//------------------------------// // Chapter 2: Growth // Story: The Life of Fear // by Educated Guess //------------------------------// One’s childhood is, arguably, the most important time of their life. It is the time when they explore the world, learn its workings, and discover who they are. It is the time when they make their lifelong friends, and sometimes also their mortal enemies. It is the time when they love their family because they cannot understand how flawed they truly are, and are not yet wise enough to love them for their flaws. I had no friends, in the traditional sense of the word, because there were too few of us left for us to be anything but family. I loved my family mostly because I knew nothing else to love. Beyond the walls of the castle was nothing but a decrepit shell of a city, and beyond the city was nothing but the Wilds - the endless expanses of trees, pocked by ponds and glades - the mountains that, in winter, kept the sun caught behind their jagged heads until almost midday - and most importantly, ubiquitously, the silence. My youth was filled with silence, both of the world and of my kinsponies. Through their conspiracy, I did not know who I was. I did not know of my destiny. I did not have my cutie mark. I did not know that I was the first alicorn for almost 300 years to be unable to use my magic. I did not know that the necklace around my neck was the cause. I did not even realize that such differences were strange. There was no normal, no baseline, no society to measure myself against. That handful of mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters was all that I had. All that any of us had. We were all that remained. The first few years of my life were spent encased in a group of small rooms next-door to Hippocrates and his constant and paranoid supervision - though I suppose, in my case, it was justified paranoia. He was very fond of telling me about how fragile I had been at birth - about how... oh, how did it go... “When you were born, you could barely be called alive.” Hippocrates said somewhat disdainfully. “You had no immune system to speak of, your lungs were barely functional, your heart pumped only once for every three times it needed to - you were in danger of being killed by rogue dust motes! It was a non-stop job, keeping you alive. I had to stay awake for a whole week just to get you stable, and then I had to sleep for two weeks to recover! And yet, after all that -” Phobos winced as a cloud of blue sparkles popped his femur back into place, though it was more unsettling than painful. This was not the first time he had been subjected to this story. “- after all that, and in a windowless room with no tripping hazards, you still manage to find a way to fall and hurt yourself. Not just hurt yourself - dislocate your hip!” The doctor shook his head despairingly. “You really are one of Bellic’s sons.” “Actually, it was only five days you had to stay awake.” Sanarus said as he walked through the door, his saddlebag filled with the freshest crop of herbs from Flora’s garden, if the pungent mixture of scents that suddenly swept through the room was to have any say in the matter. “And then it was only eight-and-a-half days you had to sleep afterwards. I should know, I couldn’t get any for all your snoring.” This was not the first time Phobos had heard this rebuttal, either, but it felt no less like Sanarus was saving him from a fate worse than death. Sanarus shared many of his father’s features. He had the same ash-gray fur and jet-black hair, though he kept his much longer and straighter and pulled back into various and ever-changing arrangements of braids, buns, and bunches. He was slightly taller and slightly lankier. Where Hippocrates carried two pairs of winged serpents, Sanarus was adorned by two large lotuses, each of which dripped seven orbs, one of each color of the rainbow, down his legs. The most noticeable difference, of course, was that when Sanarus looked at you while he was cleaning your cut or setting your broken bone, his eyes would silently smile and say “I know it wasn’t your fault.”, whereas Hippocrates’ eyes wanted to make it abundantly clear that it was, in fact, entirely your fault, and that this task was a great inconvenience to them. Hippocrates turned to look at his son with practiced wariness. Now that the exchange had been started, it had to be finished. Phobos followed it intently, head moving back and forth with each flippant response, mouthing along with the words he had heard so many times before. “I’m sorry, but who was it that was fast asleep while I was overseeing the delivery?” “I’m sorry, but who was it that had spent all day repairing Ignus’ eighty-seven pulled ligaments while you bumbled about making six different kinds of tooth pain reliever?” Sanarus retorted. “There’s no harm in being prepared.” “There’s a difference between being prepared and being over-prepared. Then there’s even more of a difference between being over-prepared and being paranoid, and