reacted to my questions, but I couldn’t afford to push him too far.

Taurs tossed his mane. “Oh, he did,” he hissed. “Maroc’s wife was killed by the witch, as was he himself, but his son managed to escape - escaped into the mists of history to die alone and afraid, constantly hunted by the Celestians who mercilessly tracked all of us down, slaughtering us one by one until even the very memory of our existence was expunged from the world.” The grey stallion closed his eyes. “Ironic don’t you think, that the princess of the sun should go to such lengths to snuff out the light from our lives.” He looked up at me. “And she never came after you, even after you escaped?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” I replied.

Taurs’ face broke into a grin. “I do.”

Suddenly a shout from up ahead brought our conversation to an abrupt close, and rather fortuitously shut down any further enquiries by Taurs into my life. The grey stallion waited beside me in silence as one of the other wendigo from our group hurried back to us. Black sand billowed up from the wendigo’s hooves, his equipment and packs bouncing on his back as he pulled up.

“Fire drakes,” the stallion breathed, “two of them.”

Fire drakes? An old name for dragons. Specifically ones that breathed fire.

“What are they doing?” Taurs asked.

“They’re circling the wood to the south of the road,” the scout replied. “They’ve got something in there they’re hunting by looks of it.”

“Can we avoid them?” I asked.

Taurs glanced to me and then his comrade, “Well?”

“We can move through the forest to the north,” the scout suggested hurriedly, “but it’s dangerously close to the Heart’s Abyss.”

“Hearts Abyss?” I asked. “What’s that?”

“A lake,” Taurs rumbled. “Not somewhere to venture lightly.”

“Couldn’t we just wait them out?” I asked. “If they’re hunting something they’ll give up eventually.”

“You obviously don’t know drakes.” Taurs’ voice was as calm as the surface as a millpond, as though any sudden move may bring the dread lizards down upon us in a storm of fire and fury. “If they don’t find what they’re hunting they’ll go on the rampage attacking anything in sight. Including us. Drakes don’t distinguish ponies from other food when the blood lust burns in their veins.”

Well I certainly didn’t fancy being on tonight’s menu, that was for certain! I decided to keep my ears and eyes open and my mouth shut from hereon. Considering the circumstances it was clear that my ‘guide’, for want of a better word, knew this world a damned sight better than I did. Besides, as melodramatic as Taurs came across, he was clear and precise in both his decision making and giving his orders. In short order the six of us were trotting in single file into the mass of white crystal trees off to our left, all the while ensuring that we kept the dragons out of sight and the rise in the land between us. To be honest, keeping as wide a berth between us and those enormous lizards as was equinely possible would definitely help me sleep better tonight. Unfortunately however, sleep was far from the minds of my guides who set a steady yet swift pace into the forest’s interior.

White light and flickers of intense rainbow colour assailed me the further we penetrated into the interior. It was as beautiful as it was disorientating, and I concentrated on the wendigo in front of me, keeping to their tracks and maintaining my distance. Not too near. Not too far. One by one we jinked around trees, jumping over fallen branches, all the time keeping up that same steady measured pace. After some time of this I noticed we were beginning to slow, and I could see why. Through the foliage, far to our right, I could see them: Dragons, or ‘Fire Drakes’ as Taurs had called them. There was only the odd fleeting glimpse, but I could tell there were two of them alright. One was as red as blood, the creature’s armoured scales glinting in the dark sky. The other was golden like the sun, bright and sleek in all its shimmering glory. The beasts roared, howled and hissed, occasionally emitting jets of bright yellow flame up into the black sky. I nearly collided with a branch more than once trying to steal glimpses of those magnificent creatures. Like most equines I had a healthy respect for dragons that was probably born more out of fear than anything else, but by the gods I couldn’t help but find them utterly enchanting. We had all been warned of the ‘glamour of dragons’ as foals, that intrinsic magic that dwelt within every one of them that could draw their prey to their jaws as easily as drawing breath. Even now I could still remember the story of the foal who had been so enamoured with one such creature that she fell hopelessly in love with the thing and would bring it cows from her parents field whenever it was hungry. One day there were simply no more cows left, and the filly trotted up to the fine scaled dragon. ‘I am hungry!’ said the dragon. ‘Where is my plump cow to fill my belly?’ ‘You have eaten them all, great majesty of the skies and land,’ the girl replied. ‘All I can bring you now is my undying love to fill your heart.’ ‘Then come,’ the dragon said, lowering his great serpentine head. ‘Bring me your love and fill my heart. And my belly.’ And with a final snap of his jaws, the great dragon swallowed her whole.

I’m not too sure what the moral of the story was meant to be. I’m sure it was something profound, it usually was, and just as usual, totally lost on me. What I took from it was simple: don’t walk into the mouth of a dragon, no matter how attractive their scales. I was rather attached to my limbs, and having them serve as a dragon’s toothpicks was something that I was keen to avoid. But, like ponies who stared at gruesome accidents in the street, I couldn’t help but stare in wonder at the amazing monsters.

