At the beginning of my fourth spring - though it would be the first that I had actually seen - Hippocrates declared me well enough to no longer require his supervision. The doors of the Castle were, at long last, open to me, and the flood of possibilities they let in was more than overwhelming - it was, almost literally, everything. It was like being born again - imagery that escaped me at that age, because I could not yet remember the first time.
But fortunately for me, unlike the newborn birds which leapt from their nests in the hope that the air would catch them, or the young rodents whose war of survival and foragery began afresh and anew each year, I had guides.
“Phobos?”
The foal in question quickly looked up from the book in front of him, and into the loving turquoise eyes of his mother. A smile lit up his face as he scrambled to his hooves and bounded towards her, wrapping his forelegs around her neck.
Serena emitted a small gasp of shock and stumbled backwards, caught off guard by the momentum of her child. She laughed, and returned the hug as best she could.
“You’re excited, I presume?”
Phobos let go, and nodded his head vigorously.
“Very well, then. Let us be off.”
She led the way through the winding stone corridors, a maze of light and shadow. Some passages were brightly lit by windows which proudly framed the morning sun - some held the weak, orange glow of torches in various states of self-consumption - still others, though very few, were almost pitch-black. Serena would light her horn in these darker stretches, but Phobos couldn’t see why. He had had ample time and opportunity to explore every twist, turn, nook, and cranny in his section of the Castle, and had done so without any light of his own. He could have walked the route blindfolded, backwards, or possibly even both.
Soon, they reached the first stop on their journey. Though Phobos had been there many times, it had always been nothing more to him than a dead end and a gaping void - but now, with his senses expanded by newfound freedom, it was a fantastic sight.
The central chamber of the Castle - the foyer - was a wide, hollow pillar, more than 70 paces across, and stretching far enough above their heads that the ceiling was indistinguishable from the shadows. Each of the Castle’s seventy-seven floors had its own ring of windows, arches, and jutting balconies, numbering fewer and fewer as the chamber narrowed towards its peak.
But the spiraling patterns of the upper floors were nothing new to Phobos, and they were not what he was anticipating. Today, as he approached the edge of the platform, he looked not up, but down.
The view below was also familiar, but the feeling that it gave him was not. Nothing had changed, as far as he could see. The pattern on the floor was in the same arrangement as it had always been - a mystical and incomprehensible array of lines, curves, and symbols, encompassed by a great circle that spanned the width of the chamber. The centerpiece of the room, a large, mirror-smooth rectangular block of pure black marble - ‘the Altar’, he had once heard Sanarus call it - hadn’t moved an inch. The surrounding chunks of stone and brick that had accumulated over the course of the Castle’s decay had, perhaps, some new additions, but nothing enough to cause the thoughts that were buzzing in the back of his head.
His heart clenched as if screaming - his breath caught in his throat as if terrified to venture out over the edge - his hooves trembled as if murmuring to each other of mutiny against their foolhardy captain. Though Phobos only lived on the fourth floor, the ground had once seemed so distant as to be unreachable - but now, with both awareness of the distance and the intent to travel it, the Altar seemed to leer at him like a spider in its web, daring him to enter its deadly grasp.
Serena had not failed to notice her son’s sudden paralysis. “Don’t worry,” she said gently, brushing her wing along his back. “You don’t have to fly down yourself - at least, not today.” She crouched down, spreading her wing out as a ramp.
With one more fearful glance downward, Phobos gulped and clambered onto his mother’s back, wrapping his legs around her neck and burying his face in her peach-tinted mane. He breathed in deeply, and was immediately put at ease. Serena had the smell of a cool summer breeze, which itself carried hints of freshly picked strawberries and newly fallen rain. He didn’t know how such a combination was even possible, but he didn’t much care.
“Are you ready?” he heard his mother ask from somewhere outside his shield of hair. He nodded, tightening his grip.
A small bounce up, a lurch in the pit of his stomach, a slight feeling of being flattened into his mother’s back - and then nothing.
“There,” Serena said, her voice tinkling with hidden laughter. “Was that so bad?” Gingerly, Phobos extracted his head from safety, and looked around. His jaw quickly found itself reaching towards the floor he had so recently feared.