you’re right up there.” “It’s not paranoia if you have a justifiable reason.” “What reason could you possibly have?” “Once, several years ago, Oranos came to me with some major tooth pain, and the first five methods I tried didn’t work.” Hippocrates said matter-of-factly. “So why don’t you just use the sixth one?” “Because the first one usually works!” “It didn’t then! And even so, what kind of child is born with tooth pain?” “I don’t know, but I’ll be damned if I’m not ready when it happens!” For several moments, they stared at each other in fierce silence, lost in their own routine. Then Phobos began applauding, smiling the giddy and mischievous smile of a child who knows a grown-up’s secrets. They looked at him, confused, then back to each other awkwardly, and sighed heavily in unison. “Are those the herbs I requested from Flora?” Hippocrates asked, eager to move on to business. “Yes, and it all looks to be in order,” said Sanarus, lifting off the saddlebags with an orange glow, and setting them on an empty corner of the table. He began taking out the leafy bundles, tying them with string, and hanging them from hooks in the walls and ceiling near the table. “She did mention that the mint grew less than she had expected.” “Ah, well. I doubt we’ll need much of that anyway.” Hippocrates looked at the bundles carefully, inspecting the plants for damage and pests. He knew that Flora would never allow such things, but he had to be certain. “Are you sure?” Sanarus smirked, looking sidelong at his father. “I hear it’s a very important ingredient in tooth pain reliever.” Phobos giggled gleefully. Sanarus: 15, Hippocrates: 2. And that was just this month. When I wasn’t spending quality time with the doctors, I was usually alone. Serena visited me as much as she could, however, bringing me books to read and some simple toys - without magic, my options in that regard were rather limited - and we would play, and talk, and tell each other about our days - the things a mother and son are meant to do. We would read each other stories, taking turns to voice the characters, challenging each other to make increasingly ridiculous voices. Once I had recovered sufficiently to be moved into my own chambers next to the rest of my family, she would visit much more often, and sometimes, though less often than I would have liked, she stayed the night with me. I would curl up under her wing, and together we would watch as the spreading trees and broken spires were washed in first the fire of the setting sun, then the cool breeze of twilight, and finally the pale light of the mysterious and ever-changing stars. “Oh, and there! Yes, do you see? There’s two wings, and some sort of tail, and a lot of... uh...” Phobos trailed off, unsure of what the right word was. “Spines,” Serena finished, her voice even more soothing than the light breeze which rustled softly through the fields and foliage below, even if a breeze was still a very novel and enjoyable experience for Phobos. “Yes, it must be a dragon. And look there, behind it - there’s another one.” Those two dragons were far from alone in the sky. They led a grand array of winged creatures, from a flock of eagles and falcons that buzzed about the scene like bumblebees, to the griffons and manticores they had found a few minutes earlier. Below this flapping swarm were the beasts of the ground - there was a hydra, and there was a pack of timber wolves. Ironically, there was no sign anywhere in the rampaging horde of any Ursas, Dracos, Scorpios, Cygni, or other such actual stellar beasts, probably because whoever had been in charge of that particular section of the tapestry had decided that making constellations of constellations was far too easy for them. Standing against this eastbound tide was a band of heroes - few in number, but steadfast and fearless - protecting the sun’s resting place until morning, when it would rise and erase the interlopers. Phobos found them the most interesting, partially because of the dichotomy between the seeming impossibility and yet foregone conclusion of their situation, but mostly because they looked a lot like he did, only... in pieces. Some of them had wings - a few had horns - but most of them had neither, and none of them had both. He had seen these beings among the stars many times in the months since he had moved to his new, windowed chambers, but this image, stretching from horizon to horizon and appearing conveniently on the shortest night of the year, made it all the clearer that their relation to the sky was more than just random chance. “Mother?” “Hm?” He hesitated. “Who are they?” She followed his gaze to the defenders, and sighed gently. “I’ve been wondering when you would ask,” she said, smiling at their defiant eyes and twinkling bodies as if they were her own children. “They are of three races, as you can see. The unadorned are the earth ponies - sturdy, loyal, and with a special connection to the ground. They have no conscious magic, but the plants and animals follow