Eventually, and rather mercifully, we came to a small clearing in the forest where my hosts decided to make camp. A camp, it quickly transpired, that I was bloody well carrying! Bedding rolls, kitchen accessories, food, you name it, was plucked from my back like one of those blasted bucking bronco games that Sparrow liked playing. Only this dumb mule had taken to his role willingly. Eventually I pulled the last piece of equipment from my back and dumped it in a pile for my new found ‘friends’ to pick through. Personally all I was really bothered about was some food, drink, my personal panniers which had my wash gear in, and Nimbus’ scythe. I played with the idea of taking the barding off but decided against it. If one of those dragons decided to come after us I wanted to be able to run freely. And one thing was for damned certain: I wasn’t going to be carrying all of this gear on my own in the morning.

I let them make the fire without me. The way I looked at it I’d more than done my bit by lugging their gear all the way here, so the very least they could do was put the blasted kettle on. Settling back onto my packs I let out a groan of relief and stared up at the stars high above us. As I lay there the night time sounds of the forest drifted over my weary body, carrying with them a comfortably cool breeze, lulling me to sleep despite the alien environment. Around me the wendigo went to work setting up their pickets for the evening, cooking food, and smoking some wonderfully fragrant tobacco. Gods, I didn’t care right then. There could have been a king’s banquet not two feet away and I would have gladly passed it all up for a few minutes of peace. Despite my hunger, sleep was definitely taking priority over all other concerns, and my eyelids were already drooping.

“Hey, you still awake?”

Oh well, so much for peace and quiet then! “Just,” I murmured. I looked up into the eyes of one of the wendigo stallions. “Klaxon, wasn’t it?”

“Nearly. It’s Clarion actually,” the stallion replied. “Here, I’ve brought you something to eat.” A wooden bowl containing something that smelled slightly spicy materialised along with a spoon. “You okay with spoons?”

In answer I levitated the spoon and bowl up as I shifted myself into a proper sitting position and could hold the hot food in my forehooves. “Can’t say I’m the best with magic, but I’ll manage,” I replied with a smile. “What is it?”

“Locals call it Glash,” the stallion replied pointing to the steaming mass of… something. “It tastes a lot better than it looks.”

Right then I couldn’t care less. I took a spoonful and closed my eyes as the meaty, spicy mix slipped down my throat and warming my insides almost immediately. “It’s good,” I said honestly. It really was too. “I’m guessing it’s best not to ask what’s in it?”

“Got it in one,” the friendly fellow replied. He glanced over his shoulder to where his comrades were seated before turning back to me, carefully keeping his voice low. “You’re Fairlight, right?” I nodded. “Listen,” he continued, “keep your head down and do as you’re told, okay? Don’t ask too many questions and keep yourself to yourself, yes?”

“Uh… sure.” I took another spoonful of my meal. “Am I missing something here?”

The stallion closed his eyes, “Look, just-”

“How’s dinner?” Clarion’s pupils went wide as Taurs appeared like a ghostly apparition behind him. His reaction was interesting, and something I would keep in my pocket for later rumination. Taurs’ smile on the other hoof did little to warm me to him, nor Clarion judging by the meek bow and the way he backed hurriedly away. “We try to eat well,” Taurs said pleasantly, “but what the Darklands has on offer is no substitute for proper wendigo fare.”

“I was just saying to Clarion how good I thought the meal was,” I replied. I took a sip of water from my flask, motioning towards my half eaten food. “Don’t talk much, do they?” I said indicating Clarion who was already back with his other colleagues by the fire.

“They talk when they have something worthwhile to say,” Taurs beamed. “It’s our way.”

“Well I appreciate the help to find this egg thing, Taurs,” I said politely. “As little as I know of the ways of the tribe, I’m sure I will be able to learn a great deal from being with you all.”

Did I imagine the sudden flash of anger that crossed Taurs’ face, or was it a trick of the light? His smile never changed, but his eyes, as yellow as the campfire and as bright as the sun, told me all I needed to know. His expression may have been one of charm and politeness, but I had the distinct impression that it was, like the old adage about beauty, a thin gloss covering the insidious flaws lurking beneath. Mind you I’d never say anything like that within earshot of Meadow; I valued my male ‘accoutrements’ quite highly and would definitely prefer them to remain where the gods had put them. Subconsciously I shifted my hind legs while continuing my meal. Interesting nervous tick Taurs had too. I’d be watching that.

“What do you intend to do when you have the egg?” Taurs asked quietly. “You must have some plans, yes?”

“I do,” I agreed politely. “I intend to get that egg back to Lord Maul so he make the worlds most wondrous omelettes, or whatever else he wants to do with the cursed thing, and then get the hell out of here the first chance I get.”