From above, he had always been able to tell that the supporting pillars which ringed the ground floor were not simple columns, but he had never been able to tell what, exactly, they were. Now, however, it was as clear as the hair on their heads. They were statues, the smallest reaching thirty feet high. All around him, alicorns from days long past stood in testament to their own power and glory, their frozen eyes filled with ancient authority. Phobos could almost feel himself shrinking in their presence.
“Who are they?” he whispered, as if fearing divine retribution were he to wake them.
Serena, however, was unconcerned. She turned, and began walking towards the closest of the chamber’s four giant archways. “I’m sure Lexus will tell you all about them, if you ask.”
Phobos was shaken out of his awe-struck stupor. “Lexus?”
“That’s who I’m taking you to see, yes.” Serena turned her head back to smile at him. “Lexus lives in the Library - he’s the one who’s recommended every book I’ve brought to you. I asked him if he would be willing to be your teacher, and he leapt at the prospect.”
Phobos tilted his head curiously. “Why would I need a new teacher?”
Serena sighed. “Hippocrates, Sanarus and I have done the best we can with your education, but there are limits to what we know. Lexus knows far more than any of us - and what he doesn’t, he knows where to find the book that does.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the wave of sunlight that washed over them as they stepped over the threshold of the Castle and on to the mossy, cobbled roads of the City. After their trek through the dark passages above, it took Phobos a few squinting moments to adjust - but once he had, he felt his heart soar. He had seen the outside before, of course, from the balcony of his room - but there was a world of difference between seeing nature from above, and walking beneath its branches.
It was overwhelming. All around him, the gray of stone was being overtaken by belligerent green. The trees which lined the path were bursting with blossoms, their fragrances swirling in an intoxicating mixture that made his head float and his breath run like syrup. Flowers sprang haphazardly from cracks in the cobbles and the crumbling stone walls, buzzing with color and life. The breeze whistled by like a choirmaster, leading the wild, rustling grass in a song of ‘Welcome - welcome to the world in which you’ve always belonged.’
For a few minutes, they walked on in silence, Phobos’ speechless exuberance enhancing Serena’s own enjoyment of the scene. Eventually, they passed through the half-collapsed Gate of Seraphii, and the crowded convulsion of life which made up the Castle grounds gave way to the more subdued layers of grass, rubble, and decaying buildings that made up the majority of the City.
Slowly, Phobos regained control of his mouth. It tried desperately to catch up with his long-departed mind.
“Wow.”
Serena giggled quietly. “Indeed.”
“I... I...”
“Don’t worry,” Serena said, doing her best to interpret her son’s stupor. “You’ll have plenty of time to explore on your own, now that you’re free.”
“But how will I get down?” Phobos asked.
“I convinced your father to postpone his next expedition so that Aeros can give you flying lessons for the next few days. You have the strength and ability - you just need a bit of guidance. Ah, here we are.”
They paused in front of a rather interesting building, though this virtue was not held by its appearance. The front was lined with columns, which supported a long band of cracked and inscrutable fresco. Two statues - once, perhaps, guardians, but now simply worn, abstract forms - lay on either side of the stairs which led to the entrance.
What made the building stand out from those surrounding it was the fact that it stood at all. Stretching away to either side was pile upon pile of teetering pillars, broken walls, and fractured woodwork, but this one, other than a few scratches and dents, had barely a brick out of place.
“Huh,” Phobos said, looking around as they climbed the stairs. “Lexus certainly takes care of his home.”
“Yes,” Serena mused quietly, sounding almost sad. “He doesn’t much like it when things change.” Before Phobos could ask her what she meant, she had pushed open the door.
The interior made no presumptions about its place or purpose. The center aisle was lined with plain, functional wooden desks - most of which were littered with books - and on either side, stretching away as far as the eye could see and as high as the ceiling, was aisle upon cluttered aisle of shelves, filled to bursting with tomes, scrolls, grimoires, compendiums, and anything else made of words and paper. The sunlight which slanted through the skylights above danced slowly across the floor, highlighting the Library’s sole non-equine residents - rebellious dust motes which drifted gaily through the air, refusing to settle into the tranquil colony-piles of their brethren.