their will.” “Like Flora!” Phobos said excitedly. He had never actually met Flora, but the others mentioned her quite often. As he understood it, she was always very busy tending the city’s gardens, producing all of their food and medicine. Serena nodded. “Exactly.” She continued. “Those with wings are the pegasi - a tribe of fierce and noble warriors that shepherd the weather.” “Like Oranos,” he said, somewhat more distractedly. He had only seen Flora’s father once, when the old stallion had come to see him soon after he had been born. He remembered most of all how haggard and tired the skymaster had looked - the feathers of his wings, ragged from centuries of wind - his hair, whiter than the clouds he commanded - his eyes, an even deeper blue than his domain. If Phobos had known how to speak at the time, he would have been speechless in the presence of such an ancient and venerable being. Serena nodded again, and went on. “Finally, those with horns are the unicorns. They are masters of magic, and so do many things - but most importantly -” She gestured grandly at the battle that raged in stillness above them. “- they control the stars, and the rise and fall of the sun and moon each day.” Phobos considered this. Nopony he knew of had control over the heavens - though he supposed that if any of them did, they’d have to battle for that control with the unicorns. A more important matter was, “How do we know about them?” Serena was silent for a moment. “We once lived among them.” Phobos’ eyes widened, eager to devour her proffered knowledge. “Really?” “Long ago - before I was born, when Oranos was still just a child. We lived on high and watched over them, as we watched over so much of the world. But as our numbers dwindled, we could no longer afford to protect them - in fact, our protection was more likely to bring their doom. So we left. We taught them the parts that they needed to play, gave them control, and abandoned them. Procere once told me that they had a brief conflict, but soon fell into a most unusual stalemate, with each race holding the other two by their throats with the threat of the realms only they had power over. I do not know if he still watches them, but...” She looked back up at the soldiers. There was no distrust or divisiveness there - only unity. “I like to think that they’ve found a way to move from coercion to cooperation, and live in peace.” “Who is Procere?” Phobos blurted. Serena sighed, and shook her head lightly. She encouraged her son’s curiosity, but sometimes, it could be a bit much. “The 10th seer. He doesn’t like to come out, these days, staying locked away in his chambers, doing...whatever it is he does.” She chuckled slightly. “Flora brings him his meals, but who knows if he even speaks to her.” Phobos thought about this for a moment. “And... Dissimula is the 11th seer?” “That’s right.” “...Is there a 12th seer?” Serena paused, taken slightly aback, then looked down at him warmly, studying his face, his eager, thirsty eyes. For a moment, her gaze flickered to the moonlit garnet on his neck, but Phobos didn’t see it, her face shadowed as it was by the newly-waxing moon. “Not yet,” she smiled, “But I know he’ll come eventually.” She kissed his forehead lightly. Phobos was somewhat confused, but was satisfied with the results of the tangent. He was, however, still curious about an earlier subject - one which twinkled gaily above their heads. “You said...we gave them control. Does that mean one of us did have control? Of...” He looked back towards the sky, unable to fathom - or even imagine - how much magic it would take to shift and shape those distant pinpricks of light. Serena followed his gaze, pondering. “Of everything, yes, but the heavens in particular...” She hesitated. “There have been many who have possessed that power, over the ages - but I think that the question you don’t know to ask, but whose answer you would be more interested in, is not which of us did, but which of us do.” Phobos’ eyes widened. “Do?” “Yes.” She looked longingly at the silver crescent of the moon. It hung just behind the wall of heroes, nervously preparing for its trek across the battlefield. It would be afforded none of the protection of the sun’s host. “They are sisters. Day and night - sun and moon - Oranos’ eldest and youngest daughters. They are Celestia and Luna.” Phobos was puzzled. “I’ve never heard of them before.” “They have been gone for... a very long time. Many years ago, before the Battle of Avalon, Oranos sent them on a quest to find the Armarium - an ancient place, lost to the centuries, which holds the ancient weapons that were wielded against Evil, Chaos, and Darkness at the beginning of time. He was afraid that the Coven would be attempting the Conjunction - and indeed, they did - but Celestia and Luna did not return in time to turn the tide of the battle. Indeed, they have yet to return at all.” “How do we know they’re still alive?” “That’s why we stargaze.” She winked slyly, and pointed directly north. “There, on