Taurs cocked his head to one side, watching me intently. “Don’t you have any desire to find out more about your people?” he asked. “About the tribe?”

I floated the bowl down and lay my spoon upon it. “Of course, but what can I do? I have no power here, nor any of us for that matter. And to be honest with you, Taurs, I don’t have the same connection to the wendigo as you. I wasn’t born a wendigo, it was something that was forced upon me by Fate, and if I had my life over again I would be quite satisfied with a good old fashioned quiet and boring life with my wife and child.”

“You would have given the power up?!” he asked incredulously, “You would turn your back on your heritage and your people to be… to be a mere unicorn?!”

“I have a family, Taurs,” I replied quietly. “The wendigo are your family. Mine… mine are just ponies. Like me. Like I am now.”

Taurs backed away a step and tossed his mane, staring up at the stars. “You do not have the soul nor the passion of a true wendigo, Fairlight. I can see that in you, and I can also see the truth of what you say. Our race has all but died out in Equestria. The blood of our ancestors has thinned and the magic become stale and weak. How can a pony born of such a land be called a wendigo when he knows nothing of the strife of our people? To be one with us is to know the snows of winter, to sing with the winds and feel the gusts of the world beneath your wings. To hold such power, such grace and such sublime majesty, is not for any mortal pony to hold in their hooves.” He shook his head and closed his eyes in sorrow. “It is too much to ask of one not born of the tribe. One cannot mourn for what one has never known.”

I leaned back on my pack, taking in the night air and enjoying the lingering taste of the stew. “Thank you for the meal, Taurs. It was excellent.” There was no response, nor barely a sound as Taurs the wendigo walked away.

Fairlight.

Fairlight wake up.

Come to me.

Fairlight.

“Hmm… Wha-?” Who the hell was that? I turned over, snuggling back into the warm blanket. I must have been imagining things. The creatures of the forest could play tricks on you, and who knew what oddities lived out here?

Fairlight. Come to me.

That voice… Mum? I sat up suddenly, shaking the last motes of sleep from my weary mind and rubbed my eyes. I wasn’t hearing things was I? Bloody hell, things were bad enough without starting to hear voices too. Around me the clearing was silent, and even the sounds of woodland creatures had all but vanished. The fire had burned low, casting shadows over the four figures sleeping beneath their own blankets whilst a fifth sat drinking a cup of tea beside a loaded crossbow.

Fairlight.

I definitely heard it that time! I was out of my blanket like a shot, looking around me to try and- There! A grey shape, standing beside a tree. Her coat was pale grey with a long black mane and tail. There was no doubt she was a wendigo, but what was she doing out here in the forest? Tentatively I glanced round at the guard. He hadn’t seen me, and I intended to keep it that way. And so, carefully and quietly, I crept towards the figure.

Come to me.

How was she doing that? The mare wasn’t using words so much as what I could only describe as some form of telepathy. I’d met some unicorns who could do that of course, but it was a highly advanced skill and not of much use if the recipient couldn’t respond the same way. It had its uses though, and the watch had utilised talented unicorns like this for undercover work on more than one occasion. Personally I found it a little unnerving that somepony could tap into your mind like that, but after living around thestrals it did seem a little hypocritical of me to complain about ponies doing something similar. By comparison this mare’s words were as soft as eiderdown and just as alluring and gentle, appearing in my head like fluffy clouds of light. Thestrals communicated by battering their words into your skull together with a barrage of loud clicks and hissing noises. Thank the gods that there were those, like Star Beard, who’d learned to communicate with ponies normally. I don’t think my brain could handle long stays amongst those enigmatic creatures without turning to mush.

Come to me.

Was that music? No… singing. A faint wordless song of the wonderment of nature, of life, and the letting go of all the pain and suffering I had endured these last few years. It was all around me, caressing my heart, soothing my worries and fears away until they were as insubstantial as a breath upon the wind. It was... beautiful. Indescribably wondrous colours ghosted through my mind, calling to me, drawing me to her. I was enchanted by this mysterious mare, by her song, by the promise of gentleness and the warmth of undying love. Somewhere in the quiet recesses of my mind the soft give of sand beneath my hooves tingled my senses like a lovers caress. I couldn’t think of that now. To think of anything else would take me away from the mare and her song. She was so lovely. She needed me. Desired me. I was so lonely, so empty, yet she could fill that emptiness, that void that longed for her embrace and love.

Come to me.

I was so near now. So, so near. I could see her clearly, but my eyes were incapable of taking in the magnitude of such feminine beauty. Silently I cursed myself; how could my eyes be so useless?! How could I bear to even think of approaching such a sublime creature as this with my dirty, foul body? And yet she called for me. And only me.

Fairlight. Come to me.

