//------------------------------// // 43. Aurelisks and Auroras // Story: The Age of Wings and Steel // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// “No, no, it’s ‘pegasus,’ not ‘pegosus.’ The pegasus flew above the clouds.” Eberhardt’s thick accent murmured from behind Rye. “The pegesoos flew above—” “No, no,” sighed Cranberry’s voice. “Pegasus.” Beneath Rye’s new Aurelisk mail, his stomach grumbled. It was nearly lunchtime, but he figured they could make it another mile before stopping. Besides, he was enjoying the cool air over the tundra. After they made it past the Blood Fields, they’d be trekking through even colder and harsher terrain than they had when they’d entered Sleipnord. He was going to savor the relatively warmer climate while he could. Beside him, Inger was holding a steady walk. The Firewing yawned briefly, looking over his right shoulder to the north. They were traveling along the southern shore of the Dragon Lake, which would eventually lead them right up to Mount Jormundr. Rye was worried that the wind blowing off the lake would be dangerous as they continued north, but Eberhardt had assured them—through Cranberry—that as they passed into colder climes the water would be frozen solid for the winter and the weather no worse near the lake than elsewhere. He looked back over his shoulder at Cranberry and Eberhardt. “How are the language lessons coming?” Cranberry sighed. “Well enough, I suppose.” Her too-short ears perked up. “My offer’s still open, by the way. I could teach you and Inger Sleipnordic if you want.” Rye gave her a skeptical glance. Cranberry rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, come on. It’s not nearly as difficult as the old camel or zebra languages. After all, Sleipnordic and Equestrian are both just different dialects of the old unicorn tongue; the grammar’s virtually identical except for a few things like using ‘ar’ for plurals.” “Just how many languages do you know, anyway? Speak any griffon?” asked Rye. “A bit.” Cranberry made a face. “I don’t like to, though. It hurts. You have to make all these roaring and screeching sounds. It’s an ugly language. Zebra is much prettier.” “Pegasus,” murmured Eberhardt. Cranberry beamed at him. “Yes, that’s it! Okay, let’s try some verbs…” As they walked, Rye noticed Inger wearing an unhappier frown than usual. Quietly, he asked, “What’s wrong?” Inger glanced back over his shoulder. “I’m not very fond of our new companion.” “Why not? Cranberry seems to like him a lot.” Inger’s frown deepened. Rye gave him a curious look, then his eyes widened. “Oh.” He gave an awkward cough and trotted on ahead. Well, that’s… interesting. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed Inger and Cranberry acting a little strange, ever since their adventure in the caves. He’d put it down to stress from all the danger they kept finding themselves in, but perhaps it was stress of a different kind. Rye shook his head, somewhat bemused. They stopped for lunch twenty minutes later. Rye whipped up some wonderful little sandwiches with lettuce, tomatoes, some sort of cheese with black specks all over it, and a few slices of sourdough bread he’d scored from the kitchens in Saddlestead. He entertained them all with a story about the time his father had made an ill-fated venture into the catering business. Apricot’s first—and last—attempt to organize a banquet at a high-ranking Canterlot noble’s house had ended in tears, and afterwards he’d sworn to stick to baking. The group moved on after an hour, continuing their journey through the stark tundra. They were beginning to come across patches of snow. Once they passed the large bay that jutted down from the lake to form the dragon’s front ‘leg’, they would be out of the fields and into the wasteland proper. Eberhardt had assured them that they would be able to cross over the long fjord that formed the dragon’s tail, climbing down the cliffs onto the solid ice, then up the other side. He was hoping to save two days’ travel by cutting over the lake, but Rye still felt uneasy about walking over a body of water. Neither he nor Cranberry knew how to swim, if the ice broke, and the water had to be lethally cold. With a shiver, Rye turned his thoughts to the mountain. He pictured the four of them trying to climb one of the Joturs, remembering that vast wall of stone between them and Equestria. He swallowed nervously. Still, if an old unicorn tribe had managed to live on Jormundr, it couldn’t be too hard to get up inside it. Assuming he could open the door, which he still had no idea how to do. Behind, Cranberry and Eberhardt were still going through Equestrian vocabulary. To his right, Inger was… well, sulking. Rye spared a glance at him and bit his lip. Finding nothing present to take his mind off the future, Rye turned his thoughts back to home. He thought about December snow falling on the rooftops of Canterlot, of walking into the warm bakery to the scent of fresh bread. He inhaled, smiling. He could almost smell smoke from a slightly burned loaf in the ovens. Rye blinked. He sniffed again. It wasn’t his imagination. There was smoke in the air. “Remember, it’s ‘s’, not ‘ar.’ Ponies, countries, clouds, ‘s.’” “Pegasuses?” “Well, no, technically it’s ‘pegasi,’ but you’ve got the right idea! I think we should—” Cranberry bumped into Rye, who was standing still. “Hey! What are you doing?” “Look,” he said softly, pointing into the distance. A little black column marred the open tundra ahead. The smoke was rising from an unidentifiable blob. Rye couldn’t tell what it was from this distance. Eberhardt stepped forward to his left, his eyes narrowed. “Erik.” The Nordpony immediately set off toward the object. The three Equestrians shared an apprehensive look. Rye sighed. “Come on, we’d better go with him.” When they reached the source of the smoke, they found a series of burning buildings. It was clearly a homestead. The fire looked to have started in the farmhouse, and spread to the nearby barn. The blackened husk of the farmhouse still flickered with guttering fires, and the smell of the smoke was almost overwhelming. Cranberry stared silently at the torched remains of what had been somepony’s home. She wrapped her cloak around her nose, trying to filter the smoke out of the air. “It might have been an accident…” Eberhardt shook his head. “This, work of Aenir,” he said, pointing at the last standing wall of the farmhouse. Two elk horns were painted sloppily on the burned