Altogether, the sight was just as breathtaking as the grounds had been, if only because Phobos could comprehend it. He could feel the pulse of the words on every page - could hear the knowledge struggling to escape, crying out to him in deafening, glorious silence.
“Lexus!” Serena called out.
Almost immediately, a head poked itself out from around the corner of the 27th row.
“Ah, S-Serena!” it called back, as the rest of its body emerged and began trotting towards them. “I-I had almost forgotten you were coming.”
“Yes, I know.” Serena spread out her wing once more. Reluctantly, Phobos slid off her back, down to the ground and his own four hooves.
Phobos could slowly see more of the figure as he approached. Lexus was thin - almost as thin as himself, despite the difference in their heights. His coat was an icy blue - or perhaps it was a darker blue, and was simply matted with ages of dust - and his eyes, half-covered by their spectacles, were a dark, subdued magenta. He had a tentative air of confidence about him, as though in his element, like a fish in a stream, or a flower in a field - not impressive or intimidating, but noticeable.
Finally, he reached them, panting slightly from the short bit of exertion.
“Lexus, this is Phobos,” Serena said factually.
“Ah, y-yes - the f-fabled fourth son! I-I’ve heard quite a lot about you, from your mother.”
Phobos tilted his head. “Fourth son?” Did he have a third brother he didn’t know about?
Lexus caught a quick, stern look from Serena. “Oh-” He quickly cleared his throat. “I-I-I meant third, of course - I-I’m better with words than with n-numbers.” He chuckled nervously. When no one else seemed to find it funny, he coughed again, and extended his hoof towards Phobos. “I-It’s a pleasure to meet you, at last.”
Phobos reached up to take the hoof, and shook it awkwardly. “Likewise.”
Serena hummed in satisfaction. “Well, now that you’ve been introduced to each other, I’ll leave you to it. Phobos, I’ll be back to get you at sundown. In the meantime,” She winked slyly, though at which of them, neither was quite sure. “Try not to have too much fun.”
With that, she turned to leave. Both of them watched her exit longingly, though with very different kinds of longing. As the door closed behind her, Lexus turned to Phobos.
“W-w-well,” he said, gesturing towards the bookcases. “W-where shall we begin?”
Phobos thought for a moment. There were innumerable things that he wanted to know, but only one of them currently stood at the forefront of his mind.
“I think... what’s the word for the study of plants?”
“Botany?”
Phobos nodded. “Botany.”
“Ah,” Lexus sighed as he turned to lead the way. “An e-equine after my own heart.”
There are many kinds of guides, of course. Some of them are easy - they show you the way with gentle pushes and whispered suggestions, leading you towards that which they know you will want to discover. Others, though, are hard guides. They teach you the lessons that you’re not sure you want to learn - and are all the more important because of it.
“...And you’re sure you want to do this?”
“Well, I...” Phobos grunted as he completed his 40th wing-push-up. He let his forelegs fall to support him once more, and took a moment to catch his breath. “...No, not really. But I have to. I can’t rely on everyone to carry me up and down the Castle all the time.”
Aeros nodded in admission. “Well, are you ready?”
Phobos looked himself over, then back to his brother, and shrugged.
“No,” he said, almost laughing.
Aeros smirked playfully. “Then let’s be off.”
He moved to the balcony and crouched down, waiting for his passenger. Nervously, Phobos climbed on, and clamped his legs firmly around Aeros’ neck and barrel. He tensed for the worst - he had seen his brother’s take-off before, after all - but Aeros was considerate of the fearful bundle on his back, and forsook his usual blast of air and speed for a more gentle jump and ascent.
Phobos distracted himself from what he knew was happening by concentrating on his brother’s body - the beating of the heart, the expansion and contraction of the chest as it breathed, the rhythmic pulsing of the wing muscles as they pushed them higher and higher -
His stomach lurched, and he squeezed a bit tighter. Not the muscles, then - just the heart and the breathing. And the wind, which whipped Aeros’ long, silver hairs back and forth around him, growing stronger as they rose above the shielding influence of the City walls -
His squeak of terror was barely audible, but it was enough for Aeros to hear.
“You know, normally I would say something like ‘Just don’t look down’, but... this is slightly different, I think.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Phobos knew those words were true, but his body would have none of it, and kept his head snugly buried in the nape of his brother’s neck. Aeros shrugged - which caused Phobos to dig himself even deeper - and flew on.