Yes. Gods, yes! My heart was beating faster and faster as I drew nearer to her, the life giving precious organ nearly hammering itself out of my chest in the desperate, mad rush to reach her. Damn it all, why couldn’t I move faster? WHY?! And then... then it all unfolded before me. There she was, the lady of the lake, an image of all the radiance and magnificence of the infinite universe made flesh. She stood on the shoreline, the ink black water lapping at her perfect hooves as her eyes, as yellow as the sun and as perfect as the fact of the goddess, watched my approach. Her features were as pure as the fresh fall of snow, her smile a treasure beyond worth, and one that was far beyond the comprehension of any who would so much as dare to gaze upon such immaculate perfection. And then, as the sun rises in the morning to chase away the chill darkness of night… her eyes met mine. She smiled. I had never felt such joy, such complete, unadulterated bliss. I was melting, melting into the gaze of a heart filling love as she called to me, calling me to her.

Fairlight. I knew you would come.

I didn’t know her, and yet on some imperceivable level I did. None of it made sense. Why would a mare be here on her own in such an alien and inhospitable environment? I shook my head. It didn’t matter. Such thoughts were an unwelcome intrusion into the world where she and I alone belonged.

Fairlight.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away from her eyes, those gorgeous yellow orbs of pure love and light. I could feel myself slowly drifting away, inch by blissful inch, gradually becoming one with with the goddess of peace. Then… darkness engulfed me. A second, maybe no more than a breath, and I was flying. I was flying! Oh goddess, at last. At last! I breathed out long and slow, clearing my lungs ready to take in the deliciously fresh air of the mountains. Instead, all I got was a mouthful of water, sand, and the shocking terror of drowning. My vision swam with impossible shapes of shadowed darkness as I thrashed about in a blind panic, the peace I had felt only a heartbeat ago vanishing like the mare. Water filled my ears and mouth, sending shock-waves of fear throughout my body. Any attempt at conscious thought was immediately overridden by the desperate desire to survive. I had to reach air. I had to breathe! Something grabbed me roughly around one of my hind legs, hauling me down and then, abruptly, it released me.

I broached the surface of the water like the proverbial cork from a bottle and gasped in that wonderful cold air. Coughing out the water from my tortured lungs I struck out for the land without pausing to look back. Half hidden by the splashing water, blue and purple light flashed and burst along the shoreline in a blinding display of magic, illuminating shadowed figures who darted here and there amidst the most ungodly screams and neighs I’d ever heard. All of it meant nothing to me right then however, as my mind was filled with only a singular all encompassing need - to reach solid land at any cost. To that end I swam as hard as I ever had in my life. Something brushed my side but I carried on, kicking, pushing forward, until one of my forehooves finally hit bottom. One more. One more push would be all it needed... Desperately I heaved myself out of the cloying ink black fluid, my soaked cloak adding to the weight. I pulled it free, the clasp snapping off and dropping wetly to the ground a moment before my body gave up and I collapsed on the sand, coughing and retching.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stop the awful stinging of the water before opening them once more to the scene unfolding a hundred yards along the lake’s shoreline. There was something… something large, near spherical so far as I could tell, thrashing and writhing in a mass of sickly white translucent tentacles in the water. Magical fire flashed so bright it made afterimages on my vision before searing across the things body. I coughed out another mouthful of water and wiped my muzzle, looking on in horrified amazement. The thing… the monster, was unlike the lake demons I’d seen before. This one was almost round in shape, sporting gills, fins, and long thin tentacles that lashed out towards its attackers like whips. But those teeth… by the gods, those teeth! A mouth that was almost half the beast’s overall size glinted and snapped, the blood chilling sight made all the more terrible by the luminous magic of the unicorns on the shore. It was Taurs and his wendigo. The equines ran, running left to right, confusing the beast into making wild strikes at nothing more than wet sand. Again and again it lashed out, and again the magic burst over its hide, the sizzle of magic mingling with the shrieks of pain from the monster.

And here I was, doing nothing.

A quick shake and I was off, dashing over to the campfire I could still see faintly through the trees. My scythe was there. If I could reach it I could-

“What the hell are you doing?!” It was Taurs.

“I need a weapon to fight!” I spat, rounding on him. “I have to-”

“You don’t have to do anything other than keep out of our way!” The unicorn glared at me intensely. “You caused this, and now we have to take care of it. And we can do that a damned sight better without you getting under our hooves!”

“What are talking about?” I managed. “I can’t just-”

“Just keep out of our way and keep your damned mouth shut, Celestian!”

I stared in shock at the retreated form of Taurs as he galloped back to his fellows. I was soaked, shaking from both the exertion and the adrenalin that was still searing through in my veins. Yet as exhausted as I was, I could still fight. I blinked away the water from my eyes. Along the shore the fighting continued unabated, but it was clear that despite the injuries the creature was receiving from the intense magical attacks it was doing little to slow the thing down. I watched in horror as a tentacle whipped out and effortlessly swept one of the ponies from their hooves. In an instant the rest concentrated their energies and the beast reeled back, shrieking as the combined bolts of magical power slammed into its head. I didn’t stop to watch any more. To hell with Taurs and his attitude, there was no way in hell I was going to sit warming my arse by the campfire while these ponies, these wendigo, fought for their lives. And what the hell was that about me starting it anyway? There was that grey mare, and… oh, goddess, what had happened to her?! Desperation sped my gallop to the clearing. There was no time for barding, no time even to try and dry off. But there it was - my scythe. A garden implement it may have been based upon originally, but there was no doubting the damage such a magnificently made long bladed weapon could inflict upon an enemy. Snatching up the case and baldric I slung it over my shoulder and began my run back to the fray.