wood, smudged and sooty. Rye watched as the flames on the barn grew higher. He’d always been afraid of what might happen if war came to his homeland, but it had always been abstract. Distant. The grim scene in front of them was anything but. There was a creak and a groan as the roof of the barn suddenly collapsed, sending up a plume of ash. The ponies retreated from the wreckage, fleeing west to fresh air. None of them spoke. * * * Night came early in the north, but Eberhardt insisted that they stop as the sun went down. They could not risk traveling without sunlight. It was all too easy to freeze to death in an attempt to save a few hours’ travel. They made camp south of a large hill, hoping it would at least partially shield them from the wind coming off the lake. They’d decided on two smaller tents instead of a large one, and they had them set up in an hour. While Inger and Cranberry got the snow covers on the tents, Eberhardt showed Rye how to build a campfire on the tundra. They had to use sedge flowers as kindling, because even the smallest bits of wood were precious this far from the hall. Soon they had a merry fire crackling, and Rye had a pot of bubbling soup hung over the flames. Eberhardt volunteered for the early morning watch, and so turned in early with only a bite of bread for dinner. The three Equestrians were once again alone in the dark night of the northlands. “So, Cranberry,” said Rye, stirring the soup. “Is Sleipnord everything you thought it would be?” “Oh, I’m having fun,” she said brightly. “I still can’t believe we actually got to see the walls of Saddlestead. You know I first read about those the day the bookkeeper turned the library over to Inkpot and me?” She sighed wistfully. “Tell me about your sister,” said Inger with curiosity. “She’s a librarian?” “Yep! She runs the sixth-biggest library in all of Canterlot.” Cranberry’s chest puffed out proudly. “Has her own organizational system and everything. Uses a series of decimal numbers instead of letters. It’s sort of famous in librarian circles.” Rye gave an amused cough. “That’s funny; I could’ve sworn you were just telling me a few weeks ago that you could never find anything in that library.” “You shush.” Cranberry gave a hmpf. “She’s a bit of a firebrand, though. Oh, dear, she’s not going to be happy with me when we get back. She has to have figured out by now that we aren’t really going on a camping trip.” “Well,” said Inger dryly, “technically, we are camping.” “Yes, but I don’t think she realized we wouldn’t be in Equestria.” Cranberry gave a quiet giggle. She looked around at the wide tundra. “Still… it’ll be nice to get back home. This is fun and all, but I’m starting to miss the library.” Rye nodded, thinking of home. The burning farmhouse rushed back to him, and he had a sudden, chilling vision of the bakery in flames. He jerked, tipping the pot of soup and spilling some of it onto the fire with a hiss. “Rye?” Cranberry asked with concern. “Nothing, I just… nothing.” He resumed his stirring, but all he could think about was Canterlot ablaze. The Princess had expected them to have returned nearly a week ago, and they still had yet to even secure an army for her. How much of Equestria had already fallen to the griffons? Would there even be a home for them to return to? And what of his family? “I’m no cook, Rye, but I think it’s done.” Inger looked apprehensively at the pot. Rye checked it to discover that the lentils had begun to blacken. He quickly pulled the ladle from his pack and began filling bowls. “Sorry. It’s a little burnt.” Inger and Cranberry accepted the dinner with thanks. Cranberry gave him a look. “What’s up with you?” “I just… I’m thinking about my mother.” Inger set his bowl down and gave him a serious look. “Rye, she’ll be fine. If there’s one pony you don’t have to worry about, it’s Windstreak.” “But Inger, there are thirty thousand griffons in that army. And we’re stuck out here, in the middle of nowhere, trying to find some stupid hammer—” he accidentally knocked over his bowl, splattering the ground with soup. He gave a frustrated sigh. “Rye…” Cranberry reached a hoof out. “Don’t you get it, Cranberry? If we can’t get Braki to help us, then by the time we get back to Canterlot all we’ll find are ashes.” Cranberry’s face fell, and she looked away with tears in her eyes. Inger shot Rye a disapproving look, and patted her shoulder. Rye sighed again. “I—sorry, Cranberry. I didn’t mean to yell. I’m sure Inkpot and the rest of Canterlot are fine.” “Yeah,” she said with a weak smile, rubbing her eyes. “Yeah, you’re right.” She took a slightly shaky sip from her bowl. Rye refilled his own, and the three of them ate in silence. The night went on, but they were all unwilling to go to sleep. Rye knew his dreams that night were going to be unpleasant. The image of a burning city was large on all their minds. “Look at that,” whispered Cranberry. The three of them gazed up at the sky, to find it swathed in colors. Greens and purples shimmered in the stars, sheets of light drifting through space. Rye’s mouth hung slightly open as he watched the colors flow. Cranberry took a little breath of delight. The colors danced in her eyes. “They say those are the trails of the Valkyries. Beautiful servants of the old gods who guide the souls of warriors from this world to the next. Each glow is supposed to be a soul, being shepherded along the path.” “Pegasi?” asked Inger, staring openmouthed at the lights. “No, the Valkyries don’t have any wings. They look like earth ponies, running through the sky…” Rye looked slowly around the sky. So many lights… I wonder how many of those souls are Equestrian? They all watched the lights as the night wore on. “It’s so pretty…” said Cranberry in hushed tones. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” “I have.” Inger and Rye had spoken in unison. They looked at each other with surprise and then laughed. “Huh?” said Cranberry. Inger’s chuckling trailed off into quiet reflection. “The Princess. Her mane… it looks just like this, especially in the mornings, when she’s still all glowy from raising the sun. She’s one of the most beautiful ponies I’ve ever seen.” At that, Cranberry laughed. She turned to Inger with an impish look in her eyes. “One of? So who’s the most beautiful?” It was difficult to tell in the darkness, but Rye thought Inger’s face had turned a deeper shade of red than usual. The pegasus muttered, “Uh…” Inger’s eyes flashed to Cranberry for a moment. He looked over at Rye, pleading for rescue. Rye winced internally for Inger. Time to excuse myself, I think. “I, uh, have to go for a few minutes. Nature calls.” He stood and fled, leaving the two of them alone in the awkward silence. Once he was out of sight, he raised his eyebrows and let out a low whistle. He wasn’t going back there for a little while. He crested the large hill sheltering their camp, walking down the opposite slope. The gleaming aurora above lit the ground with faint green light. Snow crunched under his hooves as he walked down the hill. Wrapping his cloak more tightly around himself, he sat down and looked north over the lake. The aurora’s reflection shimmered in the water. It really was beautiful. He gave a contented sigh and watched the lights. They twinkled in the dark like candlelight on metal. Metal? Rye blinked. Squinting into the darkness, he saw a tiny spot of reflected light that was definitely not part of the water. Standing, he tried to make out the object, but it was too distant. He began creeping toward it, peering through the night. As he neared the glowing shape, it gradually resolved into the silhouette of a pony. Rye pulled to a stop ten meters away from the shadowy figure. It turned to face him, the lights of the aurora glinting off of its golden armor. A gasp escaped his lungs. “It can’t be…” He put an unsteady hoof to the ground, inching closer. “Mom?” Windstreak looked at him and smiled. She turned around and began treading west. Rye followed, his attention fixed. What’s going on? Inger’s voice came back to him: “Careful, Rye. Don’t go haring off like that. You might end up chasing hallucinations to your death.” But when he’d seen her in the wastes, they’d been tired and sick with hunger; why was he having visions of his mother now? Maybe the Valkyries are guiding her soul onward, he thought with trepidation. Or maybe I’m just going crazy. He continued following the golden-armored pegasus, who did not speak. They wandered deeper into the night. The thin layer of snow crunched under his hooves with every step. Ahead, his mother remained silent. The aurora glimmered above with quiet beauty. A cool breeze flowed off the lake, blowing his mane aside. Rye was torn between a desire to run and a need to approach the pony ahead. He pulled to a stop, remembering what had happened the last time he’d wandered off and left Inger and Cranberry alone. He shivered. All of them had nearly died because of his inattention. Whatever this new apparition was, it couldn’t be a good thing. Rye abruptly turned and galloped back as fast as he could, not looking to see if his mother had even noticed. When he reached the base of the hill, he was panting for breath in the thin, cold air. He felt cold all over, and he didn’t think it was the temperature. Just an overactive imagination thanks to Cranberry’s Valkyrie myths. That’s all it was. This country’s starting to make me crazy. He gave a forced laugh. Composing himself, he exhaled slowly and pulled his cloak tightly around himself once more. He started around the hill back to camp. As the tents came into view, he heard quiet voices. He hadn’t expected Cranberry and Inger to still be awake. Not wanting to interrupt—and, if he was honest with himself, out of a certain sense of morbid curiosity—he flattened himself behind one of the tents, hidden from the view of the ponies by the campfire. He craned his ears to listen to the conversation. “…sorry if that’s too personal.” “No, it’s all right, Inger. I’m guessing Rye told you.” “Yes. He said they passed away during the blizzard of 317. I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have brought it up.” “No, I… I’m glad you did. It’s good to talk about them every so often. Otherwise… well, it’s easy to forget, sometimes.” There was a sad, tinkling laugh. “I remember when mom used to brush my mane…” “What was she like?” “She was very sweet. She made pottery, and sold it in the marketplace. Dad sewed. He mostly did working clothes, for the commoners. I never found it very interesting. Although now I wish I’d… well.” There was a sniff. “When the storms hit, it just seemed like a normal winter to me. I liked playing in the snow with Rye, but our parents were really strict about us staying inside that year. I was only three. I didn’t understand how bad it was.” “I was only a year or so older… the Captain had us helping break up the clouds where we could, but I remember the cold.” “Mom got sick in November. She said it was just the flu, but pretty soon she couldn’t do the pots anymore. By December, when it got really bad, she couldn’t even get out of bed. Then one day, she just… didn’t wake up.” There was a quiet clinking of armor and the rustle of a cloak, then a whispered, “Thanks.” “How’d you end up with the Captain?” “Me and Inkpot… we were at the library as usual. She was still trying to get a job, I think. We needed the money. I was just there to pick up a book on zebra history. Dad let us go alone, because he so busy trying to pay for the firewood, and the library had its own heating. That was the night when it snowed so hard the roof of the Sun Castle collapsed.” Rye heard Inger’s breath suck in. “We were out all night trying to break up the storm. The pegasi from Cloudsdale were supposed to be there a day earlier, but they’d gotten caught up in some bad weather in Greenway.” “We… we got trapped in the library, overnight. The door was snowed in. It took the weather teams the better part of the next two days to get us out. The bookkeeper was very nice to us. I think that’s when he first hired Inkpot. I thought it was really fun, like camping indoors.” Her voice cracked. “Miss Cranberry…” “When we finally got out, we headed straight home. The door was still blocked with snow, so we dug it out ourselves. Inkpot was frantic, she kept calling dad’s name… I didn’t know what was going on. We finally got the door open and ran inside, looking for him. We couldn’t open his workroom door, the hinges had frozen solid. We banged on the door, but nopony answered… So we went to Rye’s place, and told him and Apricot what had happened. Windstreak was outside somewhere.” “Yes… we were clearing the road through the noble districts.” “Apricot made Rye wait in the bakery, and the three of us went back to my house. Apricot melted the ice off the door with magic, and we opened it… Dad was still sitting at his desk with a half-finished shirt. He was… he wasn’t moving, just… just sitting