Phobos remained that way for a while, even after he had felt the bump of their landing, and the rustle of Aeros’ wings trying to pry off his hind legs.
“Come on, off you get.”
Phobos tried to relay this message to the rest of his body, but his body whistled casually and pretended not to have heard him. Aeros sighed in exasperation.
“I swear, between you and Mother, I don’t know where I stand sometimes.”
Suddenly, Aeros flung himself sideways. As he rolled over, he deftly twisted himself out of Phobos’ death-grip, leaving him to flail spastically at the ground.
Except that it wasn’t ground. It was... soft. But it wasn’t just soft, either - it radiated softness, like being fluffy was its purpose and essence.
Cautiously, Phobos opened his eyes. There was white, but it was not the white of his brother’s fur - it was far purer than that. Slowly, he looked up. There was nothing there but blue, and what appeared to be dew-drops forming on his eyelashes. Were they - surely, they couldn’t be. Even more slowly, he stood, and his fear was overwhelmed by amazement.
They were. They were standing on a cloud. Beneath the sun, but above the rain. An island of white in an ocean of emptiness. The sky stretched endlessly above them, broken only by the peeking tops of the mountains far to the south. Phobos looked to his brother in wonder and confusion.
“I thought cloud-walking was a type of magic.”
“Well, it... is, technically, I suppose,” Aeros explained, “But it’s not the same. Horn magic is a purposeful thing - called upon, channeled. But flying, cloud-walking, earth-healing - those are in your bones, not your head. They happen on their own.”
Phobos’ heart lept. So he did have magic, after all, if only a fraction.
Aeros moved to the edge of the fluffy mass, looking out to the distant horizon. He breathed deeply of the fresh, cold air, and sighed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had the chance to look around up here. I’d forgotten how beautiful it was.”
Phobos walked to his brother’s side. Somewhere in his mind, his senses were trying to read him their altimeter, but the tourists were too busy ‘oo’ing and ‘ah’ing for him to hear the panicked cries. It certainly was beautiful. The landscape was laid out before them, and everything was veiled by the thin, blue mist of distance. The tallest trees were as blades of grass - the lakes were like puddles - and far to their right, the City stood, a forlorn and forgotten tower of blocks in the midst of a fantastical playground.
“I remember when Oranos was teaching me to fly.” Aeros mused. He glanced quickly at Phobos, who was still enraptured by the view, and smiled. “He told me exactly what I’m going to tell you.”
Phobos looked at him expectantly.
“There are three steps in learning to fly - and step one...” He paused dramatically. “...is learning to fall.”
Without any further warning, Aeros swiftly punted his brother out over the edge of the cloud. Phobos’ screams faded quickly as he plummeted, flailing, towards the ground. Aeros looked around for a few more seconds, then casually jumped down after him.
Phobos’ head was a calamity. His senses scrambled to regain control, while the tourists - and himself - screamed in a confused panic. He scrabbled at the air with his hooves, as if there was any hope of finding purchase there. He flapped his wings as hard and as fast as he could, but they only served to increase the chaos of his descent. Tumbling as he was, it was difficult to tell up from down - the blue of the sky above mixed nauseatingly with the green of the forest below, matching the swirling in his stomach.
“Look at me,” a voice said.
Suddenly, he felt two familiar hooves grab hold of him, and spin him right-side-up. The tourists ceased to scream, petrified by the cool, collected calm of Aeros’ ice-blue eyes. This was his domain, those eyes said, and he would not let any harm come to his brother inside of it.
“Fold your wings.”
Phobos hesitated, but seeing that his brother’s wings were also closed, complied.
“Now close your eyes.”
He did.
“Feel the air around you. Listen to what it says.”
Phobos felt and listened, but found no solace or inspiration in it. “All I can hear is the wind rushing past me,” he said, the panic still lurking in the back of his mind, waiting for its chance to seize control.
“No,” Aeros said with reaffirming conviction, “It’s not rushing past you. It’s pushing against you. It’s trying as hard as it can to hold you up. All you have to do is let it.”