Battle. The sounds, the smells, or the location may differ, but the fear… that is one thing that never changes. I had been told by veterans in the watch when I was no more than the latest recruit to walk through the door, that the mark of a pony who is brave, truly brave, is that they were able to accept and overcome their fear and do what they had to do regardless of their natural instincts for self preservation. Fear is a reaction by your mind and body that tries to override all else to preserve the self - a kind of ‘common sense’ fail safe mechanism if you will. And right now my mind was screaming at me to stop what I was doing and put as much distance between myself and the hideous creature as I could. I huffed angrily, pushing through it, continuing my gallop towards the melee as I drove down the desire to turn around and flee. Many ponies experienced this. I had seen it first hoof in that blood soaked warehouse back when this nightmare began. None of them had been cowards. Not one. But there comes a time when the blood, the screams of pain and moans of the dying, can break you. Can break anypony. My motivation had been to save my friends, and that most primitive of motivations that can grip your heart I a grip like iron – revenge. I wanted to strike back at those who had murdered my family, who had taken everything from me and left me as nothing more than a broken and bleeding wreckage of who I once was. They had created what I had become. But what was I? A dead wendigo in the afterlife? Yes… Yes, that much of it was true. And yet despite everything Fate had thrown at me, in spite of all the pain and suffering I had endured these last few years, I had been able to build a life for myself with the help of my beloved wife and daughter. Together we had created in the land of the dead that which we should have had in the world of the living. The three of us had crafted a haven for ourselves, far away from the pain and misery of our last days in Equestria.

But it hadn’t been enough.

The spectre of my past continued to haunt me, even now, sitting there on the edge of my consciousness, watching me. Waiting. Even sleep provided no escape from the continual reminders of what had happened, what could have been, and the eternal question: could I have prevented this? Was there something I could have done that would have avoided such unimaginable misery being unleashed upon my family? However nothing I had done since those terrible days had done anything to change the cold reality of what had happened, nor reveal the true motivations behind it all. Somepony had wanted me dead, and had set those sadistic monsters upon us to ensure their will was carried out as brutally, and as cruelly, as possible. In the end I had killed them, and I had become a monster to do it. But the mastermind was still there, laughing at me from the shadows. Oh, they thought they had won. They were probably dancing on my family’s graves right this very minute. Perhaps in a sense they really had won. After all, my family and I were dead and they were still in the land of the living. For now at least. In any case, how could the dead take vengeance upon the living even if they wanted to? How could I, a mere pony, a shade of the afterlife, return like some revenant from beyond the grave to wreak my revenge upon those who saw my beautiful wife and daughter as nought but specks of dust that could be wiped away with the brush of a hoof?

Damn them.

Damn them all.

If I had to become a monster once more, then I would. I would do whatever it took to bring those animals to heel and ensure that they knew, unequivocally, the full weight of my vengeance. My blade would flash like silent lightning through the night, the runes glowing as they drew the blood of my enemy, leaving them bleeding and broken before me. And I would smile, smile as I stared down into their eyes as I drew the last vestiges of their escaping life energy to nourish my own. Then… Then they would with know with dread certainty their end was coming, whilst I fed upon their still warm carcases, feeling their life leaving their body inch by rotten inch. Ah, the peace of forever, the cool wash of the northern winds upon my fur, my mane tousled by the wind. My blade and I were as one, dancing the dance of death and sorrow. I was the bringer of the snows and the reaper of souls. I was the harbinger of the world’s doom, and woe to those who brought my sight to their miserable lives. I relished the sounds of their screams. I laughed aloud to the gods of old as the warm iron tang of blood sprayed across my face and I tasted their fear. I was the wind. I was the wendigo of the mountains holds. I was… death.

********************

I stood leaning against my scythe upon the black sand of the shoreline, breathing heavily. Around me the wendigo stood in silence, staring at me as though I were… I don’t know. Did it matter? A throaty chuckle emanated from my throat, drawing more wary glances from the party before me.

“Fairlight?”

“Clarion?” I took a deep breath and faced the wendigo. “Are you injured?”

He shook his head, “No. Are you?”

I too shook my head and smiled broadly, “No, brother. Any casualties?”

“No more than a few scrapes and bruises, thank the goddess.” Clarion flicked his head towards the mangled blubbery mess that was steaming in the night air. “No thanks to that thing.”

