//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: The Tune of Change 
// by computerneek 
//------------------------------//

My job.

…  I have one, right?

I don’t know.

All I have left is my duty.

Well…  To be more honest, all I’ve ever had is my duty.

And even then.

But…  My story started long ago.  How long, I don’t know- but it started with Broodmother Nyadra, when she laid a clutch of eggs.

One of those eggs was mine.

While I was still an egg, a fight broke out in the hive.  Some eggs were smashed, the contents destroyed.  As a matter of fact, a lot of eggs were smashed.  Almost all of them.

I was lucky.  All of the surviving eggs took blows; some were tossed against walls, killing the developing nymph inside, some were lost completely.  At least one somehow ended up hidden on the chandelier, causing the nymph to fall to its death immediately upon hatching.

I was lucky.  I took the heaviest blow, of the survivors.  Most of the survivors were simply bumped, causing them to roll into something.

I was picked up, and thrown, as a weapon.  Broodmother Nyadra caught me, quickly setting me roughly aside as she resumed the fight against Broodmother Maya.

Broodmother Nyadra eventually won.  Maya was killed.

Upon hatching, and noling will tell me how much time passed between the fight and the hatching, most of the other survivors showed simple bruises.  In most cases, the softened skin of a hatchling was bruised.  But that was the extent of the damage, for them.

I was different.  I was lucky to have survived being thrown like that.

I was lucky to even be able to hatch.  One of my forelimbs was broken, my spine was damaged.  My horn was- and still is, actually- disfigured.  My wings…

Well, I might someday be able to fly, I suppose.  Maybe.  If I can find powerful enough healing spells, get someling to tell me what their magic matrix is supposed to look like.  Then I could fix them.

But no.

Levitation is instinctual for most ‘lings.  That is, every ‘ling ‘cept me.

It’s not, for me.  I actually know why.

It’s my disfigured horn.  The nursemaids were able to heal it mostly, before I grew too old for their methods to work; that’s no doubt why I have any use of it at all.

It’s curved up and back, towards the back of my head.  And not gently, like a sword; it’s curved sharply.  But the curve is consistent, roughly sixty degrees overall, along the entire length of my horn.

I have absolutely no instinctive control of my magic.  Good thing it doesn’t act on its own; when I asked, I was told that is a pony problem, not a ‘ling problem.  One of the few questions I’ve had that have actually been answered.

But my conscious control of my magic is…  Well…

I was able to figure out how to levitate fairly quickly, even before they let me out of the nursery.

Though it would be more accurate to say, even before they removed me from the nursery.  It wasn’t exactly voluntary.

In any case, the nursemaids were frightened whenever I tried levitating anything when they were around.  So, I stopped, and looked for differences.

Differences I found.  I wasn’t able to properly describe them- they vary ‘ling to ‘ling, after all- until after I was removed from the nursery and placed into service as a materials courier.  Most ‘lings in this position use their magic to carry their stuff.  I didn’t; my levitation seemed to frighten other ‘lings.  Never made much sense to me until after I figured out the difference; my floating objects were no different from their floating objects.

I did, eventually, find the difference.

I can sense even the smallest intricacies of any spell used anywhere near me.  It takes exactly two hundred sixty-three of the tiny building blocks magic is made up of to levitate.  I call them ‘runelets’, anymore- as it turns out, levitation is a simple one-rune spell.

Most ‘lings use between ten thousand and fifty thousand runelets in their levitation spells.  As near as I can tell, when analyzing them in my near-photographic memory, all those extra runelets go to waste- all that power, simply lost.

This is where the difference is.  My levitation spell used exactly two hundred sixty-three runelets.  Then I discovered all the thaumic waste their levitations used- and realized what effect it has.

It glows.  It makes their horn glow, it makes the target of their levitation glow.

And it does it in about the most inefficient manner possible.

So I analyzed the runelets.

My levitation spell now has exactly two hundred eighty-two runelets.  It took me hardly nineteen runelets to produce the same glow effect- and to give me complete freedom over what color it is.

So I picked a pretty gold.

When I first started using it, some ‘lings looked at me a little weird.  One said I made it look easy.

…  I’m not sure if that was a compliment, or what.  I mean, it is easy- and for them, too, even if they do it in an intrinsically wasteful manner.

I eventually understood why I got those weird looks; most of their levitation auras shift and wobble as they maintain them, especially when they’re inexperienced, while mine holds as solid as the stone walls.  And, as far as anyling seems to realize, that was the first time I’d ever levitated.