Phobos tried again, and this time, he noticed the way the air resisted his body, the way it whipped his fur as it scrambled to grab hold and lift him.
“Yes, that’s right,” Aeros said, as if reading his mind. “Now, step two: open your wings, slowly. Learn the muscles. Find the position where you make the most of the push with the least effort.”
As he inched open his wings, he felt the way his feathers caught the wind, and how, layered together as they were, they formed a platform on which the air could find purchase. He felt the twinge and pull of the muscles in his back, and flexed them back and forth until he found the point where they were all working equally. It was a half-open position - not the full spread of flight, but more like the descent of an elm seed.
He stayed that way for a few moments, expecting his brother to confirm and offer the next step of the process, but only the wind whispered in his ear.
“Aeros?” he called out.
“Down here,” a voice responded from below.
Phobos opened his eyes, and looked down. Aeros, his wings still closed, was almost ten feet below, smiling up at him as he drifted, inch by inch, further away. Phobos almost laughed out loud - he was doing it! - but then, the panic that had been sulking in the back of his mind cackled evilly as he looked past his brother and towards the ground, which was still coming, quite steadily, closer.
Aeros noticed, and his face became serious once more. “Alright, step three. Close your wings most of the way, and tilt yourself forward. I’ll be right behind you.”
Phobos nodded, took a deep breath, and dove, rushing past his brother. With one smooth motion, Aeros flipped himself over and around, and followed. The trees approached them inexorably, like a wall of spikes.
“When I say when, you’ll want to spread your wings out as far as you can, and twist them back. If you do it right, the air should curve you sideways, and you’ll be able to level out. Don’t worry if you can’t get this right the first time. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
His mind yelled at him to flap, to run, to kick - something, anything to stave off the approaching earth - but Phobos trusted his brother even more than he trusted his own body, and so he remained.
“Wait for it...”
Time seemed to slow as he stared downwards into the land’s gaping maw, filled with tree-sized teeth, ready to swallow him whole.
“Wait for it...”
‘Come back to me,’ the ground called out. ‘This is where you belong. Your rebellion will get you nowhere - just let go, and come back home.’
“Now!”
Quick as he could, Phobos flared out his wings, pulled the fronts back, clenched his body, and prayed - though to what, he was not sure. The air, for support? The ground, for mercy? His brother, for salvation?
The trees began to slowly move alongside him instead of towards, but he could tell that the shift was not fast enough. He stretched his wings out further than he thought possible - felt the wind tear at them, desperate to pull him up - but the branches continued hurtling towards him.
He closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable impact - but at the last second, a burst of air from below threw him upwards. He looked back just in time to see the silver light of his brother’s horn fading away. He sighed in relief, but at the same time, his heart sank - he hadn’t wanted to have to have been saved.
Aeros winged closer, and let out an impressed whistle. “That was a lot better than my first time.”
Phobos perked up. “Really?”
The airmaster thought for a moment. “Well, no, actually. But I had magic at the time, and you didn’t, so it all balances out.”
Phobos laughed. “Couldn’t we have started off a bit more slowly?”
Aeros shook his head. “I’ve always found that its better to jump straight into things. We have to learn failure before we can truly feel success. Besides, you’re flying pretty well so far.”
Phobos blinked a few times before the realization of what Aeros had said finally hit him. He was flying. The treetops were rushing along beneath him, keeping a disappointed, respectful distance. He felt mentally for his wings. Some primal, instinctual part of his brain had taken the reins - they shifted and adjusted almost on their own, though he could feel the gears turning in the back of his head. He looked at Aeros, who smiled.
“Well, you can’t keep gliding forever. Come on, gimme a flap.”
Tentatively, Phobos swung his wings down. The wind caught on the top sides and sent him spiraling out of control. With a flash of silver, Aeros blew him back to an idle position. Phobos looked at him sheepishly.
Aeros could barely contain his laughter. “Let’s just practice gliding for now, I guess.”
A few days later, we were picnicking on the mountains, having flown there together - myself, with no assistance. I asked him what the other two steps had been, since he had never actually told me. He said,
“Well, the first step is learning to fall - then, you learn to fall slowly - and finally, you learn to fall forever. That’s all flying is, really - you just fall and forget to hit the ground.”