“What is it?” I asked, “Some kind of lake demon?”

The lumps of neatly severed flesh lay scattered like tar soaked white ribbons, silently drifting back and forth with the lapping of the lake water against the sand. “The thestrals have a name for them,” Clarion replied gravely, “but we call them Anglers.” He turned to follow my gaze. “They’re able to tap into the memories of their prey and lure them towards the water where they become the beast’s next meal.”

The grey mare. I closed my eyes, murmuring, “My mother...” I felt a shiver run through me. The thought of that sickening creature leafing through the memories of my own mother made me want to vomit. It had defiled me. It had defiled the memory of somepony who would always hold a special place in my heart, and it had paid the price for its supreme arrogance. I was pleased it was dead. But now, with the taste of the beast’s blood in my mouth, I wanted more.

“Is that who you saw,” Clarion replied quietly. It wasn’t a question. “Damned monsters.”

The crunching of sand announced the arrival of Taurs and the rapid departure of Clarion. “What was that?” he rumbled. “I told you not to interfere!”

I closed my eyes and fought down the bubbling urge to cut him down where he stood. “I didn’t interfere, Taurs,” I replied levelly. “I defeated an enemy. That was all.”

“You damned fool!” The grey stallion rounded on me in a frothing burst of anger, “You have a duty to Lord Maul to find the Roc’s egg and get it back to him. It is my job to keep you alive until you have completed that duty. When you’ve done that you can damned well-”

“Be silent!” My mane bristled as I whipped my head round to face him eye to eye, causing Taurs to choke on his words in surprise. “Don’t you dare lecture me on what I can and cannot do,” I snarled, “I have no time for the pathetic fancies of fools nor the tantrums of foals who know nothing of the world save their own selfish desires. I have walked the line between life and death. I have brought tyrants to their knees and bathed in the tears of their children as I slew their parents asunder. I am the one who walks in the mountain snows and the nightmare of those who know of the winter that approaches.” My voice lowered, the words coming from a place I had thought long closed off from me. “Do no presume to speak to me like one of your underlings, wendigo.” Slowly, I turned away, slipping my scythe back into its scabbard. “One more thing, Taurs,” I whispered so as to avoid the others hearing me. “If you ever call me a Celestian again, I will separate your head from your body as swift as the mountain lark takes flight, and you shall hear the song of your last breath upon the wind as you become no more... than a memory.”

Taurs stared at me with his large yellow eyes but said nothing, leaving me to walk away to catch up with Clarion. The fellow had started cutting chunks of meat from the corpse of the anger and looked up at at the sound of my approach. He seemed a little unsettled, but still nodded politely to me.

“Is that thing edible?” I asked.

Clarion snorted bitterly, “Barely, but if it’s well seasoned we can use it as fresh provisions for a couple of days to help preserve our dried food rations.” He pointed to a pile of purplish globs of meat that looked about as appetising as dog food. “Glands,” he explained. “We can can squeeze them to make Balta. Ever tried it?”

“Ha! Yes, I’ve tried it.” I sat down in the sand next to him and rolled my shoulders. They were aching a little from the exertion, but it would pass. “It’s a thestral brew I believe. The swine near poisoned me with it the first time.”

“Ah, thestrals. Always the jokers, eh?” Clarion chuckled and passed me a flask. “The legion brought it with them to Everwinter back in the day. We learned the recipe from them, but I suppose it’s not really a drink most Equestrians would drink voluntarily anyway. Even if they didn’t mind how it was made.”

“You got that right!” I took a short pull on the flask and was pleasantly surprised by what I found. It was Balta certainly, a little sharper than I remembered, but with a hint of herbs and a sweet honey and heather undertone.

“Good?” Clarion asked.

“Damned good!” I said, taking another swig at my new friend’s encouragement. “That’s a lot better than the usual rough stuff.”

“Cold filtered for that smoother taste, right?” Clarion grinned. He returned to his meat carving as he spoke. “We had to modify it a little for equine tastes. Thestrals have taste buds as hard as their armour, but for a wendigo, or a pony for that matter, it was like drinking toilet cleaner.” Clarion closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sighing it out into the night air as he worked a crick out of his neck. “A lot of the guys don’t like to admit it, Fairlight, but being a wendigo doesn’t mean we’ve completely changed. You know that as much as anypony.”

“You seem to know a lot more than you’re willing to let on,” I said quietly.

“Do I?” the grey stallion sniffed. “No more than anypony else in the tribe, really. And even that I’m beginning to doubt.”

“How so?” I asked.

“After tonight?” He continued to work but looked up at me askance, “How did you learn to fight like that, Fairlight? I’ve never seen anypony fight like that except…” He tailed off.

“Except?”

“Except the elders.” Clarion shook his head solemnly, “Most have gone now anyway. I’d thought all of them in the mortal realm had, certainly.” He frowned, cutting through a particularly tough piece of sinew. “Who was your master?”

