Just the two of them now. Stygian watched the sorcerer to see where this was going. Behind him, the bar gently tinkled as it cooled down. Star Swirl clearly still “got it”.
Star Swirl didn’t speak right away. Instead, the room darkened around him. Stygian lit his own horn: a simple enough spell, and one he’d learned early on in his studies. His classmates used it to sneak out at night. He used it to study for as long as he could stay awake.
The last few minutes burned in his memory. How had he contributed so much, and yet still felt like a fool at a meeting of monarchs? How could they keep him on the side, like a servant no one needed to notice? It was his plan. His ideas. His thinking. That had brought them together. So why was he always on the margins?
Mad cheeriness seized his throat. “Not going to sleep yet, sir?”
Star Swirl grunted. “I see you have the same idea as me, though I suppose you have more reason.”
“Sir?”
“I wouldn’t ask you to fight tomorrow, Stygian. All due respect, but fighting is not your special talent.”
It’s not Meadowbrook’s either, thought Stygian. She’s only a healer. And I’ve never seen Somnambula land a kick. She uses her brain to win instead. So why single me out, you old hack?
Strangely, the thoughts didn’t worry him. They were his thoughts, after all. He agreed with them. But in his head, the thoughts seethed and bubbled and boiled, cooking all goodwill out of the words and leaving his stomach full of spitting fire.
To his astonishment, he watched Star Swirl slump on the seat.
“Sir?” he said, summoning as much concern as he had left.
“They’re losing hope,” groaned Star Swirl, wearing his years not like a master but like a shabby mule. “Somnambula herself doubts me now. I can see it in her eyes.”
“I’m sure they understand you, sir,” said Stygian, far more happily than he felt. He’d seen Star Swirl like this before. “Seven years weighs heavy on a pony’s heart, sir.”
“Hearts.” A mirthless chuckle died alone. Whatever Star Swirl stared at, it was probably a lifetime away.
Stygian cleared his throat. He really did keep this group together. It didn’t matter if no one else pointed this out, or if he screamed about it in the privacy of his own head every other day. Duty compelled him to step in, over and over.
“Everyone’s desperate, sir. Why, it wouldn’t surprise me if they secretly agreed with your plan, sir. They just don’t want to admit things are as bad as all that.”
Old age sighed with Star Swirl, his constant companion. “Neither do I, to be frank. There, we reach unanimous agreement.” Another chuckle died in his beard. “Now that’s a rarity.”
And Stygian could read the old sorcerer like an open book. “Still think of her, sir?”
“Hm? Oh, her. Yes.” Star Swirl shifted on his seat; under Stygian’s beam, his face sank under the weight of long hairs and too many wrinkles, even worse than Mistmane’s.
Suddenly, Star Swirl sat up straight. “Stygian.”
“Yes, sir?”
“You see further and hear more than these old eyes and ears of mine. What do the others think of me?”
Stygian immediately thought: Lie! Lie through your teeth. It’s so much easier than making him angry, he who can transform ponies into pots as easily as ponies change horseshoes.
“Well, sir…” he began.
“Heroes are always tricky, you see,” said Star Swirl, and Stygian thanked his lucky stars because the old sorcerer was in that kind of rambling mood. “They aim high. They think they know best. They interfere all the time.”
“Sir?” said Stygian, who wisely refrained from commenting about Star Swirl relative to those complaints.
“Put more than one of them in the same room, and there’s always something lacking. No checks, no balances, just lots of egos fighting for space. Ambition gets bigger, and that means everyone else’s ambitions get bigger too. That’s how you get monsters.”
“Oh, sir!” said Stygian, honesty taking full control. “I’m sure the others are very kind and brave and humble ponies. Captain Magnus just wants to get the job done; he is a career soldier, sir. And Meadowbrook wants to heal the world, sir. She’s the kindest soul it’s ever been my pleasure to meet.”
“Yes, yes, Stygian, you say that now. But now you’ve brought them together. They face each other more often than they face their enemies. That’s why friends are more dangerous.”
Stygian’s heart sank. He’d trodden down this road so many times. He’d always drowned under the secret guilt. Yet Star Swirl’s voice grabbed his mind and frogmarched it down a familiar path, at the end of which lay shadows. Shadows that could hide anything.
“I don’t agree, sir,” said Stygian. Change the script! If only he could change the script.
Yet again, Star Swirl ignored him. “I had a friend once. Promising young student. Very interested in transformation spells, I remember.” He frowned for a moment. “Also, fish.”
“Sir, you don’t have to say it. I know.”
“One of the best and the brightest. She thirsted for knowledge, always pestered me, always asked me about this and that. Ambitious, oh yes. She worshipped the ground I walked upon, and the air I breathed, and frankly anything I ate or drank. Always copying my every move. Hoped greatness would rub off on her, I suppose.”
When he blew out, tufts of beard flew up for a moment. Stygian couldn’t resist anymore. He just hoped the shadows didn’t reach out and grab him –
“The others aren’t like that, sir,” he said without hope. “I know they aren’t. They wouldn’t betray anyone.”
“How can you be sure?” Star Swirl’s whisper didn’t have much hope left either.
Around them, the smell of old beer fouled up the breaths they took. So dark was the tavern that Star Swirl lit up his own horn, and red rage caught on his face, the face of a demon.
“And once she had all she wanted from me, she was out the door in a trice!” Fighting against the age and weakness, Star Swirl growled. “She was my friend, Stygian. Gave me gifts, answered every question I had, fetched my ointment whenever one of my spells backfired. She told such jokes, she did, that even Meadowbrook would cringe to hear them. And she was out that door, as soon as we were done. Gone.”