the edge of the horizon. Do you see it?” Phobos looked. As the stars grew closer to the ground, the careful, crystalline construction of the great battle slowly devolved into a more haphazard jumble of personal arrangements and random connections, until, at the very edge of the sky, there were no discernible forms at all. Except... He squinted, tilting his head. ...except for a small group of stars that was half-hidden in the distant forest, slightly apart from the rest of the mass. It was difficult to tell exactly, with only half of the picture, but it looked like a stylized sun - two concentric circles, surrounded by eight thick and curling rays. Phobos looked back to his mother, seeking confirmation. She smiled knowingly. “That is the only piece of the sky that we still control. As long as the sisters maintain that symbol, we will know that they are still alive.” She sighed, and looked back out into the distance. “I do hope they come back soon.” For a few minutes, they were silent. Phobos stared at the flat, hollow sun, imagining what those heavenly sisters must be like. “Mother?” “Yes?” “Who are the Coven?” Serena laughed, and shook her head. “I think that’s enough stargazing for tonight.” I saw my brothers and father even less often. When they weren’t away from the city on their expeditions, they were either recovering from their last trip or preparing for the next one. Aeros visited me whenever he had the chance to get away, and sometimes even when he didn’t have the chance, but took it anyway. I was an escape for him - young, innocent - respite from Bellic’s relentless quest for perfection. Ignus only visited when Bellic sent him on an errand to the doctors, to collect a potion or deliver a message, or, amusingly often, to find Aeros. But when he did come, he would often stay for a while. Bellic himself, however, visited only once. Phobos’ eyes wandered the room, searching for his prey. There were many leaves spread about the floor of his room - windswept refugees from Flora’s campaign of tree-cleaning the day before. Beech, oak, aspen - each displayed its own garish pattern of reds, golds, and browns, clamoring to be appreciated for their final, seasonal beauty. But they were merely distractions from the true prize. His eyes widened as they fell upon it. There it was - a single elm leaf, still a vibrant green and thrumming with life - peeking out from behind an outcropping of maple. Phobos quickly pressed himself into the ground, his heart racing with the thrill of the hunt. Slowly, he approached, step by careful step, inching closer and closer. When there were only a few feet left between him and the leaf, he paused, glancing towards the great white form that lay facing away from him on the other end of the room. It hadn’t moved. Phobos smiled evilly. Perfect. Turning back to the leaf, he carefully wriggled his hindquarters, exhaled deeply, and leapt, his hooves leaving the floor as quietly as if it were velvet. But just before he had pinned the leaf to the bricks below, a gust of wind snatched it out from under his hooves, sending it, and many of its brethren, swirling into the air. “Gah!” Phobos cried in frustration, spinning around to face the lump. “How did you know? I was so quiet!” Casually, the white mass rolled over to reveal the four legs and smirking face of Phobos’ eldest brother. Aeros’ body was draped across the floor like a melting clock, his long, silver mane and tail spread like a coat of paint. He winked slyly. “That’s for me to know, and you to figure out.” Phobos raised an eyebrow. “Did I rustle too many leaves?” Aeros shook his head. “Nope.” “...Was I talking under my breath again?” Aeros chuckled a bit. “No, you’ve been getting much better about that.” “Was it magic? It was magic, wasn’t it?” “The wind? Sure. The tracking, not so much.” Phobos watched the displaced leaves as they slowly fell back down to rest - some floating side to side, others spinning like dancers - and racked his brain for some possible explanation. As Aeros studied his little brother’s face, its brow furrowed in concentration, his mischievous grin slowly faded into a more thoughtful, contented expression. “I can’t believe you’re only three.” Phobos started, and looked at Aeros somewhat incredulously, caught off guard by the sudden observation. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Aeros expertly wiggled himself into a slightly more upright position. “Well, I mean, it... it seems like it’s been a lot longer, doesn’t it? I can’t even remember when you were born.” Phobos gave him a skeptical look, the leaf-hunt completely forgotten. “You weren’t there when I was born.” “I... well, I have to give you that one, I suppose. But really - doesn’t it seem like it’s been longer than three years?” Phobos shrugged. “Does it? I don’t know. It’s my whole life. I don’t exactly have a reference to measure it by. I’ve only been able to see the sun and moon for a few months. Before that, I measured time by when Sanarus slept, and without that, I wouldn’t have known time passed at all.” They stared at each other for a few seconds before Aeros’ face broke out into a grin once more. “You are way too smart for your age. C’mere!” In a flash, Aeros had twisted himself off the floor and was flying through the air like a streak of quicksilver. Phobos shrieked in delighted terror and scrambled to escape the impact zone, but it was too late - Aeros landed with another explosion of leaves, trapping Phobos between his legs, and spastically wriggling the tips of his oversized white wings up and down his sibling’s sides. “Ah! Stop!” Phobos squealed, but his breathless laughter was answered only by playful growling as the two of them rolled about the room, Aeros’ mane and tail wrapping around them. Suddenly, something landed on the balcony with a loud thump. Both brothers jumped in surprise - as best they could, trapped as they were - as their middle brother stomped into the room. They craned their necks out from within their miniature hair tornado. The frustration in his nut-brown eyes was frightening. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” Ignus growled, pointing an accusing hoof at Aeros. “Oh, what does he want now?” Aeros sighed in exasperation, letting his head flop to the floor. “We just got back a few days ago. I haven’t even had the chance to see Mother yet! Doesn’t he know what rest is?” Ignus tossed his head, his mane flaring like a campfire sprinkled with oil. “You know as well as I do that he wanted us to train this morning.” “See my previous statements!” Ignus narrowed his eyes. “You also know why he wanted us to train this morning,” he said, his voice more subdued now. Aeros, on the other hand, snapped. “And you know as well as I do that a few extra days of training won’t be able to replace...” He halted, then closed his eyes and sighed, his horn making a disheartened clack on the stone floor as his head flopped down once more. Ignus said nothing. Phobos looked between the two of them, confused. “Look... you’re better at dealing with him than I am.” Aeros looked at his fiery sibling pathetically. “Just... just tell him we’ll train early tomorrow or something, okay?” “You can tell him yourself soon enough.” Aeros perked up. “What?” Ignus rolled his eyes. “You thought I came here to berate you for avoiding training? I don’t think there’s been a single session you haven’t tried to avoid for as long as I’ve lived. No - I still owe you for that time in Corona Ortus, so I figured I would warn you that Bellic is coming to visit Phobos.” Aeros jumped to his hooves - or tried to, anyway. He and Phobos were still tangled up in his hair. He quickly unrolled himself and stood, leaving his little brother upside-down and dizzy under his hooves. “Why didn’t you say so? What was with all the...?” At a loss for words, Aeros settled for crossing his eyes and making some very undignified noises. “I just had to see you make that face of yours again.” Ignus draped his hoof across his brow melodramatically, his voice cracking in a high-pitched mockery. “Oh, brother, save me! Our father is too much! I can’t deal with him!” He grinned nastily. Aeros growled, then bent his head down to Phobos. “I’ll be back... later, okay?” Phobos nodded groggily, still dizzy from rolling. “Mm-hm.” The airmaster brushed past Ignus onto the balcony, crouching and spreading his wings. “Oh, and...” He turned back briefly, his eyes full of warning. “Don’t argue with him, okay? It never works out.” With a single flap of his wings and a buffeting blast of air, Aeros was screaming off into the autumn sky. Ignus rolled his eyes once more, and followed suit much less dramatically. And once again, Phobos was left alone with his two oldest friends - Silence and Thought. His father was coming. His father. A stallion he had never seen in his entire life. A stallion that one of his brothers feared, and the other all but worshipped. He had heard much about Bellic, of course. About his size, his strength, his ferocity. About the relentlessness with which he pursued those few enemies of the alicorns that remained. Phobos wasn’t sure how to feel. He took a few moments to smooth down his mane and preen his ruffled feathers. He got the feeling that Aeros didn’t want Bellic to know that he had been there, and Phobos looking like a storm had blown through his hair would be a fairly obvious sign. Actually, his room wasn’t in a very good state either - toys, leaves, and a few books that had fallen off of the shelves were strewn about everywhere. Phobos quickly swept as much of the mess as he could into the corner behind the door, where it would be least likely to be seen. Just as he had decided to try throwing some of the leaves over the edge of the balcony instead, he heard voices out in the hallway. He pressed his ear up against the door. “Good day, Bellic. ...I never thought I’d see you in this hall.” That was Hippocrates. Of course - today was his checkup day. They had been growing less necessary over the past few months, but the doctor had never allowed Serena to negotiate below bi-monthly. Phobos felt himself relax somewhat - he wouldn’t be facing his father alone, at least. “Hippocrates,” a deep voice said - a voice that sent a chill down Phobos’ spine, and echoed in his veins. He could sympathize with Aeros. “What are you doing here?” “My job,” Hippocrates replied curtly. “What are you doing here?” “I’ve come to see my son.” “Really,” the doctor replied flatly. “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a certain personnel issue from yesterday, now, would it?