there…” She choked. “He was so cold.” Rye had never heard this much of the story before. Cranberry had always avoided talking about her parents with him. He was seriously beginning to regret eavesdropping, but it was too late to reveal himself now. He’d have to wait and hope they didn’t notice him before going to sleep. He felt a tickling in the back of his throat. “Inkpot started crying, and then I did, too, even though I didn’t realize what was happening. Apricot just stood there for a minute. Then he took Inkpot aside and talked with her for a while, and she started calming down a bit. When they were done, she told me to pack my things, because we were going to stay at Apricot’s place for a while. I got all excited because Rye and I would be able to play in the market every day…” “I’m sorry.” “I mean… living with Apricot and Windstreak was wonderful, really… I just… you wonder how things might have been different.” “I know that too well… If my parents had been around, would I have ever joined the Firewings? I don’t know.” “What happened?” “My mother caught the wasting sickness when I was only one. I can’t… I can’t even remember her face, now.” Inger’s voice sounded surprised and disappointed. “She never told me who my father was, but I got the impression he was a noble. That’s why he never came around. Didn’t want a bad reputation for siring a bastard.” “You shouldn’t call yourself that.” “Why not? I am what I am. And I’m grateful, really. If it wasn’t for him, I’d probably never have met Windstreak. The Firewings are my family, now.” “She is pretty amazing, isn’t she? I… I wonder if she’s okay.” “She’ll be fine.” “Oh, Inger. You and I both know you were just saying that to make Rye feel better. She’ll be on the front lines, right in the worst of the fighting. I know it.” There was a hiccup. “I’m worried about her too.” “Don’t be. We’ll walk back into Canterlot at the head of an army to find her flying in to greet us; golden armor gleaming, eyes beaming, mane flying in the wind.” “I always did like her mane.” A nervous giggle. “You know, you never did say who the most beautiful pony you’ve ever seen is. Don’t tell me it’s Windstreak.” “No…” said Inger shyly. Behind the tent, Rye boggled at the mental image of Inger acting shy. He was really wishing he’d just gone straight for his tent. He was beginning to feel an irresistible urge to sneeze. Oh, no. “It’s not Windstreak, actually… It’s—” “Shhh. I know.” Their voices were very soft, now. “Miss Cranberry, I, uh…” “Just call me Cranberry, Inger,” whispered Cranberry’s voice. “Just…” “Atchoo!” Rye clapped a hoof over his nose, but it was too late. Well. You’ve gone and put your hoof in it now, Rye. Cringing, he braced himself. Might as well get this over with. Quick and painless, like a beheading. He trotted around the tent toward the campfire, giving an exaggerated yawn. He found Cranberry and Inger sitting—snuggled, rather—together by the far tent. Both of them looked like deer that had just been cornered by a hunter. Rye put on a stupid grin and waved. “Finished my business. Going to bed now.” His face felt like it was on fire. “Uh,” said Inger, his eyes wide. Cranberry, blushing furiously, pulled away and jumped to her hooves. Words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush. “I’mtiredtoo, thinkI’mgoingtobed. Night.” Before either Rye or Inger could react, she vanished into the unoccupied tent. The fire crackled while they sat motionless for a few moments. Rye cast a glance of trepidation in Inger’s direction. “I’ll take the first watch,” said Inger through clenched teeth. “Why don’t you get some sleep?” Rye took the hint, and headed for the tent he and Cranberry were sharing. Halfway across the campsite his courage failed and he changed course for Eberhardt’s tent. Studiously ignoring Inger’s baleful gaze, he ducked inside and onto the bedroll beside the slumbering Nordpony. It was only fifteen minutes later that he realized he’d just forced Inger to sleep in Cranberry’s tent. Oh boy. Tomorrow should be fun. * * * The day did not begin well. When they left their tents, they discovered that it was snowing. The ground was already white, and they had to clear a space before they could restart the campfire. Breakfast was about as horrible as Rye had expected. In distraction, he burned the pancakes to a crisp, and the small bottle of milk he’d brought from Saddlestead had frozen solid. The scrambled eggs came out fine, but then again, it was tough to screw those up. When he went to get the pepper shaker out of his bag, a strong gust of wind knocked over the pan and spilled his food turner into the snow. Inger and Cranberry had been avoiding each other’s eyes all morning. They were being excruciatingly polite to each other. “Inger, could you please pass the pepper?” “Of course, Miss Cranberry.” The pegasus tossed her the little shaker, carefully not looking at her face. Cranberry sprinkled it on her eggs a few times before taking a delicate bite. She looked firmly past the rest of the group at the empty tundra as she chewed. As they munched on their eggs and charcoal, the painful silence extended. From the opposite side of the campfire, Eberhardt gave Rye a curious look, raising an eyebrow. Rye played dumb, biting his lip and shrugging. After breakfast was done, and the last of the unfortunate pancakes had been thrown away, they packed up camp. “Miss Cranberry, could you please help me pull out the tent stakes?” “Certainly, Inger.” The two of them immediately headed to opposite sides of the tent, hidden from each other’s view. Rye resisted the urge to drag his hoof across his face. But he wasn’t so stupid as to say anything. He’d made it awkward enough already. The tension in the air seemed to ease slightly as they got under way. Inger set off at a brisk trot, while Cranberry lagged behind to continue her language lessons with Eberhardt. Rye detected a slightly nervous jump in the pitch of her voice as she sped through verb tenses. Rye pulled his hood tightly over his head to shield it from the snow, and quickened his pace to pull even with Inger. Inger looked over at him and nodded curtly. “Hello, Rye.” “Uh, hi, Inger.” “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” said Inger brightly. Rye looked up at the dark gray clouds that were battering them with wind and snow. “Just peachy.” He looked at the pegasus. “Look, about last night—” “I have no idea to what you are referring,” said Inger, quickening to a light canter. Rye