“Master?” I shrugged, “I never had one. I had some rudimentary weapons training in the watch, but that was mainly crossbow, short sword, and various ways to club some poor bugger between the lugs. Nothing exciting that was for sure.”

“You never had weapons training?” Clarion asked in surprise.

“I… No.” I sighed and fidgeted with my baldric. Damn it, I could kill for a smoke right now. I shoved my hooves into my lap and took a long cleansing breath, breathing it out into the still night air like small clouds scudding across the mountaintops. And then it came to me, “I had these memories,” I began. “They were something I… ‘inherited’ I suppose, when I merged with the spirit. Same as you guys.”

“Same as us?” Clarion snorted loudly, “Hardly!”

“I don’t understand,” I said in genuine confusion. “I thought all wendigo received the memories of their ancestors?”

“Some, but not all.” Clarion raised an eyebrow and watched me as though measuring me for a suit. Or a box. Preferably the former. “Only those with the blood of the first born have that gift.”

“Blood of the first born...” I looked away, trying to think back to what Maroc had told me. But as for what this ‘blood of the first born’ was, I had no idea whatsoever. “I’m going to have to confess my ignorance here, Clarion,” I said honestly.

The grey stallion smiled and gave a faint huff, returning to his meat carving. “They’re the ones that can trace their lineage back to the founder; the very first pony who joined with one of the spirits and became a wendigo.”

“Can’t be that many of those around then,” I added with a faint smile.

“You’d be surprised.” Clarion chuckled as he worked; a pleasant sound in the still night here on the edge of the lake. “The founder had many foals. And many wives too. Their children grew to have foals of their own, and so on and so on down through the ages. There were many other bloodlines in the early years of our people of course. There were plenty from amongst the earth ponies and pegasi who joined us simply to escape the petty squabbles and in-fighting of the three tribes. Those brave souls undertook the journey to find us and to join our people where they could enjoy a life of true freedom, as the goddess desired for all ponies.”

“But it was only the unicorns with their magic who were able to bond successfully with the spirits, right?” I added.

Clarion nodded, “True. But we welcomed them all as children of the moon goddess. We found work for those who could not join: in the nurseries, gardens, kitchens, and so on. Many an earth or pegasus mare foaled a unicorn who went on to become a wendigo. We never treated any pony as lesser simply because they lacked magic.”

“That’s… surprisingly noble,” I replied quietly.

“Is it?” Clarion shrugged. “It was the right thing to do, that’s all. We’d had enough of squabbling, deceit and war. Why would we leave all that misery behind only to promote it amongst ourselves?”

“And the images?” I asked. “The memories?”

“Well that’s easy. You must be a descendant of the founder,” Clarion said in a surprisingly matter of fact manner. “That’s all.”

That was all?! I didn’t know what to say except, “Oh, um… Sure.”

Well, if there was one thing to be said about my enigmatic companion, it was that he certainly knew how to deflate a guy. Mind you, what was I expecting him to say? That I was what, royalty or something? Yeah, right! Wendigo didn’t even have royalty anyway, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. Maroc and his wife had been the nearest to it, and even then they seemed far more laid back than any of the nobility I’d ever encountered. And I’d met a lot in my travels. Now that I thought about it I’d never quite worked out how the Equestrian system worked either. We had the lesser nobles of course: dukes, earls, and so forth. Then you had the posher titles like prince, princess, and so forth. And then finally you had the princesses: Celestia, Luna, and that salmon pink one, whats-her-name, Candace? No, Cadence, that was it. All three of them alicorns. Now Prince Blue Blood, he was apparently related to them somehow, but he was certainly was no alicorn. All very strange if you asked me. Personally I couldn’t give a toss about any of them, providing they left me alone. So far as I knew though the wendigo system was purely based on one guy or gal, maybe both, holding the title of Lord or Lady, and with it the reins of the tribe. Or at least there had been. Maroc was now as dead as me, and I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since his delightful little reveal to me about his damnable offspring’s antics.

“Clarion?” I asked. “Who’s in charge of the wendigo here? Maroc? I don’t know much about-”

The grey stallion flinched at my words like a scalded cat, “For the goddess’s sake pipe down!” He stared around us in alarm before gradually calming down enough to catch his breath. “Look, Fairlight, please, just don’t mention his name, okay? I’ve got enough going on right now without… without dealing with that too!”

“Taboo subject, eh?” I muttered.

“One that could get your throat cut, yes.” Clarion slipped a last piece of meat into the wooden bowl which he began to salt. “I can’t talk now. Maybe later. But Fairlight, remember what I said earlier. Whatever you do don’t upset Taurs, and be damned careful what you say to him. For now, I think you’d best go and dry yourself off by the campfire and get some rest. You look like crap.”