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Sicut pater mea Faust est, you don’t!” Hippocrates suddenly spat. Phobos jumped. He had never heard Hippocrates raise his voice like that. “I know how you work, Bellic, and I can understand your desire for extra horsepower, but if you’re going in there to judge his fitness as a replacement, I’m not letting you.” “Why? You told me weeks ago that he was almost fully recovered.” “‘Fully recovered’ does not mean ‘ready to start training’!” “Then what does it mean?!” bellowed Bellic, suddenly angry. Phobos could have sworn he felt the vibration of a stomp through the stone floor. “It means ‘no longer in danger of being killed by rogue dust motes’! It means not having to worry about a stiff breeze tearing out his fur! It means that if he steps on a rock, he won’t break his leg!” Bellic scoffed. “It can’t have been that bad.” There was silence. Phobos could only dare to imagine what sort of baleful glare Hippocrates was using. When Bellic spoke next, he was very quiet. “...it was?” Hippocrates sighed. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been? Three years, Bellic. Your son is three years old, and he has never met you. I could have told him I was his father, and he wouldn’t have known the difference.” He paused. “Look - we will all miss him, but Phobos is too young to take his place. If you’re going in there, you’re doing it as his father, not his commander.” Phobos furrowed his brow, his mind racing with questions. ‘We will all miss him’? Who were they talking about? Who was this that was so important to Bellic that neither I nor ‘a few extra days of training’ could replace him? And replace? What had happened to him? Where had he gone? He was snapped out of his thoughts by approaching hoofsteps outside the door, and quickly scrambled to find a toy. When Bellic slowly opened the door, Phobos was sitting in the middle of the room, idly pushing a pair of wooden dolls back and forth. He looked up innocently, but found himself looking at his father’s neck instead of his face. Slowly, he lifted his head further, and a wave of fear rushed through him. Bellic’s eyes, as wide and filled with uncertainty as they were, were almost painfully intense. “Uh...” Bellic looked back to Hippocrates for guidance, but the doctor merely glowered at him and jerked his head towards the room. Bellic coughed awkwardly, and took a small step forward. “Do you... do you know who I am?” “Mm-hm” Phobos squeaked. His vocal cords had apparently taken his first instinct to run away much more seriously than he had. “Oh?” Bellic said, drawing himself up a bit. “How?” Phobos looked away sheepishly - perhaps without those deep blue eyes piercing his mind, his words would be more willing to cooperate. “Well, I - I suppose I don’t know for sure, but...” He swallowed nervously. “Aeros and Ignus have... talked about you a great deal.” “Really.” Bellic raised an eyebrow skeptically. “What sorts of things do they say?” Phobos swallowed, deciding that it would be best to go with the answers that were simplest, while still being true. “Well, they... they say that you’re strong, and brave, and a great warrior.” “And?” Bellic pressed. “And that you’re...” Phobos searched desperately for the right words. Psychotic? Obsessed? Deranged? Overzealous? “...very passionate.” “I see.” Bellic glanced back at Hippocrates, thinking, then leaned down conspiratorially. “Do they ever talk about what we do? Why we’re here as little as we are?” “...Sometimes. It’s... hard to imagine, though,” Phobos admitted, allowing himself a nervous smile. “I know barely anything about the outside. I’ve never even left the castle. I can’t begin to think of what the things you fight look like.” “But you understand why we are so absent.” “I... I suppose so.” Phobos looked up, slightly confused. “Good.” Bellic nodded, apparently satisfied, and straightened. “I’ll talk with you more another day. For now, I need to have a word with your brothers.” With that, Bellic turned and strolled out, pausing only to give Hippocrates a “See, what do you know?” smirk. Phobos scrambled up and poked his head around the door, and together, they watched the black alicorn walk nonchalantly down the hallway, with not so much as a glance backwards. Phobos looked up at the doctor, confused. Hippocrates shared the look with him, before returning his gaze to Bellic’s retreating haunches. “Hm.” He shrugged. “That went much better than I expected.”