sighed and gave up. That afternoon, they finally reached the bay of the dragon’s leg. The sun had broken through the clouds, so they paused for a few minutes to watch the long stretch of water glitter in the sunlight. Cranberry briefly emerged from her icy shell of civility to gush about the bay, describing some old battle that had been fought there some two thousand years ago. “That was back when the Nordponies still sailed a lot. They used to raid each other’s settlements for supplies. But as the fighting grew fiercer the weather grew colder, and the lake started freezing up, so there haven’t been any raids in a long, long time.” “Speak of colding,” said Eberhardt, “soon we enter the frozen wasteland. Will need to be on guard against weather, there.” His Equestrian really was getting better; Rye could almost understand half of what he said now. The rest of the day passed without event. Rye had a feeling they were rising higher and higher, as the air grew more difficult to breathe. The shoreline gradually began to evolve into a cliff. As the sun set, they stopped to make camp again. It had begun snowing once more. As soon as the tents were up, Cranberry dove inside one, claiming she was still full from lunch. Inger quickly pled a queasy stomach, ducking into the other tent, leaving Eberhardt and Rye to eat dinner alone. “Is good,” said Eberhardt while he chewed on a buttered roll. Rye looked at the fire dismally. “Thanks.” He looked up at Eberhardt. “Know any good stories to pass the time?” Eberhardt thought for a moment. “Once time, there were little filly and colt, who find magic house made of gingerbread…” “No, heard that one.” Rye swallowed the last bite of his roll. He shook his head. “Forget it. I’m going to bed.” “Myself as well, I think.” Eberhardt stood, dusting himself. He kicked some snow on the fire. Rye blinked in surprise. “What, aren’t we setting a watch?” The night watch had become almost second-nature to Rye over the last few weeks. He felt slightly alarmed at the thought of not having one. Eberhardt just laughed, and gestured around at the bleak terrain. Rye couldn’t even see twenty meters into the falling snow. Eberhardt grinned at him. “What to watch for? Erik’s soldiers? This far north? I think not.” The Nordpony turned and entered Inger’s tent. Rye stared gloomily into the night sky, hoping the clouds might clear up and bring back the northern lights, but the snowstorm showed no sign of abating. He sighed, kicking the snow. A flash of golden light caught his eye. His head jerked up. Through the snow he could faintly make out a dim pony-shaped shadow. He shivered. He looked closer, and the figure seemed to dissolve into the night. He blinked, rubbing his eyes. I think I really am losing it. Rolling up his pack of food supplies, he crept inside Cranberry’s tent. She was already fast asleep, curled up inside her fur cloak against the cold. Rye stuffed his bags into the foot of the tent, before lying down on the other bedroll. He nestled under his cloak, falling into a fitful sleep filled with fire and gold. * * * As the days passed, the weather worsened. The farther north they traveled, the lower the temperature dropped, until even their thick Aurelisk-hide cloaks could no longer keep out the cold. It was winter in Sleipnord, and they were walking into the frigid heart of the north. One morning, Rye awoke to hear rapid, shaky breathing. He looked over his shoulder in concern. Cranberry was quivering under her cloak, gasping. She had her legs wrapped around her body, pulling her cloak tight. “Cranberry?” Rye rolled over and craned for a look at her face. Her eyes were shut tight, and her mouth was quivering. “So c-c-c-cold. So cold. So cold.” She let out a whimper. “Don’t let the shadows come back.” “Cranberry!” He shook her with a hoof. “Cranberry, wake up!” Her whole body shook. “I don’t want to go. It’s so c-c-cold.” Rye shook her as hard as he dared. “Cranberry!” Cranberry’s eyes shot open and she jerked upright. She gasped for air, still shaking. She reached a quaking hoof up and ran it along the rounded edge of her ear, feeling the scar of the frostbite. Inger’s head burst into the tent. “What’s going on? I heard shouting.” He took one look at the shivering pink earth pony and his eyes went wide. “Miss Cranberry?” At the sound of his voice, her shaking slowed. She seemed to be back in control of herself. Cranberry pulled her hood over her ears, and held it down tightly. She was still breathing heavily. Her right hoof kept tracing her ear through the hood. Rye looked at her anxiously. “You okay, ‘Berry?” “Yes.” Her chest was no longer heaving. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “Yes, I’m fine.” “What was that?” asked Inger with concern, edging his way into the crowded tent. He sat down next to Rye. She shook her head. “I was dreaming… dreaming that we were still lost in the wasteland, wandering around without any shelter from the winds, huddled up against the snow…” Without warning, she jumped forward and hugged them both. Rye patted her shoulder awkwardly. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to freeze to death with Eberhardt around.” “You’re right, you’re right.” Cranberry pulled away, her cheeks slightly red. She swallowed. “I’m sorry. I’m fine, really. Let’s… let’s go eat breakfast.” She rushed out of the tent. Inger looked at Rye, baffled. “She’s really strange sometimes.” He paused for a moment. “Look, Rye, you know her better than anypony. Do you think she… I mean, that I, uh… It’s just, in the guard, there’s not a lot of time for, um, personal matters. I’m not very good at this sort of thing.” Rye rolled his eyes. “Inger, if you haven’t noticed, I’m a pegacorn. That tends to preclude most relationships. I know less about this than you do.” With a frustrated sigh, Inger gave him a pleading glance. “Come on, she’s practically your foster sister. How do I get her to talk to me?” Rye just shook his head, smiling. “She likes you well enough. Just be yourself, I guess.” He patted Inger on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Go cheer her up, I’ve got to get breakfast together.” He shooed Inger from the tent. His smile faded as he remembered Cranberry’s shivers. Don’t let the shadows come back. He wasn’t the only one this land was affecting. Rye and Cranberry were ponies of summer. They didn’t belong here. They had cold oats for breakfast, as it was impossible to get a fire going in the frigid air. Rye and Eberhardt were