“Gee, thanks.” I rose to my hooves, noticing the warm damp patches on my coat. Clarion was right; If I didn’t dry off properly I could get rain scald, skin sores, or worse. Thank the gods I had a towel in my pack - one of the few things I’d managed to save that was of any use. “Thanks, Clarion. You take care of yourself too, yeah?” I clopped him on the shoulder.

“Yeah...” The stallion looked up at me with a humourless smile, “Goddess go with you, brother.”

Beside the fire one of the wendigo was tending to his comrade who in turn glared over at me with unadulterated loathing as I approached. He had been hurt helping me, and no doubt blamed me for his bandage swathed legs. Unfortunately it was made quite clear by the cold glances I was receiving that I was far from welcome amongst them. Taurs too ignored me, far more interested in packing up equipment than talking to his equestrian guest. I couldn’t blame them, I’d probably feel the same too if the new guy had caused friends of mine to be hurt. I glanced up at the sky. It was the small hours of the morning and nopony bothered even trying to get back to sleep now. The balta was being passed round, but I passed. Instead I occupied myself by drying myself off and sorted out the rest of my equipment ready for the march ahead. Thankfully, despite its dip in the lake, my hastily recovered cloak was a little damp but would still be serviceable so long as I dried it carefully. Of that, I was very grateful indeed. If the mountains were anything like the ones in Equestria the protection a good cloak could provide would be invaluable, even if I didn’t feel the cold as much as I once did. A rummage inside my packs revealed a neatly parcelled weapons maintenance kit which had Nimbus’s handiwork all over it. There was a bottle of oil too, plus a cloth, a small whetstone, grinding stones, and a variety of other tools for the armourer on the go. For such a freshly made weapon I doubted it would need sharpening any time soon, so decided on a simple clean followed by a light oiling.

As I sat on the broken log by the fire, the writing on the blade seemed to glow with its own warm inner light, complementing the flickering yellow flames. It truly was a thing of almost otherworldly beauty and a testament to its creator’s skill, despite being a weapon designed to kill. In truth the blade needed no work at all, the blood of the angler having slid off the highly honed and polished surface of its own accord. Even so I dabbed the oil onto the cloth and ran it along the blade carefully, using my hooves rather than my magic. I’m not sure why, but it seemed right somehow, as though I were honouring this implement of death for its work in saving my life and paying homage to its victim. My victim. Slowly, as gently as falling snow, it began to dawn on me what I had done. Try as I might I couldn’t recall much of the actual fight with the angler at all. This wasn’t unusual of course; traumatic events and the excitement of battle often left you with fragmented and fractious memories. In this case however I had felt like… like I had when I was in my wendigo form. Foolish I know, but that feeling of being light as a feather, as swift as the wind, and the song… oh, the song! The music of war and the dance of blades I remembered like the caress of a long lost lover. I wondered how much of me had acted on sheer instinct rather than conscious thought. Curious. Very curious. Part of the wendigo must still remain within me after all. And if indeed that were true, it shouldn’t come as such a surprise. I had only lost my wendigo power, not my mind.

Breakfast arrived just as I was putting my war scythe away, momentarily drawing the gaze of the warrior who all but threw the plate of stew at me. I thanked him of course, but he was already walking away. Charming. Still, the stew was quite palatable, and by the taste of it part of the victor’s spoils from earlier. I lifted the spoon in my magic, allowing the long white strips of flesh to slide from it back onto the plate as the steam drifted up into the chill morning air. I shrugged and took a mouthful of it anyway. I doubted I’d miss the taste by the time I got back home and was able to eat normal food again, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let Meadow know what I’d been up to if I could help it. And I hate to admit it, but she’d been right. The danger I’d been plunged into after joining up had been far above what I’d naively thought would happen. Celestia’s arse, it had been a roller coaster of near death experiences since day bloody one! Death, it seemed, really could come for you twice. As if once wasn’t bad enough! There were no second chances for me now, that was damned certain. Death in the afterlife meant the loss of everything: self awareness, memory, love, life… everything. To be reincarnated was to wash away all it meant to be Fairlight, and from that there would be no going back. Goddesses above, it didn’t bear thinking about.

“Gear up, we’re moving out in ten minutes.” Taurs’ voice rumbled out, accompanied by the sound of the fire being doused a moment later.

I let out a sigh. Here we go again... Still, at least my fur was dry now, and considering the mornings unexpected dip I forgo the usual wash. A quick brush of the teeth, my barding snugged into place, packs on my back, I was ready as I would ever be. Thankfully my load was now a fraction of what it had been. One of the wendigo, either Taurs or more likely Clarion, had already distributed the extra equipment I had been carrying amongst the others. I’ll admit I was surprised by that too. I’d assumed I was being looked at as the groups pack-mule. Had I actually gained some level trust and respect amongst this curious bunch of grey stallions? Nah, who was I kidding! Of the five of them, one was a bombastic arsehole, one only spoke to me when said arsehole was out of earshot, and the other three ignored me completely. How jolly pleasant. Miserable buckers…