Stygian shivered. Without other ponies around, the warmth of the place seeped away. Darkness intensified around their two lights.
He rubbed his mouth, which wanted another drink. “Adagio was a long time ago, sir.”
“Adagio is right now, Stygian! Flying around out there, bringing Somnambula’s wretched siren legends to life. She liked the idea. She made it a reality. With my own magic! Now she flies around hunting lesser ponies. Not an ounce of unicorn left in her. And she found two more fools to join her desecration of everything I loved. That was all my friendship meant to her! My magic, my country, my… my…”
Star Swirl’s face woke up, as though realizing the memory had been severed. Nothing beyond that word came to him.
The demon returned to him. Glaring, he muttered, “The others will go the same way, if you’re not careful.”
“Lady Mistmane and the others? But after all the things they’ve done, sir, surely we could give them the benefit of the doubt?”
“You’re young and simple, Stygian. You spent too much time locked away from the world. That gullible idealism will get you killed if you’re not careful. Nearly killed me.”
“Adagio was different, sir. Not everyone is like that. Clover was never like that.” The other apprentice. Oh yes. Stygian had never met her. But he liked the sound of her, and anything that stuck it to this fool was fine by him.
Star Swirl bared his teeth. “Nonsense. Clover abandoned me long ago.”
“Did she, sir? I heard she travelled to help other ponies, sir. See, some ponies have their own special destiny.” Like making real friends, Stygian thought.
“Are you contradicting me, young colt?”
In the silence, the demonic face of Star Swirl shifted. His hat shielded his eyes, but Stygian knew from experience the old stallion had narrowed them.
Was he standing up to Star Swirl? What kind of question was that? A moment ago, Stygian hadn’t even thought along those lines. He’d just imagined, say, Rockhoof’s face if the stallion caught them talking like this. Rockhoof might look like an overgrown mutton-head, but he knew denial when he heard it.
Even if Rockhoof had possessed rocks for brains, though, he didn’t need them with Somnambula around. He’d pulled Stygian out of so many fires, snapped him out of so many trances… How could it be wrong to stand up for a hero like him, however much the big loudmouth made stories up about his exploits? With his shovel? And what about the others? Stygian quailed and stayed quiet, but he couldn’t let Star Swirl talk about them as though they were the enemy.
As though wanting to smile among friends showed lack of moral fibre. Hypocrite! Star Swirl hadn’t been so humourless during that stupid song earlier!
But here and now, he was standing up to Star Swirl, a little scholar like him. So he kept his mouth shut, and shook his head, and something deep inside raged against his ribcage, tore at his throat, burned and writhed in the agony of not being let free to right all the wrongs thrown back at his face.
“No, sir,” he whispered. “I apologize, sir. It wasn’t my place to question your wisdom.”
He hated those words. Only, what else could he say? Star Swirl backed off, and that was that. Job done. A lie could help keep this band of heroes from tearing itself apart. And it started with the sorcerer.
Besides, where else was Stygian going to go? Back in his tower, Stygian had barely believed ponies like that were real. Rockhoof alone sounded like he’d stepped out of the sea of mythology. Until Stygian had first seen the mountain of buck up close, it was impossible to believe an earth pony could throw boulders over a volcano, or dig a valley out in one night.
Plus, who else held the key to great power? Clover had disappeared off somewhere and no one else could even come close to Star Swirl. Perhaps he, Stygian, could learn more from the old sorcerer. Find out how he became so strong.
A thought struck him. “You trust me, don’t you, sir?” said Stygian.
“Of course. You’re only a keen scholar, young colt. What harm could you be, after all?”
Stygian froze.
The worst part was that Star Swirl smiled like a grandfather, as though he’d just said something grand.
Stygian dreamed of murder.
For now, he faked a look of gratitude, head slightly bowed.
Then he watched Star Swirl’s horn light up. Of course. The stallion knew magic. Why leave through the door like a common pony? A small bang rattled the planks.
And then there was one.
Stygian jutted his jaw at the empty spot. What harm could he be? Well now. One day, he’d find out. Sirens would not leave him defenceless on the side lines, oh no. Not if he found a way.
Fear choked him. He forced a hoof into his face until all dreams of murder and smug smiles fell back into his heart. Safely contain it. That was the key. Never let the dream take over. Believe there was an end to all this. And that it would be a good one.
He took a deep breath to help steady himself.
Then he headed for the door, hoofsteps pattering on the floorboards. Fear reached up and put his light out. He didn’t want to show up in the darkness. Besides, at night he felt… calmer, somehow. More real. As if the day was full of dreams and myths and stories all clamouring for attention around him, crushing him and suffocating him. Whereas the night? At night, he was his own stallion.
No, he would not join the others tonight.
Maybe he would scout ahead, go to Hollow Shades, make himself useful. He could lead the others there, if he left signs along the route. Marks on the trunks, perhaps, or a few stones piled up in a certain way. He’d read guides on outdoor survival, after all, and journals left by explorers. He knew he could do it. He only needed a chance.
He pushed the door open. He had to. Sooner or later, he had to prove he was one of them. Worthiness had to be earned honourably. For now, he’d play the helpful sidekick, but one day, he’d play the hero.
So Stygian smiled at his own quiet dreams, at cheers never heard and slaps on the back that for once felt earned and hearty. Lights in dark places. Lights in dark times. He could be one of those lights.
Modestly, he laughed under his breath, and then bravery gave him strength and he stepped out into darkness.