looking over their map to determine how far they would travel that day. Cranberry seemed to have finally defrosted somewhat, and was no longer avoiding Rye and Inger’s eyes. She looked tired, though. Rye frowned. None of them had been sleeping very well. Turning back to the map, he pointed to a point on the long fjord that made up the dragon’s tail. “Looks like this is the narrowest part.” “Yes, but cliff there are steep.” Eberhardt indicated a wider section of the fjord, further west. “Here is shallowest part. Still high climb, but safer. Aurelisk use for mi—mig—migration in autumn month. We take low path to other side.” “And then a two day journey north to the mountain.” Rye whistled. “How big is it, really?” “You have seen the Joturar, yes?” asked Eberhardt. Rye nodded. “You are Joturar. Thane Braki is Jormundr.” Rye swallowed. The thane was over twice his height. “The peak must be above the clouds.” “Yes. The roof of the world.” Eberhardt rolled up the map. “Come, we have ground to walk. If fast, we can make fjord by nightfall.” Rye stood and walked past Cranberry and Inger. “Come on, you two. We’re going to try to reach the crossing today.” “Ooh! I wonder if we’ll see the mountain?” They were packed in twenty minutes and on their way. The weather had finally cleared, but it was so cold that even breathing was painful. The thin air made talking an effort. Even Cranberry was silent, her language lessons put on hold by the knives in their lungs. They found themselves at the beginning of the fjord near noon. The frozen lake below stretched off west, with two steep cliffs receding into the distance on either side. It was a sheer drop off the sides, the rocks chiseled and smoothed by the ceaseless roaring wind. Above, the sunlight was so faint that Rye could pick out stars, even in the blue of day. The snow by the cliff edges was not deep, as the wind channeled by the fjord constantly blew it from the tops of the rock walls. It crunched under his new horseshoes, the only sound in their quiet procession aside from the ever-present wind. The sun was gone by four ‘o-clock, but the sky remained light enough to see by for another hour. Pressing on into the dark, Eberhardt finally called them to a halt. They pitched their tents dangerously close to the cliff edge, but had little choice. The farther they went from the fjord, the steeper the snow would be. In the morning, they continued on. All of them were eager to reach the crossing and begin the last leg of their northward journey. It was Cranberry who saw it first. “Look at that! Down on the lake!” Rye craned his head to see what she was pointing at. A faint line of blue sparkles cut across the frozen surface of the lake between the two cliffs. They were steep, to be sure, but he could see paths running back and forth across their faces. “What’s that line?” he called over the wind. “Aurelisks!” shouted Eberhardt. Cranberry beamed at him—he’d gotten the plural right. Eberhardt smiled back and motioned the Equestrians closer. Hunching their backs against the wind, the four ponies put their heads together so they could talk without screaming. “I thought you said they migrated across during autumn, Eberhardt? What are they doing here in the middle of December?” The Nordpony shook his head. “Weather strange this whole season. You think it cold, but have seen it much colder before. It feels early in the year, yet. Perhaps Aurelisks confused.” Rye bit his lip. “Weird weather? Sounds like problems in Cloudsdale.” He and Inger shared worried looks. “You don’t think…” Inger frowned in dismay. “If Cloudsdale has already been attacked, they’re pushing north faster than we expected.” “Then we need to get this hammer, fast.” Rye looked at Eberhardt. “So how do we get past these things?” “Carefully.” Eberhardt tapped a hoof. “We must get closer.” “All right.” The four of them walked westward, watching the thin blue line resolve into individual dots on the ice. As they drew closer, Rye discovered that the Aurelisks were not using the paths on the cliffsides, but rather climbing up the sheer rock. He could see the blue shapes clinging to the rock, moving slowly to the top. They came to a stop half a kilometer east of the point where the Aurelisks were coming over the cliffs. The line of beasts stretched off south, out of sight. There were hundreds of them, but they were spaced far apart from each other in single file. Rye didn’t know much about herd behavior, but it seemed odd to him. Eberhardt motioned to the cliff’s edge. “This is beginning of path. Old mountain goat trail, leads down to lake.” He frowned, rubbing his chin. “Path will cross Aurelisk climbing area.” “They’re going one by one, though,” said Cranberry. “And there’s room in between them. Maybe we can slip by.” “Right,” said Inger. “We cross their path after one has passed, and avoid the next. The trick is what we do once we hit the lake.” “Cut wide east around them,” said Rye, drawing a hoof through the snow to demonstrate. “We’ll arc back around to the path on the other side. Sound good?” “It’s a plan,” said Inger with a nod. “Let’s get moving.” Eberhardt went first. The path was a short drop over the lip of the cliff. It was narrow, a simple jut of rock bulging out from the cliff side. It zig-zagged across as it went down, moving further out with each turn. Rye looked over the edge and swallowed. It was a fall of at least a hundred meters. The wind whipped at his cloak. They crept along the trail, sloping steadily down. Snow from the top of the cliffs blew down onto them in sheets. Reaching the first turn without incident, they pressed on. Rye’s hoof slipped in the snow. He fell hard onto the path. He felt himself going over the edge, scrabbling to get a hoofhold on the trail. Hooves wrapped into his cloak, pulling him back. He was hauled upright, and found himself looking into Inger’s face. “Thanks,” he rasped, breathing hard. Inger nodded. “Watch your step.” The first Aurelisk crossed their path minutes later. The only warning they had was a brief hoof wave from Eberhardt. They flattened themselves against the cliff. From below, Rye heard the loud noise of breathing. A great blue shape burst from beneath them, sinking its claws into the side of the cliff. Rye felt his breath sucked away. The Aurelisks were big. This one had to be nearly six meters from head to tail. Its head was as big as he was, with jaws wide enough to clamp down around a pony’s midsection. From the neck up, it was covered