I’ve tried to mention my magical capabilities.  The precision with which I can both sense and reproduce magic.

But to no avail.  Noling will believe me.

Last night, I was…  promoted.

Not that I would call it promoted.  Apparently, I’m good at carrying stuff around- so they want me to keep carrying stuff around, but for more important lings, with bigger consequences if it doesn’t get where it’s supposed to be.  What’s more, I still don’t get any more than a starvation ration out of the hive’s love reserves.

…  Good thing my levitation is so efficient.  I’ve seen lots of young ‘lings like myself starve to death with levitations numbering in the hundreds of thousands of runelets; the love we consume directly fuels our magic, and we aren’t given enough to waste.  Thanks to that, I’m actually able to store away some of my starvation ration within my form, for if I ever need to increase my magic use at some point.  Or something.

Or, for the occasional high-mass load.  Most ‘lings with high runelet counts- fifty thousand and up- will die if they try to carry a lot of mass at once.  Not immediately, but they’ll quickly drain themselves of all their love, and die.

Not me.  I lifted a good ten times what most ‘lings baulk at, and delivered that to its destination.  Then came back for more.

…  That was the night before I was promoted.  That day had a net zero love gain, for me- yet none lost, either.  So, I knew what my limit was.

When they ‘promoted’ me, I expected them to put me in construction.  Where that kind of carrying capacity could have made me as effective as an entire overworked construction team.  That does seem to be where we go through the most drones.

They didn’t.  Instead, I’m carrying more sensitive or urgent matters- things that have to reach a destination, no matter what.

A position where the overexertion- and death- of the ‘ling responsible is unacceptable.

It’s all I have.  My duty.

I reach my destination, just short of the hive entrance.  Apparently, someling set fire to Broodmother Quill’s chair; she was able to extinguish the flames and save much of the chair, but required a fresh cushion.

…  How that constitutes a need for the services of an ‘emergency courier’ like myself, I don’t know.  And, honestly, I don’t care.  Fact is, she called for it over the hive mind, and if I don’t show up with it within a few minutes of the tailors’ announcing its readiness over the same, I won’t get dinner tonight.

Hardly a daunting threat; I’ve got enough love stored in my form to last me almost two full weeks of this mind-numbing work- or, if I were to spend that time resting, walking or something else that doesn’t use magic, a few months.  I don’t know the specifics there.

As I approach the conference room, as required of me by the exalted ‘lings inside, I announce my arrival on the hive mind and request entry.

Broodmother Nyadra opens the door, plucking the cushion out of my magic with her twelve thousand, three hundred sixty-seven runelet levitation spell and pulls me in.

I let her take it; I found out fairly shortly after I started using my levitation for my duties that my hold is far stronger than most other ‘lings; had I not released it as she gripped it, she could not have taken it from me, despite having unimaginably high love levels compared to one such as me.  She could have blown all of that power trying to take it, and all she’d manage to do is kill herself.  Because of that, I’ve made a discovery.  By removing one single runelet from my spell, I can destabilize it.  It’ll hold together in that form for as long as I need it to before it falls apart- but if another ‘ling pulls on it, or if I move too quickly, it’ll shatter instantly.

Broodmother Nyadra doesn’t seem to realize it’s an inherent part of the spell I’m using- or, more, the one I’m switching to as I arrive at my destination.  She seems to think I’m just nailing the timing with cancelling my spell- or using a weaker spell, like that of most ‘lings.

But why she pulled me into the conference room before she closed the door, I have no idea.

…  Come to think of it, the chair cushion being a matter worthy of an emergency courier isn’t the only part smelling fishy.  There’s also the part where she requested that I, specifically, be the one to deliver it- not one of the more experienced emergency couriers.

In the corner of my eye, I notice that her chair- and its cushions- are completely undamaged.  And they look more comfortable than what the tailors were able to scrabble together.

This is…  an unfamiliar situation.  I expected to drop it off and head for the next task.  Which, of course, would only be assigned once these exalted ‘lings announced they were done with my services for now.

So I stand in place, and wait for orders.

“This is the one?” someling asks.  She’s in my field of view; they all are.  So I correct myself; she’s not just any ‘ling.  She’s the Queen, Queen Chrysalis.

Broodmother Nyadra answers.  “Yes, my Queen, this is her.  This is Crooked Wing.”

Neither ‘ling seems very impressed by the name.  But neither comment on it.

Queen Chrysalis stares at me for a few seconds, before looking back up at Broodmother Nyadra.  “You mean to tell me this…  disfigured thing is the strongest courier we’ve had in over a century?”