with large, curved, blue scales like the ones sewn into the ponies’ mail. Two short horns curled back from the Aurelisk’s head, and a thin crest of bone ran over the creature’s head and down its back. Below the neck, the Aurelisk was covered in thick brown fur. Its legs were bare, like a bird’s, with mottled blue skin wrinkled around its large bone-white claws. The tail was armored like the head, covered with uncountable scales. It climbed swiftly, passing the ponies in mere moments. Loose bits of rock tumbled down after it, debris from the divots that its claws made in the stone. Rye breathed out again as it disappeared above them. The ponies moved on. It was slow going. As they inched down the cliff, the sun moved across the sky. By the time they were halfway down, their shadows had already grown long. Every few minutes, they froze against the wall as an Aurelisk clambered past. The creatures seemed not to notice them, or simply didn’t care enough to stop their climb. They ate on the trail. Rye passed around a mix of nuts and fruits he’d made that morning. The four of them sat with their backs pressed against the wall. Aurelisks passed by without incident. “They’re so big,” muttered Rye. “Where do they find food out here?” “Mammoths,” said Cranberry, chewing on some raisins. “Big hairy things, kind of like elephants.” “And what do those eat?” Cranberry shrugged. They stared down at the lizards below. “Look at the way they move… graceful, but…” “Powerful.” Rye leaned farther out. “Sharp. Hard. Like everything else in the north.” “Yes,” she echoed, leaning with him. “Still, they’re almost pretty, in a way. You barely get the chance to see them when they pass.” “Well, we’ll get a closer look once we’re on the lake.” Rye craned out to look for the next climber. He felt a sharp jolt. There was a horrendous crack. “Did you feel—” Before he could finish, the shelf broke. He and Cranberry went sliding down the side of the cliff, riding on a mass of ice and rock. Above, he heard Inger and Eberhardt cry out. The broken rock was collapsing beneath them. Rye and Cranberry grabbed onto each other as they tumbled down. They smashed into another ledge, breaking it off of the cliff and sending another cascade of debris down. Then a rock smashed into Rye’s ribs, knocking him away from Cranberry and into free fall. They hit the lake hard, but were cushioned by the mass of snow and broken rock. More snow came sliding down after them, burying them both. Rye lay still under the miniature avalanche, winded from the blows of the rocks. Before long, his lungs ached with the need for air. He began frantically digging at the rubble above him, finally freeing his hooves and head. Still halfway buried, he collapsed on top of the pile of snow and rock, breathing hard. He heard a scrabbling noise, and Cranberry’s head burst from the snow with a whoosh of air. She panted heavily. “Rye, you okay?” Rye grunted. His chest hurt fiercely from the boulder that had smashed into him. Cranberry’s voice sounded strange, like they were underwater. “Just sit still, Rye. Inger and Eberhardt are on their way down, they should be here—” There was a loud whuff. Rye felt a hot blast of air blow his mane out of his eyes. He slowly looked upward to find a giant, blue-scaled head staring deep into his eyes. The Aurelisk leaned down, sniffing him. Rye played dead, letting his legs fall limp. The giant lizard nudged him with its head. He could feel every breath of the creature. His heart hammered like a drum. Half-opening one eye, he saw the lizard’s mouth open wide. “Hey! Over here!” The Aurelisk’s head snapped away toward Cranberry. It turned and began moving. Rye looked over to see that Cranberry had escaped the pile of snow and was backing away from the great blue lizard. “Rye! Get yourself out of there!” He started digging furiously. His hind legs came free all at once, and he tumbled out of the snow and down the side of the little hill they’d created. He thudded onto the hard ice of the lake, wincing at the pain in his side. He heard a roar and a scream. “Hey!” he yelled hoarsely. He scrambled up the side of the snow bank, running toward the Aurelisk. “Leave her alone!” He rushed forward at the lizard, his horn blazing with orange light. The Aurelisk spared him a backward glance before whipping its tail at him. It smashed into Rye and sent him hurtling up against the cliff wall with a smack. He fell into the snow, bruised and battered. “Rye!” Cranberry screamed again as the Aurelisk made a hissing sound. Rye managed to lift his head just in time to see the Aurelisk lunge at her. Cranberry jumped backwards, avoiding the lizard’s mouth. She punched a hoof out at it, clipping the beast’s snout. Unfazed, the Aurelisk’s legs surged forward and it closed its jaws around her. “Cranberry!” Rye dragged himself upright once more, staggering toward the Aurelisk. The lizard lifted Cranberry, still screaming and kicking at it. It tossed her into the air and she came back down into its jaws with a crunching sound. The lizard shook her like a ragdoll, then threw her aside. It turned to face Rye. Rye couldn’t move. He braced his legs to make a desperate roll away from the lizard. The Aurelisk’s head reared back, and then plunged forward. A streak of gold and red smashed into it from above. The Aurelisk tumbled from the pile of rubble onto the ice with a hiss of pain. Inger, his armor gleaming in the light of dusk, landed on the lake beside it. The beast roared and clambered to its feet. Eberhardt had told them the truth. The Aurelisk’s mouth opened and a burst of flame came forth. Inger flew over it, pulling an aerial somersault and spinning around to kick the lizard’s head again. It seemed to hardly notice the blow, snapping its jaws after the pegasus. Inger dodged nimbly, delivering another kick as he did so. Rye crawled forward, trying to reach them, but his aching muscles refused to let him stand. He could only watch as Inger darted around the Aurelisk, keeping it distracted but doing little else. There was a thump as something landed behind Rye. He looked back to see Eberhardt, sword drawn, racing into the battle. The Nordpony didn’t even pause, charging down the rockslide and onto the ice. The Aurelisk finally scored a blow with its tail, sending Inger crashing into the snow. The pegasus stood woozily, shaking his head. The Aurelisk lunged after him, only to find Eberhardt blocking its path. Cocking his sword, the Nordpony waded in. Rye stared in awe. Eberhardt dodged the first attack by sidestepping, whipping his neck around and bringing the blade of his sword down onto the creature’s scales. It left no mark, but the Aurelisk swerved its head to bite the Nordpony. Eberhardt seemed to expect this, rolling under the lizard’s neck and slashing upward. The lizard reared up, allowing Eberhardt to move under it and reach the legs. The Nordpony wasted no time, diving in and going to work. His sword flashed as he sliced through the Aurelisk’s tendons, and the beast roared in pain. It collapsed with a thud as Eberhardt rolled away, his sword bloody. The Aurelisk’s tail swooped in, but he jumped over it. The Nordpony landed unsteadily on the slick ice, trying to keep his balance. The lizard, its legs wounded, pulled itself toward him. It opened its mouth and poured out fire. Eberhardt hunched against the blast as the flames washed over him. The brief spurt of fire vanished, leaving the Nordpony still standing. His cloak was smoldering, and his mane had tiny cinders in it, but he seemed unharmed. That’s right. He said the scales are fire-resistant. Eberhardt charged in again, swinging his sword in a measured cadence. The Aurelisk snapped at him, but the Nordpony leapt into the air and landed on the lizard’s head. The lizard reared back in surprise, but Eberhardt twisted around, hanging onto one of the lizard’s horns with a leg. His head came up, and the sword plunged down, sliding between the scales and into the creature’s brain. The Aurelisk screeched as Eberhardt wrenched his sword deeper. The tail lashed forward and clipped Eberhardt’s shoulder. He lost his grip on the sword and went tumbling down to the ice. The dying Aurelisk’s jaws came down for one last bite, but a flash of red and gold swept Eberhardt away. The lizard collapsed to the ice with a low moan, and breathed out a puff of air before falling silent. Rye could only stare in amazement. Cranberry had told him of the Nordponies’ prowess in battle, but to see it for himself was something else. With a few thousand like that, the griffons wouldn’t stand a chance. While Eberhardt retrieved his sword, Inger landed next to Rye. His eyes were wide with urgency. “Rye! Where’s Cranberry?” Rye finally won his struggle to stand, his legs quivering with the effort. He shook his head, feeling a sick dread working its way into his stomach. Wordlessly, he turned and led Inger to where Cranberry had fallen. She was still lying there, the wind blowing her blonde mane like golden cotton. “Cranberry!” Inger knelt beside her, not daring to touch her. He leaned in close, brushing her mane away from her face. “Cranberry? Can you hear me?” Rye watched breathlessly. Cranberry’s eyes slowly opened, and she whispered something. “Tell… Rye…” Inger leaned closer. “What?” “Tell Rye… he owes me dinner… for saving his hide.” Cranberry winced. Inger laughed with relief, hugging her. She looked surprised at first, then returned the gesture with a smile. Rye just beamed, feeling a heavy weight lift from his shoulders. He shook his head, still grinning. “I thought you were dead. How’d you survive that bite?” Cranberry tapped a hoof against her chest, and Rye heard the clink of mail beneath it. “Aurelisk scales.” The three of them turned to see Eberhardt standing behind them, cleaning his sword with a rag. The Nordpony had a faint smile. “Not trash.” “Remind me to—ow—thank Thane Braki when we get to Hoofnjord,” said Cranberry, climbing stiffly to her hooves. “We should go, before more of them get here.” The ponies trudged off into the darkness, over the ice of the Dragon Lake. The fjord was wide, but the terrain was flat and smooth. The howling wind sent their cloaks flapping wildly, biting to the bone, but they moved quickly. Though night had fallen long ago, none of them even considered sleeping out on the lake. By the time the other cliffs were close enough that Rye could see the goat trail, the pain in his chest had eased. It was going to leave a bruise, but it seemed he’d escaped without any broken bones. Cranberry was still stumbling occasionally, but she insisted that she was fine. After the third time Inger asked her if she needed a break, she snapped at him to quit hovering. Rye smothered a smirk. I guess she really is okay. They reached the cliffs near midnight, as far as he could tell. All of them agreed it would be unwise to attempt the climb in the dark, so they huddled in an alcove at the base of the trail. It sheltered them from the wind enough to sleep, if fitfully. The next morning, they woke to find that the large herd of Aurelisks had finally finished crossing the fjord. Their way up the cliff would be nearly unobstructed. The climb was long, but the trail was shallower than the one on the southern cliffs. Rye had somehow assumed the position in front. He nearly took another fall when he discovered a section of the trail had collapsed below, leaving a gap in the shelf. Inger, groaning, had to fly them each over the gap one by one, but twenty minutes later they had all their supplies harnessed back on and were once again on their way. It was noon when Rye’s head peeked above the edge of the cliff. The icy wastes stretched out before him. They were bare, empty—except for a glint of gold. His mother had returned. “Rye? What’s wrong?” Inger nudged him from behind. Rye rubbed his eyes. His mother had vanished, but far in the distance he could see something that defied words. “I… I can’t…” He took a few uncertain steps forward, stepping off of the goat trail. Inger climbed up beside him. “What are you—” The two of them stared. Far, far to the north stood the unmistakable figure of Mount Jormundr. Even at this distance, it reached up from the ground into the sky, its peak vanishing into clouds. “How… how far away is that?” asked Inger, his mouth slightly open. “Three day journey,” said Eberhardt from behind, finally reaching the cliff top. “Two, if we start today.” “It looks that tall from two days away…” Inger whistled. “That has to be kilometers high.” Cranberry joined them, panting. “Ten.” Rye shook his head slowly. “Ten kilometers? That’s impossible.” “It’s the roof of the world, Rye.” She stared at the distant mountain, and took a deep breath. Rye gave a curt nod. “All right. Come on, you three. The faster we get moving, the faster we get the hammer.” As the four of them set off into the wastelands, marching for the roof of the world, he heard Cranberry laugh. “Inkpot’s never going to believe this.”